REVAMP***
The fluorescent lights above flickered faintly, casting a dim, sterile glow over the hospital room. An elderly man lay in the center of it all, his frail frame rising and falling with shallow breaths. His face, lined with the marks of a life fully lived, was calm. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor filled the air, a gentle metronome counting down the moments that remained.
By his side, Caroline, his only daughter, clung to his hand as though holding him tethered to the world. Her emerald eyes, mirrors of his own, brimmed with tears. Beside her stood her two children, shifting nervously as they clutched one another for comfort. The room was heavy with the kind of silence that words dared not break.
He opened his eyes slowly, the smallest of smiles playing on his lips. "Caroline," he said, his voice soft and weathered. "Why are you crying again? I thought we agreed—no tears today."
Her grip tightened on his hand. "Dad, please don't," she whispered, her voice shaking. "You can't just... give up. There has to be something more we can do."
The man's smile deepened, though his gaze held a quiet resignation. "You've already done everything, my girl," he said gently. "More than anyone could ask for. You gave me a life worth living, even when it felt like the world had taken everything else."
Caroline shook her head, her tears falling freely now. "It wasn't enough. I should have done more—found something, tried harder. I can't lose you too." Her voice cracked, the weight of those final words pressing down on her chest like a stone.
His gaze softened. "Listen to me," he said, his tone steady despite the frailty in his voice. "You've done more than enough. When your mother passed, I thought I'd never smile again. And then you... you reminded me what it meant to live. When my friends left one by one, you and those little ones gave me purpose." His eyes flicked to his grandchildren, who stood silently, their young faces etched with confusion and worry.
The boy stepped closer, holding up a crumpled piece of paper. "Grandpa," he said softly, "I made this for you."
The old man took it with trembling fingers, unfolding it carefully. It was a drawing—a stick figure family beneath a bright yellow sun. His heart swelled as he studied it, as though it were the finest masterpiece ever created. "Well, now," he murmured, his smile spreading. "This is a treasure. Thank you, little one."
The girl climbed onto the bed, curling into his side. "Grandpa, are you going to get better?" she asked, her voice small and hesitant.
He brushed her hair with his hand, the gesture both soothing and sorrowful. "No, sweetheart," he said quietly. "But that's okay. Sometimes, when people have done all they can, they need to rest. And it's my time to rest now."
Caroline's shoulders shook as she buried her face in her hands. "I don't know how to do this without you," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
"You don't have to do it without me," he replied. "I'll be with you—always. You'll feel it, every time you see those two smiling faces." He gestured to the children. "And when they laugh, when they run, when they grow... you'll hear me there."
The beeping of the heart monitor slowed, each pause between beats growing longer. His breathing grew shallow, his chest barely rising. Yet his gaze remained steady, fixed on Caroline's tear-streaked face.
"Live well, my girl," he murmured. "That's all I ask."
The monitor gave one final, piercing tone before falling silent.
Caroline froze, her breath catching in her throat. The nurses entered quietly, their movements efficient but respectful. One gently placed a hand on her shoulder, but she didn't move. She stayed by his side, her hands trembling as she clung to the warmth that was already beginning to fade.
Her son tugged at her sleeve, his voice barely above a whisper. "Mommy... where did Grandpa go?"
Caroline blinked, her vision blurred with tears. She pulled both children into her arms, holding them close as she tried to find the words. "He's gone somewhere beautiful," she said finally, her voice steadying as she spoke. "Somewhere peaceful."
---
The air was different.
Gone was the sterile scent of the hospital, replaced by something far more serene—the crisp aroma of grass after rain, mingled with the faint sweetness of blooming flowers. He opened his eyes to find himself standing in a vast field, its rolling expanse painted in hues of gold and green. Above him, the sky shimmered with an otherworldly brilliance, colors swirling and dancing like brushstrokes on an infinite canvas.
He stood tall, his body no longer frail but strong and youthful. His hands, once trembling with age, were steady and firm. He flexed his fingers, marveling at the simple act of movement.
"What is this place?" he murmured, his voice clear and rich, free of the rasp that had plagued him for years.
Ahead, a gentle hill rose from the sea of grass, crowned by a lone tree with branches that stretched wide like welcoming arms. Its golden leaves shimmered in the ethereal light, casting dappled shadows on the ground below. Drawn to it, he began to walk, his steps light and sure.
