Zaryth floated in an endless void, weightless and cold. Darkness wrapped around him, and for a moment, he wondered if he had died. The silence was suffocating, as though time itself had stopped within the void. But then, the stillness gave way, and a vision began to take form.
He found himself in a familiar memory—not just a dream, but a fragment from his childhood. He was standing in a sunny field, a younger Mavuika beside him, her hair wild and her cheeks flushed with determination.
"Zaryth, don't focus on what they say," the child Mavuika said, pouting with fierce resolve. "When I grow older, I'll become an Archon. And I'll protect you from everything!"
Her words felt distant but warm, the memory brushing against his heart like a breeze from long ago.
Suddenly, the vision fractured. A loud crack echoed through the dreamscape, and the warm sunlight shattered into jagged fragments, plunging Zaryth back into the cold, silent void.
Floating helplessly in the emptiness, Zaryth thought, Is this death? He tried to move, but his body felt like it belonged to someone else.
Then, a strange force began to pull him out of the darkness, dragging him away from the void. In an instant, the world around him twisted, and he found himself standing in a familiar place—an ancient, ethereal hall filled with massive clocks, each one ticking loudly. Their hands moved in perfect synchronicity, yet each tick seemed to echo across dimensions, carrying with it the weight of countless timelines.
Zaryth knew this place. He had seen it before—these ancient clocks marked the flow of time itself.
A chill ran down his spine as the scene shifted. His lips moved on their own, as if possessed by another will, and the voice that came out wasn't his own but carried a weight of ancient authority.
"You dare go against the greatest Archon?" Zaryth said, though he had no control over his words.
From within the mist, a shadowy figure spoke. "This is the fate Olympus has decided for you." It was the same dream as before.
Before Zaryth could react or comprehend the meaning behind those words, his body acted again, faster than thought. His hand flicked forward, and in a mere fraction of a second, the figure in front of him fell—lifeless, with a gaping wound that hadn't even been visible before it killed him.
The voice spoke again through Zaryth's lips, cold and remorseless. "Then it looks like I will kill them all. There will be a massacre."
And with that, the vision shattered.
---
Zaryth's eyes opened slowly, his mind disoriented as the dream slipped from his grasp like sand through his fingers. He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling with effort, still unsure if what he saw had been a vision, a memory, or something else entirely.
The room around him was unfamiliar—a grand, royal palace adorned with intricate carvings, marble pillars, and golden tapestries. Light spilled in through stained glass windows, casting vibrant colors across the walls.
Zaryth tried to sit up, his muscles still weak, but his senses were sharp enough to notice the overwhelming presence surrounding him. On either side of him stood men and women—each one exuding an aura of power. Their presence weighed heavily in the room, like the pressure before a storm.
Directly in front of him, at the far end of the chamber, was a grand throne. On it sat a woman with long, flowing silver hair and striking purple eyes. Her beauty was breathtaking, but there was a coldness in her gaze—something ancient and untouchable. She looked down at Zaryth with an expression that was neither welcoming nor hostile, merely observant.
Zaryth's mind raced as he tried to piece together what was happening. His last memory was of the confrontation with Jhara, the coin, and the strange man who had saved him. And now, here he was, in a place he did not recognize.
The woman on the throne leaned slightly forward, her gaze sharpening.
"So," she said in a voice that was calm but carried immense authority, "you have arrived at last."
Zaryth stared at her, his heart pounding in his chest as the gravity of the situation began to settle in. Where am I? And... who is she?
Zaryth clenched his fists, still reeling from everything he had experienced, as he took in the grand hall before him. His gaze locked onto the woman sitting on the throne. His heart pounded with questions, so he dared to ask the one on his mind.
"Who are you? Where am I?" Zaryth's voice was cold but steady, concealing his confusion.
One of the men standing by the throne scowled at his tone. "You dare speak like that to Her Majesty?" he barked, his voice laced with outrage.
