Chapter 1: Chains of the Sun
A Dream of Gold
Warmth. A golden ocean of wheat stretched endlessly, each stalk swaying gently in the wind. The sky above was bathed in a perfect amber glow, and the sun—massive, eternal—hung above, radiating peace.
Helios stood in the center of it all, his bare feet sinking into the soft earth. He inhaled deeply. The air was sweet. His mane, thick and wild like a lion's, flowed behind him as if caught in a gentle breeze. His hands—human in shape but rough like a warrior's—brushed against the wheat.
This place felt real.
It felt like home.
Then, a voice. Deep. Vast. Echoing from the heavens themselves.
"My child, you will know peace soon."
Helios turned his gaze to the sun. It pulsed. It breathed. It spoke.
His heart ached at the warmth in its voice.
"Is this you, Zaios?" he whispered. "Are you watching over me?"
The voice did not answer.
Then the sun flickered—once, twice—before dying.
Darkness swallowed the fields whole.
And in the void, a hand—cold, rough, inhuman—clamped around his throat.
Chains of the Damned
Helios awoke to pain.
The world around him was not golden, not warm, not home. It was cold. Dry. Cracked earth stretched beneath him as he was dragged forward, iron chains biting into his flesh.
His body was human, yet not. His hair—thick, wild, like a lion's mane—was matted with dirt. His blood, golden-red like molten fire, dripped from fresh wounds on his back. His muscles, built like a warrior's, burned from exhaustion.
The slavers yanked him forward.
"Keep moving, beast."
A boot slammed into his ribs. Helios gasped, tasting blood.
He wasn't alone. Around him, more of his kind—the Lions—stumbled forward, shackled and beaten. Their faces, like his, were human. But their flesh, their blood, their very essence was not.
They were a dying race. A race that had once roared across the lands, feared and respected.
Now, they were cattle.
Helios clenched his teeth. For years, he had prayed.
"God... please, free us."
"God... give me strength."
"God... answer me."
But there was no answer.
As they dragged him toward the trading outpost, a burning realization gripped him.
"There is no god."
"God does not love us."
"God has abandoned us."
And in that moment, a new thought took root.
"If you exist, God... I will find you. And I will kill you."
The Price of Freedom
Night fell. The slavers camped, laughing and drinking. Helios waited. His golden eyes, sharp as a predator's, flicked to the guard standing nearest to him.
The fool wasn't even watching.
Without hesitation, Helios lunged. His teeth—razor-sharp like a lion's—sank into the man's throat. Blood spurted hot against his face as the slaver choked, gurgled, and collapsed.
Another turned, reaching for his sword—too slow. Helios grabbed a loose chain and wrapped it around the man's neck, twisting. The sickening crack of bone breaking filled the air.
The camp erupted into chaos.
Helios ran.
He ran until the chains fell from his wrists. He ran until the fires of the outpost were distant embers. He ran until his legs could carry him no more.
And when he finally stopped, alone in the shadows of a dying world, he whispered:
"I will never be a slave again."
Years in the Dark
Helios did not simply survive—he learned.
In a quiet village hidden from slaver patrols, he stole books. He taught himself to read. To write. To count numbers, to understand the weight of currency.
He worked in the barracks of the knights, sharpening their blades, polishing their armor, listening to their strategies. He learned how warriors moved. How they killed.
But none of it mattered.
Because this planet—his home—was already dead.
He needed to leave.
The Apex Gems
One night, Helios wandered through the underbelly of the city. A market of filth and death.
Then he saw them.
Two gemstones—one golden, one silver—locked in a glass case. They pulsed with power, as if alive.
"Apex Gems..."
It was said they granted the power of the Sun and Moon.
Without hesitation, he shattered the glass. His fingers barely brushed the stones before they—
Sank into his skin.
Pain.
A white-hot explosion ripped through his chest. His veins burned, his bones screamed, his muscles tore apart.
Helios staggered, blood pouring from his mouth.
The gems were inside him.
"Get out..." He grabbed a dagger, plunging it into his own arm.
The blade cut deep. Too deep.
His golden-red blood sprayed the walls as he slashed again, again, again, desperately trying to carve the stones from his flesh.
But they would not come out.
His body trembled. His vision blurred.
Then—darkness.
The Awakening
When Helios opened his eyes, he was different.
His wounds were gone. His body—strong before—was now beyond human. His muscles felt denser, his bones harder, his senses sharper.
He raised his hand. The air around his fingers shimmered. A golden flame flickered to life.
"The power of the Sun..."
Then, he turned his palm. A soft, silver glow radiated outward.
"And the power of the Moon."
He had become something beyond a lion. Beyond a man.
Then, the screams came.
Slaughter in the Streets
Down the alley, shadows moved—men in black cloaks, dragging children into a wagon.
Slavers.
Helios stepped forward.
One of the men turned. "Walk away, mutt. This ain't your—"
A single punch caved his chest in.
Another drew a blade—too slow.
Helios raised his hand. Fire erupted, engulfing the slaver's body. He screamed as his flesh melted away, his bones turning to ash.
The last slaver fell to his knees, trembling.
"P-please..."
Helios grabbed his head—and slammed it into the stone.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Until the cobblestone was painted red.
The children sobbed, clutching each other in fear.
Helios turned away.
He could not stay.
And his journey began in the mountains.