At the base of the tree sat a figure, his long white hair and beard flowing like rivers of silver. He was dressed in simple yet elegant robes that seemed to catch the light, refracting it in subtle hues. His eyes, sharp and ancient, watched the horizon as though contemplating the secrets of eternity.
The old man approached cautiously, his brow furrowed. "Excuse me," he said, his voice tentative. "Am I... dead?"
The figure turned, a smile creasing his weathered face. "Ah, so you've arrived," he said warmly. "I was beginning to wonder when you'd make it."
The old man hesitated, his confusion evident. "Where am I? Is this... Heaven?"
The figure chuckled, the sound deep and resonant. "Not quite. This is a place between places—a crossroads, if you will. Sit with me. We have much to discuss."
Still wary, the old man lowered himself to the ground, the grass soft beneath him. "Who are you?" he asked. "God?"
The figure's smile deepened, his gaze twinkling with amusement. "You may call me that if it suits you. I have many names, but none are as important as the reason you're here."
"And what reason is that?" the old man pressed.
The figure gestured to the vast expanse before them, his movements slow and deliberate. "Tell me," he said, his tone thoughtful. "What do you think is the greatest enemy of any immortal being?"
The question caught him off guard. He frowned, considering. "Death?" he guessed.
The figure laughed, the sound like the rustling of leaves. "No, my child. Not death. Boredom."
"Boredom?" The old man stared at him, incredulous.
"Yes. And that is why you are here." The figure turned to face him fully, his expression softening. "I have chosen you, not for what you were, but for what you might become. You've given all you had in your last life. Now, I offer you another—a chance to live a story worthy of telling."
The old man's heart quickened. "A second chance?" he whispered.
The figure nodded. "Three wishes. Choose wisely."
The old man sat beneath the shimmering tree, the golden leaves above him rustling faintly in a breeze that seemed to come from nowhere. He studied the figure before him, his sharp eyes narrowing with a mix of suspicion and wonder. "You're serious?" he asked. "You're offering me a second life?"
The figure, who had introduced himself only as "God," smiled patiently. "Serious as the cosmos, my child. You've spent your first life giving all that you could to others. Now, I'm giving you the chance to live again—on your terms."
The old man hesitated, his thoughts racing. He looked down at his hands, flexing them once more. The strength in them was almost alien after years of frailty. His mind wandered back to his daughter, to his grandchildren. He had left them behind, and yet... here he was, offered a new path.
"Why me?" he asked quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm not special. I'm no hero. I'm just a man who tried to do right by his family."
"That is precisely why I chose you," God replied. "You see, immortality and omnipotence have their downsides. Boredom creeps in when the universe has no surprises left. I've seen stories like yours—ordinary people thrust into extraordinary circumstances. Watching them unfold brings meaning even to beings like me."
The old man laughed dryly, shaking his head. "You're saying I'm here to entertain you?"
"Not entertain," God said, his voice softening. "Inspire."
The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. The old man leaned back against the tree, staring up at the swirling sky. "Alright," he said finally, his tone resigned but curious. "You mentioned three wishes. What's the catch?"
"There is no catch," God replied, folding his hands neatly in his lap. "But I will warn you—your choices will shape the world you're about to enter. Choose wisely, and your path may be one of triumph and discovery. Choose poorly, and it may end in ruin."
The old man nodded slowly, his mind already turning over possibilities. "And what kind of world am I going to?"
"A world of conflict and wonder," God answered, his eyes twinkling. "A place where humanity stands on the brink of collapse, and hope flickers like a dying flame. You will find yourself in a land both familiar and alien, shaped by echoes of the life you once knew. But you won't be alone. Your choices will guide you."
The old man fell silent, his gaze distant as he considered his options. After what felt like an eternity, he drew a deep breath and spoke. "Alright. I've made my first wish."
God leaned forward slightly, his expression one of quiet encouragement. "Go on."
"I wish to be reincarnated with the physiology and soul of Sanguinius," the old man said, his voice steady. "I want to embody his strength, his grace, and his ability to inspire."
God's smile widened, a glimmer of approval in his eyes. "An excellent choice. Sanguinius—the Angel, the Primarch of light and sacrifice. Very well. I will grant you his essence, but with some adjustments. Your growth will mirror that of an ordinary human, allowing you to discover your potential naturally. And as a small bonus, I'll grant you six wings instead of two. A true seraphic form."
