Chapter 2 : Beyond the tavern door
Meanwhile, in the Celestial Realms…
(AT THE RIFT)
The air around the rift shimmered with dark energy, like a wound in the fabric of reality. Its edges crackled, twisting space itself in a vortex of shadows and light. Standing at the edge of this rift was a figure of impossible grandeur—a supreme deity. His eyes were the color of molten gold, gleaming with ancient wisdom and a restrained, almost unfathomable power. Six wings unfurled behind him, each feather aglow with celestial light that pulsed with his heartbeat.
By his side rested two swords, each as awe-inspiring as the figure himself. One blade was forged from midnight, black with veins of deep, shimmering blue that seemed to drink in the light around it. The other was radiant, a yellowish-white blade that burned like a captured sun. Together, they symbolized the balance of creation and destruction he commanded. This was Lucien, Commander General of the celestial legions, a deity whose very presence shifted the air, bending it to his will.
He stood in silence, his gaze steady, looking into the swirling depths of the rift without a word. He seemed to be contemplating it, his expression calm but solemn, as if glimpsing something hidden beyond the dark veil.
A soft burst of light interrupted the silence, and another deity materialized nearby, his aura bright but less intense. The new deity's robes billowed with gentle light, and his eyes widened as they settled upon the figure before him.
"L-Lord Lucien!" he stammered, bowing deeply, clearly taken aback to find such a high-ranking deity in this desolate part of the realms. "I didn't expect to see you… here."
Lucien didn't turn; his gaze remained fixed on the rift, his golden eyes unreadable. Finally, after a long moment, he spoke, his voice low and resonant, a sound that carried the weight of centuries.
"Tell me, Eryndor," he said, his tone calm yet commanding, "what do you see when you look upon this?"
Eryndor hesitated, his eyes shifting uneasily to the rift. Its chaotic energy pulsed, exuding a feeling of darkness, of something ancient and hungry waiting beyond it. "I… I see a breach, my lord. The boundary between realms... thinning."
"Thinning," Lucien echoed, almost to himself. "The rift is weakening. Tartarus stirs, and with it, the demons held within."
Eryndor's expression tightened. "Then… the prophecy. It's true?"
Lucien's gaze sharpened, his eyes glinting with a hint of something fierce. "Yes. The time approaches, as foretold."
Eryndor swallowed, glancing warily from Lucien to the churning rift. "Then… do you plan to intervene, my lord? To lead the legions once more?"
For a moment, Lucien's expression softened, something almost wistful crossing his features. "The legions have fought for countless ages, Eryndor. But this battle… this war will demand something beyond what force alone can achieve."
"What do you mean?, are you saying there is something powerful more than the legion my lord?" Eryndor asked, his curiosity tempered with caution.
"Humans," Lucien replied, his gaze finally breaking from the rift as he turned toward his fellow deity. "It is humanity that must bear the weight of what is to come. They are fragile, yet they possess a strength we cannot understand from afar. And the prophecy… it speaks of one who will walk among them, who will be born of our flame and their flesh."
Eryndor's eyes widened. "You… You're speaking of a celestial reborn among mortals? But that would mean… abandoning—"
"I know what it means." Lucien's voice was firm, yet a note of sorrow lingered beneath it. "I am bound to this. To take on their form, to walk among them, stripped of what I am... it is the only way, and besides this is his wish."
Eryndor was silent, stunned. Finally, he managed, "You would give up everything, my lord. Your power, your place here…"
Lucien nodded, his gaze distant once more. "My power will be sealed. I will become one of them—Elias, they shall call me. A name, and little more. Yet, I will remember all that I am… all that I was." He paused, his expression a mix of sorrow and resolve. "The war that comes demands sacrifice. And so I will go."
Eryndor looked at Lucien with awe and fear. "But, Lord Lucien, what of the celestial realms? What of those who look to you? Without your light, how will we stand?"
Lucien placed a hand on Eryndor's shoulder, his expression unyielding yet kind. "I have led many battles, Eryndor, but some wars are not meant to be fought from above. They must be fought from within. Trust in the realms, as I trust in humanity."
"We go to speak with him now," Lucien said, his voice resolute. "If I am to descend, I will do so with his blessing. As a mortal, stripped of my divinity, I may yet find a way to restore it from within their world, to prevent the war."
Eryndor's expression softened as he began to understand. "You're prepared to lose everything—your power, your status—to shield them from what's coming?"
Lucien nodded, his gaze firm. "Power alone cannot shape their fate, Eryndor. There is a strength in humanity, in their perseverance and hope, that we have yet to grasp. If the prophecy is true, then I must walk among them, not as a god… but as a mortal."
After a moment of silence, Eryndor's face hardened with resolve. "Then we will go and face him together."