The woman on the throne turned to the man, her expression darkening with annoyance. "Show him the respect he deserves—on par with me," she said icily. "Unless, of course, you want to die."
A heavy silence fell over the room as the man paled, immediately lowering his head in fear. The other men and women shifted uncomfortably but did not speak.
The woman's stern expression softened as she turned back to Zaryth. "Please, come closer, son," she said warmly, as if trying to put him at ease.
Zaryth remained on guard, his muscles tense. "First, tell me who you are."
The tension in the room grew, and the others watching bristled with irritation at Zaryth's defiance. But before Zaryth could react further, he suddenly vanished from where he stood—and reappeared right in front of the woman.
Her hand rose gently, brushing against Zaryth's cheek in a way that felt both affectionate and familiar. "Welcome, Zaryth, to the family of Chronos," she said softly.
Zaryth's breath hitched at the mention of the name. Chronos? It was the same name tied to ancient myths, the one linked to the legendary archon, Aneomith. His mind raced, struggling to make sense of everything.
The woman smiled warmly. "You've heard of Aneomith, haven't you?"
Zaryth nodded, though confusion still clouded his features. "Yes... I know of him."
"That's right," the woman continued. "I am the one who now sits on his throne. I am his granddaughter, Arkania Chronos."
Zaryth's mind swirled with disbelief. The granddaughter of Aneomith? The legendary archon of time and space, whose essence had lived on through the relics—his bloodline still existed. And now, somehow, Zaryth stood before its current heir.
Arkania could see the confusion in his eyes and gave him a reassuring smile. "You must be exhausted," she said. "The butler I've assigned to you will show you to your room and around the castle. You'll begin your training tomorrow."
Zaryth stiffened at her words. "Training? Why? Why are you being so kind to me? Why would you help me—and how do you even know who I am?"
Arkania chuckled softly, her voice light but knowing. "How could I not know about my own grandson?"
Zaryth's heart skipped a beat. His eyes widened in shock, and he took an unconscious step back. "Grandson?" he whispered, his voice almost inaudible.
Arkania's gaze held steady, filled with a mixture of pride and affection. "Yes, Zaryth. You are part of this family, part of the legacy of Chronos."
Zaryth's mind reeled. He felt like the floor beneath him was slipping away. Grandson? The revelation hit him like a tidal wave, breaking down all the walls he had built around himself. It made no sense—how could he, Zaryth Silverlight, be connected to such an ancient and powerful lineage?
His emotions were a tangled mess of confusion, frustration, and a strange sense of belonging he couldn't quite explain. "Then… what am I supposed to call you?" Zaryth asked cautiously. "Majesty? Lady? Or…"
Arkania's laughter was warm and genuine, filling the grand hall like a gentle breeze. "It would be better if you just called me grandmother," she said, her eyes glimmering with amusement.
Zaryth hesitated for a moment. His pride told him to resist, but something deep inside him—something that longed for connection—won over. Slowly, he nodded.
"Grandmother…" he whispered under his breath.
Arkania's eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering across her face. She hadn't expected him to accept so easily, given how guarded and cold he seemed. But the real surprise came when Zaryth's cheeks flushed a soft red, and he added quietly, "I'm feeling… dizzy, grandma."
For the first time in what felt like ages, Arkania's poised demeanor cracked. A soft flush spread across her cheeks at the unexpected sweetness in Zaryth's voice. Her heart softened in a way she hadn't anticipated.
The guards and attendants around the hall stared in shock. Arkania herself blinked, stunned. She hadn't thought Zaryth would call her "grandma" so naturally—and with such a tender tone.
Zaryth swayed slightly on his feet, exhaustion catching up with him as his body begged for rest. But before he could fall, Arkania caught him, her expression softening into one of genuine affection.
"Rest now, Zaryth," she whispered gently, brushing his hair back. "You have a long journey ahead of you, but you are not alone."
And with that, Zaryth closed his eyes, feeling safe for the first time in what seemed like an eternity.