The old man blinked, startled by the generosity of the offer. "Six wings?" he repeated, his lips quirking into a faint smile. "That's... more than I expected."
"Consider it a gesture of good faith," God replied, his tone light. "And your second wish?"
The old man hesitated, the weight of the decision pressing down on him. After a moment, he nodded to himself. "For my second wish, I want the technological knowledge of Malcador the Sigillite—every bit of it. And his psychic powers."
God raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "An ambitious request. But I can see why you'd ask for it. Very well. You will gain the knowledge of the STC—Standard Template Constructs—but not all at once. Fragments will come to you over time, piece by piece. As for Malcador's psychic powers, they will be intertwined with your soul, growing as you grow."
The old man exhaled slowly, the enormity of his wishes sinking in. "Thank you," he said softly. "For giving me this chance."
God inclined his head, his expression kind. "You've chosen well so far. Now, your final wish."
The old man paused, his thoughts turning once more to his family. His voice wavered as he spoke. "For my third wish... I want the souls of my wife and my two best friends to join me. Not reincarnated with me, but... just their souls, safe and whole."
God's gaze softened, and he nodded. "You are a selfless man, even in this. Very well. Their souls will be bound to yours, connected across lifetimes. You'll find their presence comforting, even in the darkest moments."
The old man's chest tightened, tears welling in his eyes. "Thank you," he said, his voice trembling. "Thank you so much."
God smiled gently, extending his hand. Three golden orbs appeared, floating above his palm like tiny suns. "Here are the souls you requested. I've restored their memories as well. They will remember you, just as you will remember them."
The old man reached out, his hand trembling as he touched the orbs. A warm, radiant energy coursed through him, filling him with a sense of completeness he hadn't felt in decades.
"Now," God said, rising to his feet. "It's time for your journey to begin."
Before the old man could respond, a swirling portal of light appeared behind him, its brilliance illuminating the field. He turned to look at God one last time.
"I won't forget this," he said firmly.
God chuckled, his voice resonating like distant thunder. "I'm counting on it."
The old man stepped into the portal, the light enveloping him completely. As he disappeared into the void, God sat back beneath the tree, a faint smile on his lips.
"Let's see what you make of this life, my child."
The sky above Terra was an endless expanse of gray, heavy with clouds that never brought rain. The land below was harsher still—a cracked, desolate wasteland where life clung to existence with a tenacity born of desperation. Most of the planet's surface was sand and rock, punctuated by jagged ruins from a forgotten age. What little greenery remained was hidden in pockets, protected by those who depended on it for survival.
Near the edge of the Great Forest, a sprawling expanse of ancient trees defying the barren landscape, lay the village of Arkaneth. Its wooden walls, reinforced with scavenged metals, rose high against the desert wind. Smoke curled from chimneys, and the sounds of daily life—hammers striking iron, children's laughter, and traders shouting their wares—filled the air. For centuries, the village had stood as a bastion of life, defying the relentless decay of Terra.
But today, the sky itself seemed to tremble.
High above the village, a golden streak blazed across the heavens, splitting the gloom with a brilliance unseen for generations. The villagers stopped in their tracks, shielding their eyes as the light cut through the clouds. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as every man, woman, and child gazed skyward in awe and fear.
In the council chamber, Thalrik Orenda, the village chieftain, stood at the center of a heated debate. His broad shoulders and weathered face bore the weight of years of leadership. The council members, seated around the circular stone table, were locked in an argument about the village's dwindling resources when the golden light burst through the high window, bathing the room in an unearthly glow.
"What in the name of the Divinitarch...?" Thalrik murmured, his voice trailing off as he moved to the window. He stared at the streak of light as it arced across the sky, its tail shimmering with radiant hues.
Kaelith, the scholar, rose from his seat, his frail form trembling with excitement. "This... this is no ordinary phenomenon!" he exclaimed. "It's a sign! A celestial event foretold in the ancient texts!"
"Spare us your riddles, Kaelith," grumbled Dagrim, the burly warrior-turned-strategist. His mechanical arm whirred faintly as he crossed his arms. "Whatever it is, it's heading straight for the forest. We need to send a patrol to investigate."
Thalrik nodded, his green eyes narrowing with determination. "Agreed. Assemble the warriors. Vesimir, you're with me."
At the forest's edge, the air crackled with residual energy. The golden streak had disappeared, but its impact was clear—a massive crater carved into the earth, its edges still smoldering. Smoke and heat radiated from the ground, warping the air. Around the crater, the trees bore scorch marks, their leaves blackened as though by divine fire.