Lucien placed a hand on Eryndor's shoulder, a rare gesture of warmth. "Thank you, old friend. The journey is only beginning."
[Western Nation: Broken Mug tavern]
The tavern was alive with the usual evening clamor—rowdy laughs, clinking mugs, and the warm, comforting aroma of stews and bread. In a corner table sat Damon Voss, his arms crossed as he leaned back, a rare grin on his face as he listened to his three companions, Garrik and Liora, and ivor recounting the latest town gossip.
"...and get this," Liora was saying, smirking as she waved her mug around, "the innkeeper's daughter apparently threw the baker out of her window when he tried sneaking in at dawn. Poor guy didn't know where to put his pants."
Garrik roared with laughter, nearly knocking over his drink. "The baker! Again? That man's got no shame."
"Nor much luck, apparently," Damon added dryly, hiding a smirk behind his mug. "Only thing he's managed to 'knead' is trouble."
They all burst into laughter, and even a few nearby patrons chuckled, overhearing. Just as they were calming down, a young server approached their table, balancing a tray of drinks with a practiced ease. He had tousled dark hair and keen eyes that scanned them with a quiet, sharp intelligence.
"Here you go," he said, setting down fresh drinks with a faint smirk. He was young—no older than sixteen or seventeen—but his demeanor was oddly unruffled, unfazed by the ruckus around him.
"Thanks, kid," Damon said, nodding to him as he took his drink. But something about the kid's gaze made him pause. There was a glint in those eyes, a curiosity that lingered too long, as if he was interested in more than just getting paid for his work.
"Got a name, kid?" Garrik asked, raising a brow.
"Elias," the server replied. He adjusted the tray under his arm and shot them an amused glance. "You three seem to be having a good night."
"Oh, it's been a grand one," Liora said with a grin, gesturing for Elias to pull up a chair. "Join us for a moment, will you? Looks like you've got stories of your own."
Elias chuckled. "Stories? I'm just the guy who brings the ale."
Damon narrowed his eyes, studying him. "Just the guy who brings the ale, huh? You don't look like any tavern boy I've seen."
"Must be the dim lighting," Elias replied smoothly. "It's amazing what shadows can hide." He gave Damon a wry smile that was just cryptic enough to be intriguing.
Garrik laughed, taking a swig. "Cheeky one, aren't you? I like that."
Elias gave a modest shrug. "Can't be too careful. Especially in a place like this."
Damon's interest was piqued, and he leaned forward, giving Elias a shrewd look. "So tell me, Elias, why's a kid like you working in a tavern anyway? Not often you see someone your age handling drinks and dodging drunks like a pro."
Elias shrugged, brushing it off with a casual air. "Pays the bills, keeps me off the streets. Figured it was a good deal." He leaned in conspiratorially, lowering his voice, "Plus, you'd be amazed at what people talk about when they think no one's listening."
Liora grinned. "Ah, so you're one of those ears-to-the-ground types. I bet you know all the village secrets."
Elias put a finger to his lips, mock-serious. "Only the important ones."
As they laughed, Damon nudged Garrik with his elbow. "Watch out, Garrik. The kid's gonna take your job as our go-to gossip collector."
"Oh, please," Garrik retorted, feigning offense. "I am the most reliable source of information in this region, thank you very much."
"Reliable as a broken compass," Damon quipped, causing Garrik to scoff in mock indignation.
They bantered back and forth, Elias chuckling along with them, his easy humor matching their own. He poured them each another round, quick to fill their tankards, yet with a surprisingly attentive ear on their conversation.
Finally, as they settled down, Liora leaned back, sighing. "Well, you're right about one thing, kid. The shadows do hide a lot. Like this monster haunting the Old Briarwood."
The mood shifted slightly. Damon's face darkened, and he nodded. "We've heard rumors, but no one's got a clear idea of where it's nesting."
Elias leaned against the table, raising an eyebrow. "The Briarwood, huh? That's a tricky place. Things tend to go missing there...people included."
Garrik leaned forward, intrigued. "You sound like you know the area."
"I've heard stories," Elias replied, choosing his words carefully. "People talk in the tavern, remember?"
"Then maybe you could do more than just bring us drinks," Damon said, studying him. "You got any idea where this beast's holed up?"
Elias's eyes glinted with a hint of mystery. "Maybe. But it's not just about the location. It's about the timing. That thing's been moving every few days. Makes it hard to pin down."
Garrik frowned. "How would you know that?"
"Like I said," Elias replied, his voice calm, "people talk. And I listen."
Damon exchanged glances with Liora and Garrik. They were intrigued. This wasn't just a random tavern boy—this was someone who could be useful.
"All right, Elias," Damon said, nodding slowly. "You're coming with us. But no funny business. We're not babysitters."
Elias smirked. "Wouldn't dream of it."
And with that, their deal was struck.