Garen trudged through the dense, mist-laden woods, his body battered and his resolve teetering between grief and fury. The scars of his battle with Vorthen still burned, a reminder of Lyra's sacrifice—a wound deeper than any the god of war had inflicted. Yet, even as he sought refuge, Garen knew his father's shadow loomed closer. Eryndor's words from their last encounter echoed in his mind, not as a plea but as a taunt. The gods' game continued, and he was their most unpredictable piece.
Unbeknownst to him, Eryndor had set his eyes on the path Garen now walked. He watched his son from the divine realm, seated upon his gilded throne in the Pantheon's celestial halls. Around him, lesser gods whispered their concerns.
"He's growing too strong," murmured Kael, standing at his father's side. The daggers at his belt gleamed with divine light, their edges restless, as though craving vengeance. "We should stop him now, before he becomes something we can't contain."
Eryndor's crimson eyes flickered with something akin to pride, though he masked it with a stoic expression. "Not yet," he said calmly. "Garen must prove his worth. If he cannot overcome the challenges I place before him, he was never a threat to begin with."
"And if he does?" Kael's voice hardened, his gaze narrowing on his father.
"Then he may yet earn his place among us," Eryndor replied, leaning forward in his throne. "The gods fear him, but I see potential. He is my son, after all."
Kael clenched his fists but held his tongue. His father's gambit was a dangerous one, and Kael knew better than to question the god's intentions outright.
Far below, Garen stumbled across a dilapidated temple shrouded in thick vines and broken columns. The air inside was heavy with an ancient power that seemed to hum against his Aetherstone's resonance. Exhausted, he leaned against one of the crumbling walls, his thoughts drifting to Lyra.
It was then that he heard it—a faint voice, almost imperceptible, like a whisper carried on the wind.
"Garen…"
His head snapped up. The voice was unmistakable.
"Lyra?" he called, his voice a mix of hope and desperation.
The air around him shimmered, and for a brief moment, he felt her presence. It wasn't her physical form, but something deeper, as if her soul still lingered, tethered to him by the bond they had shared. Before he could reach out further, the sensation vanished, leaving him with a gnawing ache in his chest.
His fists tightened. "I'll find you," he vowed, his voice resolute.
It was days later, as he ventured further into the wilderness, that he encountered them. A group of cloaked figures emerged from the shadows, their movements swift but non-threatening. At the center was a mortal man whose eyes gleamed with recognition.
"So it's true," the man said, pulling back his hood to reveal a scarred face marked by years of hardship. "The one who defies the gods still walks among us."
Garen's grip on his sword hilt tightened. "Who are you?"
The man gave a wry smile. "My name is Kallus, and we have met before. Though I doubt you remember me, given how many lives you've lived."
Garen's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"
Kallus stepped closer, his tone softening. "I remember you, Garen. In one of your previous lives, you were a mortal hero. You fought to end the cycle then, just as you do now. I was your ally, but…" His voice faltered, and he glanced away. "We failed. You died, and the gods erased me from their game."
Garen's breath caught. Memories he couldn't quite place stirred within him, fragments of battles and alliances lost to time.
Kallus continued, "I've spent countless years gathering others who remember. Mortals and divine outcasts alike. We call ourselves the Shattered Dawn. And we believe you are the key to ending the cycle."
Kallus's revelation was one thing, but his next words shook Garen to his core.
"Lyra's soul isn't lost," Kallus said. "She's trapped, like all of us, bound by the Chrono Relic. If we destroy it, we can free her… we can free everyone."
Garen's chest tightened. The faint connection he had felt to Lyra in the temple suddenly made sense. She was still out there, and she needed him.
"Then we destroy it," he said firmly.
Kallus's expression darkened. "It won't be that simple. The gods will do everything in their power to stop us. And the relic… it's hidden somewhere only the gods can access."
"Then I'll tear it from their hands," Garen replied, his voice cold with determination.
That night, as Garen prepared to move with the Shattered Dawn, a shadowy figure watched from the treetops, cloaked in divine energy. Kael's daggers gleamed in the moonlight, his expression unreadable.
"Father," he whispered, his voice carried by the wind. "Your son is playing with fire. Let's see if he burns."