Thalrik and his men approached cautiously, their weapons at the ready. Vesimir led the way, his sharp eyes scanning the shadows for movement. The tension among the warriors was palpable, their breaths shallow as they drew closer.
"What could've caused this?" one of the men muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Quiet," Vesimir hissed. "Stay alert."
When they reached the crater's edge, Thalrik held up a hand, signaling the group to stop. The ground beneath them was unstable, and the heat rising from the impact site was almost unbearable. Peering into the crater, Thalrik's breath caught in his throat.
At its center, curled in a fetal position, was a child.
The boy's golden hair shimmered like sunlight, and six small, delicate wings protruded from his back, each feather glowing faintly as though touched by divinity. His skin was smooth and unblemished, and his tiny form seemed impossibly serene amidst the chaos of his arrival. Around him, the earth pulsed faintly with a golden light, as if the land itself recognized his presence.
"By the gods..." Vesimir whispered, his voice trembling. "Is that...?"
"It's him," Thalrik said, his tone both reverent and uncertain. "The angel Valaith spoke of. The one from her vision."
The warriors exchanged uneasy glances. Some dropped to their knees, bowing their heads in prayer, while others stared in stunned silence.
"What do we do, Chief?" Vesimir asked finally, his voice tinged with awe.
Thalrik hesitated, the weight of the moment pressing heavily on his shoulders. He had seen miracles before—small blessings that defied explanation—but this was something entirely different. This was prophecy made flesh.
"Vesimir," he said, his voice firm. "Wrap him carefully. We're taking him back to the village."
"Yes, sir," Vesimir replied, pulling a clean cloth from his pack. He approached the boy slowly, as though afraid to disturb the divine light that surrounded him. With careful hands, he swaddled the child, his movements gentle and deliberate.
As Vesimir lifted the boy from the ground, the golden light began to fade, leaving behind only the faint warmth of the crater. The warriors stood in silent formation, their gazes fixed on the infant as Vesimir carried him toward Thalrik.
"We need to move," Thalrik said, his tone urgent. "The beasts will sense this. They'll come for him."
The men nodded, their expressions grim. The Great Forest was home to creatures that defied logic—beasts shaped by the remnants of Terra's lost wars. The golden light of the child's arrival would have drawn them like moths to a flame.
The group moved quickly, their boots crunching against the scorched earth. As they reached the forest's edge, a low growl echoed through the trees. Thalrik spun, his spear at the ready, as shadows moved between the trunks.
"Sabretooths," he growled, his voice a low warning. "Form a circle. Protect the child."
The warriors moved as one, forming a tight defensive line with Vesimir and the boy at the center. The growls grew louder, and moments later, the first beast emerged—a massive feline with fangs as long as a man's arm. Its eyes glowed faintly, its sleek black fur rippling as it prowled forward.
"Here they come!" one of the warriors shouted.
The forest erupted into chaos. More sabretooths appeared, their powerful forms darting between the trees as they closed in on the group. The warriors fought fiercely, their weapons flashing in the dim light. Plasma bolts lit up the shadows, cutting through the beasts with deadly precision, but for every sabretooth that fell, another seemed to take its place.
Thalrik's spear struck true, piercing the heart of one beast before he spun to face another. "Hold the line!" he shouted. "Vesimir, get the boy out of here!"
Vesimir hesitated, his gaze flickering between Thalrik and the child in his arms. Before he could act, the ground beneath them began to glow.
"What's happening?" one of the warriors shouted, his voice panicked.
The golden light returned, brighter and more intense than before. It radiated from the child, enveloping the group in a protective sphere. The sabretooths froze, their growls silenced as they retreated into the shadows, seemingly repelled by the light.
Thalrik shielded his eyes as the light grew blinding, and then, just as suddenly as it appeared, it vanished.
When the warriors opened their eyes, they were no longer in the forest. They stood at the center of the village square, the boy still cradled in Vesimir's arms.
Gasps and murmurs spread through the gathered villagers as they realized what had happened. The council elders rushed forward, their faces a mix of awe and disbelief.
"What is this?" Kaelith whispered, his voice trembling. "What power...?"
Thalrik stepped forward, his spear planted firmly in the ground. "This child," he said, his voice steady but heavy with meaning, "is the angel we've been waiting for. He saved us. He brought us home."
