"I used to be the heir of the Caesarcrest aristocracy... when it was still there," Kael said, his voice low, each word carrying a weight that made the air around them feel heavier.
His breath quickened, and for a moment, Selene thought he might stop, but he pressed on, his voice slightly choking. Selene noticed the slight tremor in his voice when he continued.
"We Caesarcrests... have been reclusive since epochs past, our name drifting into obscurity, forgotten by time itself.
Kael's gaze wandered, his eyes distant as if trying to find fragments of the past in the endless sky. Selene stood silently beside him, unwilling to interrupt the flow of what seemed like a deeply guarded confession.
"Our ancestors believed in the virtue of isolation, in safeguarding the purity of our line and the legacy of our house. While others ventured across the myriad realms, seeking fame and forging alliances, we chose seclusion.
Even our patriarchs and matriarchs, despite their great journeys for wisdom, returned to uphold the creed of our bloodline. And I..."
His voice faltered for the briefest moment.
"I, as the next patriarch, was forbidden from wandering outside. I was the heir to a dynasty of silence, My world was confined to the estate, its grandeur becoming my cage."
Kael's hands clenched at his sides, his knuckles pale from the pressure. The tension in his frame was palpable, and Selene fought the urge to console him, sensing that he needed to speak this truth unbidden.
"My knowledge of the world outside? Fragments. Shards of stories from those who dared venture beyond our gates. And the rest came through the information forces of our family – cold, calculated reports of events I could only imagine.
That was my reality, Selene. A life of secondhand experiences, living vicariously through whispers and parchments."
He stopped walking, turning his gaze to the stone pavilion as if the ancient structure could offer him solace. "It wasn't living," he said bitterly, his voice now low but firm. "It was suffocating. A legacy that prided itself on strength and knowledge, and yet... it stripped me of the very chance to gain either on my own."
Selene watched him, her expression softening as she caught the flicker of pain and bitterness in his usually composed demeanor. "It must have been unbearable," she murmured, her voice gentle.
Kael met her gaze, his own shadowed but resolute. "Unbearable? Perhaps. But it was also all I knew. And now... now it's gone. The house of Caesarcrest stands no more, its legacy reduced to ash. And I..." He exhaled, shaking his head as though trying to dismiss the memories.
"I am all that remains."
The weight of his words hung heavily between them, the air thick with unspoken grief.
Selene, ever the optimist, managed a small, reassuring smile. "Maybe you're not just what remains, Kael.
Maybe you're the beginning of something new. The start of a legacy greater than any that came before."
Kael raised an eyebrow at her, a faint, almost reluctant smirk tugging at his lips. "You certainly know how to phrase things, don't you?"
"Well," Selene said with a playful shrug,
"someone has to remind you of the possibilities ahead. And as long as I'm here, I'll make sure you see them too."
With that, they continued their walk toward the pavilion, the echoes of Kael's confession lingering in the air, a reminder of the past he carried and the future he had yet to define.
As Kael walked alongside Selene, his expression remained composed, his earlier vulnerability buried beneath a practiced stoicism. Yet, in the depths of his being, something unseen stirred.
"One step closer, Master," murmured a voice, faint and shadowed, its tone tinged with a sinister patience.
"Opening yourself to others... how beautifully predictable. All that remains now is for the threads to tighten, and for the day to come when you will finally see the truth."
The words existed only within the unseen void, unheard by Kael, unperceived by anyone. It was a whisper meant only for itself, a specter lingering just beyond the veil of awareness. As quickly as it had come, the voice faded into silence, leaving no trace of its presence.
"Alright then," Selene said with a smile, her tone bright yet determined. "Since you've shared your part of the story, it's now my responsibility to fill you in on the world we live in."
She cleared her throat, her posture straightening as if preparing for a grand lecture.
Meanwhile, the author—who may or may not have been stifling a sigh—rummaged through his notes. "Here we go," he muttered, cracking their knuckles in preparation. "This might take a while… hope you brought snacks."
----
"Let's start with the history," Selene said, her voice taking on a more cheerful tone. "Though, considering you're the heir of an imperial clan, you might already have some knowledge of this. But let's begin anyway."
----
Hundreds of millions of years ago,
Since time unknown, there existed Three Ascendant Powers and The Shadowed One.
The Churches of Light, Life, and Law stood in the forefront, each embodying their respective principles, while opposing them was The Covenant of the Dying Sun.
Every epoch, spanning millions of years, the heroes of Light, Life, and Law were born—each chosen by their goddesses with one singular purpose: to subjugate the incarnation of the Demon God, who would be born at the same time, a dark mirror to their light.
While a hero in him or herself isn't anything special especially so as they might not necessarily be even the strongest in their generation, they were born with a boon many actually but the only reason they are heroes is because of this one skill every hero is blessed with.
The Divine Luminescence
It was neither a skill nor a spell, but a sacred blessing—a radiant halo that imbued every action, every strike, every motion of the chosen hero.
The Demon God, an entity forged as the Apex Nexus of the Temporal Nethersea, was born without a soul. This made him uniquely resistant to all conventional spells and attacks, no matter their power or origin.
Yet, Divine Luminescence stood as the sole exception—a force capable of piercing his ethereal form and unraveling his incorporeal essence. However, this divine halo was bound by a singular law: it remained utterly ineffective against any being that was not the Nexus of the Temporal Nethersea.
In other words, it could only harm the Demon God, rendering it both a curse and a blessing to its wielder.
Heroes aren't born.
Well, they aren't crafted or groomed for greatness either. They're chosen—by sheer coincidence, amusingly enough.
Yet, even that degree of coincidence is scarcely random. Despite being selected seemingly at random, all heroes chosen thus far have shared uncanny similarities: their personalities, ambitions, and statuses almost mirror one another.
It's as though their destinies are woven by the hands of their respective goddesses, who evaluate them through unseen rules and unspoken criteria before guiding them toward their fates.
But, in the Era of the Dawning Sun, something strange occurred.
The Arcane Sortilege of the Holy Tritan Alliance, forged under the banner of the three venerable churches, made a proclamation—a divination that reverberated across the realms.
He intoned, with a voice as ancient as time itself: "The moment of reckoning draws near. From the depths of the void, a demon god, with a quasi-soul, shall emerge in this very age—a dread not seen since the days of the First War. It is a curse unspoken, a shadow that shall even make the gods tremble in their eternal thrones."
In this age, when the veils between worlds had begun to thin, whispers of this omen spread like wildfire, unsettling even the mightiest of deities. They had never expected this day to come, where the balance of all things would be tested anew.
The words of the Arcane Sortilege reverberated throughout the realms, a prophecy too heavy for even time itself to erase.
The demon god, with a quasi-soul, emerged as the seer had foreseen. But this time, the world was not prepared.
As the prophecy of the Arcane Sortilege spread, panic surged across the realms. Cities and kingdoms braced for the demon god's arrival, while whispers of terror spread like a plague. Even deities couldn't quell the growing fear, as once-revered heroes faltered and alliances began to crumble. The world teetered on the edge, uncertain whether salvation or destruction would emerge from the void.