ZERAPHIS! ZERAPHIS!
The chant thundered across the battlefield, voices merging into a single, resounding call.
This moment—this battle—would be sealed in legend.
Then, with a flicker of silver light, Zeraphis, The Smiling God, descended upon the chosen. His presence shimmered with a playful yet enigmatic aura, his grin both inviting and unfathomable, as if he alone knew the punchline to a cosmic jest.
"To those marked by fate and those who have endured the arena, I grant my eye. May it guide you to victory, unveiling all that remains unseen."
"Athan and Aron felt a surge of power coursing through their veins. Their vision blurred then sharpened—layered with a new, unseen reality. Numbers and symbols flickered before their eyes, revealing the enemy's HP as if fate itself had laid their weaknesses bare."
But then, Zeraphis' gaze drifted to the unconscious Nile.
His ever-present smile faltered, if only for an instant. A whisper of thought curled at the edges of his mind.
"Why did he not receive my gift?"
His silver eyes narrowed, flickering with something unreadable. Divine energy pulsed around Nile, yet it did not accept his blessing. It was not rejection—it was something else.
And then—an unsettling realization.
"Does fate already favor him, or has another claim been laid?"
The winds howled. The battlefield trembled. And for the first time in eons, Zeraphis felt the weight of an unseen hand moving against his own.
His silver glow began to fade, his form flickering like a mirage. His ever-present grin remained, yet his gaze lingered on Nile for just a moment longer—uncertainty hidden beneath amusement.
"Fate's wheel turns… whether I guide it or not."
With a playful twirl, he turned away.
"I'll take my leave now… back to Fortunaris—the grand temple where fate and fortune intertwine."
A silver shimmer lingered where he stood, then faded like an unspoken jest lost to time.
And with that, Zeraphis vanished, leaving behind only echoes of laughter and the lingering weight of his blessing… or its absence.
The Chamber of Judgment
Cold, iron shackles clanked against the stone floor as Aron and Ethan stirred awake.
Their bodies ached, their muscles stiff and bruised. Heavy chains bound their wrists and ankles, locking them against the towering stone walls of the Chamber of Judgment—a place reserved for traitors, fallen warriors, and those awaiting execution.
The air was thick and damp, carrying the scent of old blood and rust.
Each breath felt heavy. Suffocating.
Torchlight flickered along the rough stone walls, casting twisting shadows—specters that seemed to dance in silent mockery.
Somewhere beyond the chamber's walls, faint echoes of distant cheers reached them—the victors celebrating their defeat.
Aron's head pounded as he lifted his gaze, his vision struggling to adjust to the dim surroundings. Across from him, Ethan sat slumped against the wall, his breathing shallow but steady.
Their battle had ended in defeat.
Now, they were prisoners of King Greg.
Aron's gaze hardened.
And then, he saw him.
Greg.
The man who had destroyed his past life. The one who had taken his wife, his pride, his name.
Aron clenched his fists, a silent promise burning in his mind.
I will have my revenge.
On the other side of the chamber, Ethan's breathing steadied as his own resolve formed.
Greg—the man who had orchestrated his brother's death in this world.
The man sat untouched while others bled in the arena.
Ethan's grip on his chains tightened.
No matter what it takes... I will make him pay.
The Royal Infirmary – Nile's Awakening
Meanwhile, in the Royal Infirmary, Nile's fingers twitched.
Pain radiated through his body as his eyelids fluttered open, his vision swimming in a haze of candlelight and blurred figures.
His throat was dry, his limbs heavy.
Where… am I?
Memories flooded back.
The battle. The revelations. The exhaustion.
He tried to sit up, but a sharp pain shot through his ribs, forcing him back against the silk-lined pillows.
A healer rushed to his side, offering water and checking his pulse.
"You're awake," she said softly. "Rest. The King will want to see you soon. And he does not like to be kept waiting."
Nile froze.
Greg.
The name sent a chill down his spine.
Outside, the world moved without him.
And yet, he had never felt more trapped.
The Silence of the Kingdoms
Days passed.
The responses arrived.
Only three of the six kingdoms replied.
Each letter, sealed with the crest of a ruling family, carried the same message:
"We shall come. But we do not come to kneel."
The remaining three kingdoms sent nothing.
Silence.
Defiance.
Whether it was fear or rebellion, Greg did not know.
But as he read the replies, a smirk curved his lips.
"Three is enough."
He leaned back on his throne, fingers tapping against the golden armrest.
Then, his smirk faded.
Only three.
His fingers stilled as a shadow crossed his expression.
"There was no victor in the arena."
The words felt bitter on his tongue.
"How can I face three kings... with only three survivors?"
For the first time, doubt slithered into his mind—cold, unwelcome, and far too persistent.
This wasn't the spectacle he had envisioned.
And if the kings sensed weakness…
They would tear him apart.
To be continued…
Three kings. 15 champions. Each wielding power enough to shift the balance of fate.
And Greg… was not ready.