The villagers fell to their knees, their heads bowed in reverence. "The Divinitarch has answered our prayers!" one cried. "Our savior is here!"
As the villagers erupted into prayer, Thalrik looked to Valaith, who had emerged from the crowd. She approached slowly, her eyes locked on the child. When Vesimir placed the boy in her arms, tears streamed down her face.
"He's here," she whispered. "The angel has come."
The child opened his eyes briefly, golden irises meeting hers before he drifted back into peaceful sleep.
The council chamber of Arkaneth was a room of stark practicality. Its circular design allowed for every voice to carry, ensuring that no member could hide from the weight of their words. A single, high window let in the pale morning light, casting elongated shadows over the large stone table carved with ancient runes. Around the table sat the five elders of the village, their faces etched with age, wisdom, and the strain of recent events.
Thalrik Orenda, the village chieftain, stood at the head of the table. His hands rested on the smooth surface, his green eyes scanning the faces of the elders gathered before him. Despite his broad shoulders and commanding presence, there was an unmistakable weariness about him. The events of the previous night weighed heavily on his mind, though he kept his voice steady as he spoke.
"Brothers and sisters," Thalrik began, his tone firm, "what we witnessed last night was nothing short of a miracle. The boy—this angel—saved us. He brought us back to the village unharmed, using a power we don't understand. We owe him our lives."
A ripple of murmurs spread through the chamber. Some nodded in agreement, while others exchanged uneasy glances. Elder Kaelith, the scholar, leaned forward, his piercing blue eyes alight with curiosity.
"Miracle or not," Kaelith said, his voice measured, "this event must be documented. The golden light, the teleportation, the child's celestial appearance—it all aligns with the prophecies in the Lumina Scriptura. This boy may very well be the Savior foretold by the Divinitarch."
Across the table, Elder Dagrim scoffed audibly. The burly warrior, his mechanical arm glinting faintly in the light, crossed his arms over his broad chest. "Prophecies," he muttered, his deep voice tinged with skepticism. "Kaelith, you've been chasing shadows in old books for decades. This isn't divine intervention. It's a threat."
Kaelith arched an eyebrow. "A threat? The boy saved the chief and his men. Without him, they'd be dead, and we'd be mourning their loss instead of debating his purpose."
Dagrim's eyes narrowed, his tone growing sharper. "And what happens when the Order of Burning Light hears about this 'angel'? Do you think they'll let us keep him? The moment they find out, they'll march into Arkaneth and take him by force—or burn the village to the ground for harboring him."
A tense silence fell over the room. The Order's name was one that inspired fear even among the most resilient of Terra's people. Their zealotry and psychic power made them a force to be reckoned with, and their belief in the Savior's prophecy only heightened the stakes.
Elder Lysara, the advocate, broke the silence. Her sharp, dark eyes darted between Dagrim and Kaelith as she spoke. "You assume too much, Dagrim. The Order may not even know he exists yet. And even if they do, we have time to prepare. What you suggest—handing him over without question—is cowardice, not caution."
Dagrim's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Lysara pressed on, her voice rising with conviction. "This boy, whoever or whatever he is, has given the villagers something they haven't had in years—hope. You saw their faces this morning. They believe he's a blessing, a sign that the Divinitarch hasn't abandoned us. Do you really want to take that away from them?"
Thalrik raised a hand, cutting off the brewing argument. "Enough," he said firmly. "This isn't about what we want. It's about what's best for the village."
Kaelith nodded thoughtfully. "Then we must ask ourselves: what does the boy represent? Is he a savior, as the prophecy suggests, or something else entirely? His power... it's unlike anything we've seen before. Even the Order's psychers couldn't do what he did last night."
Dagrim leaned forward, his voice low but commanding. "That's exactly the problem, Kaelith. We don't know what he's capable of—or what he might attract. The beasts were drawn to him once. What's to stop it from happening again?"
Lysara shot him a sharp look. "And what's to stop the Order from finding him if we send him away? At least here, we can protect him. We can decide his fate."
Elder Kaelith interjected, his tone conciliatory. "Perhaps there's a middle ground. We keep the boy hidden, study his abilities, and prepare for any threats that may come our way. If the Order does learn of him, we'll face that challenge when it comes."
