Garen's footsteps echoed through the desolate landscape, the heavy crunch of gravel beneath his boots mingling with the whispers of the wind. His mind was a storm of thoughts, piecing together the truth that had eluded him for so long. Scattered fragments of victories and defeats from his past lives were beginning to align, and the realization made his heart race. He was no ordinary soul.
The Aetherstone had been the source of power for many. But what if its true power didn't come from the world around it? What if it had always been inside him?
A shiver ran down his spine. It wasn't just that he remembered—he felt it now. Power, vast and dormant, coursing through him. A strength not born of flesh, but of something far greater.
In whispers from ancient gods and from the broken rulers and demigods he had crossed blades with, there had been hints of this truth. Each had their place in the World Between, each bound by blood and heritage to the Aetherstone's power. And yet, Garen had remained blind to his own origin. Until now.
He stopped at the base of a shattered tower, the remnants of a once-grand palace. Here, he had fallen in a previous life. The stone was cold beneath his hand, but as he touched it, memories surged forth: a father long forgotten, a mother lost to time, and a lineage stretching back through the ages.
A voice, soft but commanding, echoed in his mind. Not his own, but the voice of a god—a parent he had never known.
"You are the son of the Aetherlord, born from the very heart of the Aetherstone itself."
The words twisted through him, unraveling years of ignorance. Garen wasn't merely a mortal trapped in the cycles of rebirth; he was a child of the Aetherstone. The blood in his veins bore the touch of divine power. He was one of the Aetherborn—beings of divine lineage, chosen to act as stewards of the Aetherstone's might.
But the Aetherborn had fallen into ruin. Their desires, their hunger for power, and their flaws had brought them low, and their downfall had plunged the world into this endless cycle of decay and rebirth. Garen had lived through it all, countless times, always failing to restore balance.
He turned toward the distant horizon, where the broken fragments of the Aetherstone shimmered faintly, their light casting an otherworldly glow over the land. The cycle had been set in motion long before his first death, long before he had been born. But now, with the truth of his heritage revealed, everything had changed.
"I am no mere mortal," Garen whispered, his voice steady and cold. "I am a child of the Aetherstone. Its power is mine to command."
His heart pounded—not with fear, but with the exhilaration of newfound purpose. The journey ahead was no longer just about survival or breaking the cycle. It was about mastering the very force that had shaped the world itself.
His thoughts turned to the first demigod he had encountered in his lives: Elandra, the Queen of Ash. He remembered her piercing gaze, the pride in her voice as she stood before the Aetherstone. She had sought to control its power, to rule the fractured world. But she had fallen, consumed by her ambition, just as all the others had.
Garen clenched his fists. Elandra had failed. The others had failed. And he would fail too, unless he learned to wield the power of his divine heritage—to bend the cycle to his will, not merely escape it.
He had the memories. He had the knowledge. And now, he had the strength. But this revelation brought a greater challenge: understanding his purpose. As a demigod, he was bound to the Aetherstone, its power both his inheritance and his prison.
But one thing had become clear to him over a thousand lifetimes: the Aetherstone was both the key and the lock.
He didn't need to restore it. He didn't need to reclaim the Aetherlord's throne.
He needed to destroy it.
The thought sent a chill through him. Could he? Could he truly unmake the power that had shaped the world for eons? And if he did, would the world itself collapse into oblivion?
Garen stood at the edge of the ruined world, staring into the vast expanse of fog and ruin. The weight of his divine heritage pressed heavily on his shoulders. The journey ahead would not be one of simple battles or glory. It would be a fight to unravel the very fabric of existence, to confront the gods who had created him, and to destroy the foundation of the world itself.
There was no turning back.
Garen was no longer a pawn in the endless cycle of rebirth. He was Aetherborn. And he would reshape the world on his own terms.