The golden blade in Azarion's hand gleamed faintly, its weight far more balanced than the rusted weapon it had replaced. He could feel a faint hum of power coursing through it, a fragment of the strength he once commanded as a god. But it was only a fragment—small, fleeting, and fragile.
Sera stood a few paces away, her bow lowered but her expression wary. "You're not like anyone I've ever met," she said slowly. "That thing back there—whatever it was—you didn't just kill it. You… unraveled it."
Azarion looked at the blade, his grip tightening. "It wasn't alive. It was a construct, a remnant of something ancient. A shadow left behind to guard this place."
Sera frowned. "You talk about it like you've seen it before."
He hesitated, the words catching in his throat. How much should he reveal to her? She had proven herself a capable ally, but trust was not something he gave easily—not after what had been done to him.
Finally, he said, "I've seen things like it in the past. Long ago."
"Before you were exiled?"
The question hung in the air, sharp and probing. Azarion glanced at her, surprised by her intuition. She met his gaze evenly, waiting for an answer.
"Yes," he admitted after a moment. "Before I was cast down."
Sera's eyes widened, but she didn't press further. Instead, she gestured to the glowing runes etched into the temple walls. "So, what now? That thing was guarding something, wasn't it? Do you know what's inside?"
Azarion approached the archway, the blade in his hand dimming slightly as the energy in the temple settled. The air was thick with an ancient presence, heavy and oppressive. He placed his hand on the cool stone, the runes pulsing faintly beneath his touch.
"It's not just guarding," he said. "It's containing."
"Containing what?"
"Power," he said simply. "Power the gods sealed away long ago—power they didn't want anyone to have."
Sera let out a soft whistle. "And you think it's a good idea to go digging around in there?"
Azarion turned to her, his expression resolute. "If I'm going to face the ones who exiled me, I'll need every advantage I can find."
Without waiting for her response, he stepped through the archway and into the heart of the temple.
---
The interior of the temple was a vast chamber, the walls lined with intricate carvings that depicted battles between gods and monsters. A faint light emanated from the ceiling, illuminating the space in an ethereal glow. At the center of the room stood an altar, its surface etched with runes that seemed to shift and shimmer as Azarion approached.
Sera followed cautiously, her eyes darting around the chamber. "This place doesn't feel right," she muttered.
"It's not," Azarion said, his voice quiet. "It's a relic of the old world. A time when the gods ruled with absolute authority."
As he stepped closer to the altar, he felt the air grow heavier, pressing down on him like a tangible weight. The runes on the surface pulsed in time with his heartbeat, and he could feel the energy within them stirring, responding to his presence.
"What are you waiting for?" Sera asked, her voice tense.
Azarion placed his hand on the altar. The moment his skin touched the cold stone, a surge of energy shot through him, sharp and overwhelming. His vision blurred, and the chamber around him faded into darkness.
---
He stood in a vast void, endless and empty. Shadows twisted and writhed around him, forming vague shapes that whispered incomprehensible words.
Then, a voice boomed from the void, deep and commanding.
"Azarion, the fallen. Do you seek redemption or revenge?"
He clenched his fists, the blade still glowing faintly in his hand. "I seek what was taken from me."
The shadows shifted, coalescing into the form of a towering figure cloaked in golden light. Its features were indistinct, but its presence was unmistakably divine.
"You were cast down for your defiance. Do you think yourself worthy of reclaiming what you lost?"
"I don't care what the gods think," Azarion said, his voice steady. "I will take back what is mine, whether they deem me worthy or not."
The figure let out a low, rumbling laugh.
"Arrogance remains your greatest strength and your greatest weakness. Very well. If you wish to reclaim your power, you must face the trials. Prove that you are more than the shadow of what you once were."
Before Azarion could respond, the void shattered, and he was thrust back into the temple chamber.
---
He staggered, catching himself on the altar as the vision faded. His breathing was ragged, his body trembling from the strain.
"What happened?" Sera asked, her voice sharp with concern.
Azarion straightened, the faint glow of the altar fading as he withdrew his hand. "A warning," he said. "And a challenge."
Sera raised an eyebrow. "A challenge?"
He nodded, his expression grim. "The gods won't let me reclaim my power so easily. There are trials I'll have to face—tests to prove my worth."
"And if you fail?"
Azarion's grip on the blade tightened. "Then I'll die trying."
Sera studied him for a moment, then sighed. "You really are insane."
"Perhaps," he said, turning toward the exit. "But I won't stop."
As they stepped out of the temple and into the wasteland once more, Azarion couldn't shake the feeling that the true challenges had only just begun.