Thalrik straightened, his gaze sweeping over the room. "Kaelith is right. For now, we keep the boy safe and hidden. Dagrim, double the patrols at the perimeter. Vesimir will oversee the warriors. Lysara, I need you to speak with the villagers—calm their fears and reinforce their hope. Kaelith, begin documenting everything you can about the boy. His abilities, his origins—anything that might help us understand him."
The elders exchanged glances, some nodding reluctantly, others resolutely. Dagrim's expression remained grim, but he inclined his head in agreement.
"What about the boy himself?" Kaelith asked after a pause. "Who will care for him?"
Thalrik's expression softened as he glanced at Valaith, who sat quietly at the far end of the table, cradling the sleeping child in her arms. Her face was a mixture of tenderness and determination, her emerald eyes fixed on the boy as though he were her own.
"I will," Valaith said, her voice steady. "He belongs with us now."
The elders fell silent, the weight of her words settling over the chamber like a heavy blanket. Finally, Thalrik spoke, his voice filled with quiet resolve.
"Then it's decided. The boy stays. We prepare for the challenges ahead. And we protect him—no matter the cost."
---
Outside the council chamber, the village of Arkaneth hummed with quiet activity. Word of the angelic child had spread like wildfire, and while some whispered in hushed tones, others gathered in groups, their voices filled with awe and speculation.
At the edge of the central square, near the ancient shrine dedicated to the Divinitarch, a small crowd had formed. Villagers knelt in prayer, their hands clasped tightly as they murmured fervent blessings. The statue of the Light Eternal, though weathered and cracked, seemed to radiate a faint warmth in the presence of their faith.
Nearby, a young mother cradled her infant as she spoke to an elder. "The angel's arrival is a sign," she said, her voice trembling with emotion. "The Divinitarch has not forsaken us. He has sent his light to guide us."
An older man, leaning heavily on his cane, shook his head. "Or to test us," he muttered. "The light can blind as easily as it can guide."
Despite the murmurs of doubt, the village pulsed with an undercurrent of hope. For the first time in years, the people of Arkaneth dared to believe that salvation might be possible.
---
Valaith sat on the edge of her bed, the boy nestled in her arms. He had been quiet since his arrival, his golden eyes opening only briefly before drifting shut once more. She studied his face, her fingers gently brushing a strand of golden hair from his forehead.
"You've changed everything," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "And we've barely begun to understand you."
From the doorway, Serenya peeked in, her wide eyes filled with curiosity. "Mama, can I hold him?" she asked softly.
Valaith smiled, motioning for her daughter to come closer. "Be gentle," she said as Serenya climbed onto the bed.
The girl cradled the boy carefully, her small hands trembling with excitement. "He's so warm," she said, her voice filled with wonder. "Like sunlight."
Valaith watched them silently, a mix of hope and trepidation swirling in her chest. The boy was a gift, but he was also a mystery—a force that had the power to save or destroy. Only time would reveal which path he would take.
The Basilica Solaris, the grand heart of the Ordo Lucis Ardentis, loomed like a monument to the gods themselves. Its towering spires, gilded with golden inlays and adorned with radiant symbols of the Light Eternal, stretched toward the heavens, piercing the perpetual gray skies of Terra. Beneath its domes, the faithful gathered in solemn prayer, their voices harmonizing in an ethereal hymn that echoed through the cavernous halls.
At the center of the sanctum, bathed in the soft glow of golden light, stood Pope Aurelius Solis. Clad in robes of white and gold, he exuded an aura of calm authority. Before him, the Solar Concord shimmered—a vast circular disk etched with ancient celestial runes, pulsing faintly with divine energy. Aurelius had spent the past hour in quiet meditation, his fingers tracing the runes as he sought guidance from the Divinitarch.
The vision had come suddenly, a flash of brilliance that pierced his mind like sunlight breaking through a storm. A comet, golden and radiant, streaked across the heavens, its light illuminating the darkness of the world. Beneath it, a figure stood—a boy with six shining wings, his golden eyes burning with otherworldly power.
Aurelius opened his eyes, his breath steady despite the weight of what he had seen. The prophecy was unfolding. The Savior had arrived.
He turned to the attendants gathered nearby, their heads bowed in reverence. "Summon High Priestess Elethia Luxora," he commanded, his voice calm but firm. "And bring Captain Teryn Vestra of the Custodes Flammae. The time has come to act."
The attendants hurried to obey, their footsteps echoing through the marble corridors as they left to carry out his orders.
---
High Priestess Elethia Luxora knelt in silent prayer, her silver hair cascading down her back like a waterfall of light. Around her, the soft glow of stained-glass windows painted the chapel in hues of gold and crimson, casting her elegant robes in shifting patterns of radiance. Her amber eyes remained closed as she murmured a hymn to the Light Eternal, her voice low and steady.
Behind her stood Captain Teryn Vestra, a figure of strength and discipline. Her bronze armor gleamed in the filtered light, and the twin plasma blades strapped to her back hummed faintly, a testament to her readiness. Her dark eyes scanned the room, ever vigilant, as she waited for the High Priestess to finish her prayers.
The soft creak of the chapel doors broke the silence. An attendant entered, bowing deeply. "High Priestess Elethia," he said, his voice hushed. "His Holiness summons you. The Savior's arrival has been divined."
Elethia's eyes snapped open, her expression alight with fervor. She rose gracefully, her hands clasping a golden amulet around her neck. "At last," she whispered. "The prophecy begins."
She turned to Teryn, her voice trembling with conviction. "Captain Vestra, the Savior has come. The Divinitarch's will must be fulfilled."
Teryn's expression remained stoic, but a faint flicker of unease crossed her eyes. "If the Savior has arrived, there will be those who seek to harm him," she said. "We must act swiftly."
Elethia nodded. "Come. His Holiness awaits."
---
When Elethia and Teryn entered the Sanctum Solaris, they found Pope Aurelius standing before the Solar Concord, his hands resting on the ancient artifact as its light pulsed rhythmically. He turned to greet them, his golden eyes calm yet piercing.
"High Priestess Elethia, Captain Vestra," Aurelius said, his voice resonating through the chamber. "The comet has blazed across the heavens. The Savior's arrival is no longer a matter of prophecy—it is reality."
Elethia knelt, her expression one of reverent awe. "Praise be to the Light Eternal," she intoned. "The Savior has come to cleanse this world of its darkness."
Aurelius raised a hand, bidding her to rise. "Indeed, but we must tread carefully. The child is young, untested. The dangers he will face are numerous, and his enemies will not wait for him to grow strong. We must find him and bring him into the fold."
Teryn stepped forward, her tone measured but firm. "Your Holiness, allow me to lead the Custodes Flammae. We will find the boy and ensure his safety. No harm will come to him under our protection."
Aurelius nodded approvingly. "You will have my blessing, Captain. But remember: the Savior is not just a child. He is a symbol, a beacon for all who walk in the Light. His power must be nurtured, his faith secured."
Elethia placed a hand over her heart. "We will guide him, Your Holiness. The Light Eternal has chosen him for this purpose. He will become the salvation we have long awaited."
"Good," Aurelius said, his gaze steady. "Then you leave at dawn. Elethia, you will guide him on his path. Teryn, you will ensure his safety. Together, you will protect the Light's most precious gift."
The two women bowed deeply, their resolve clear. As they turned to leave, Aurelius spoke once more, his voice carrying the weight of prophecy.
"Remember this: the Savior's light will draw both hope and darkness. Be vigilant, for the shadows are always watching."
---
Far from the radiant halls of the Basilica, in the heart of the Devouring Desert, another force stirred. Beneath the shifting sands lay ruins from a time long forgotten, their crumbling spires buried deep in the earth. It was here, in the shadows of the past, that whispers began to rise.
A figure cloaked in black moved through the ruins, their steps silent despite the jagged terrain. Their presence seemed to warp the air around them, as though the light itself recoiled from their touch. In their hand, they held a shard of obsidian, its surface etched with symbols that glowed faintly in the darkness.
"The comet has fallen," the figure murmured, their voice a low hiss. "The angel walks the earth."
From the shadows, others emerged—figures cloaked in tattered robes, their faces obscured by masks. They knelt before the first, their heads bowed in reverence.
"What is your will, Harbinger?" one of them asked, their voice trembling with both fear and devotion.
The Harbinger raised the obsidian shard, its glow intensifying. "The light must be extinguished before it takes root. The angel's power is an affront to the void. Seek him out. Destroy him before he can fulfill his destiny."
The cloaked figures rose, their movements swift and deliberate. Without another word, they disappeared into the shadows, leaving the Harbinger alone in the ruins.
The shard dimmed, its light fading to a faint ember. The Harbinger turned their gaze toward the distant horizon, where the golden comet had fallen.
"Let the game begin," they whispered, a cruel smile spreading beneath their mask.