The nation of Renute was always unique.
As the great powers of the world fought each other, Renute remained untouched, not because of its power, but because of its holiness. Its vast jungles buzzed with ancient magic, its floating islands drifted through the skies like silent sentinels, and the spirits that roamed the nation did not welcome strangers. Those who came near unwanted by the favor of Renute's guardians were refused by twisting roads and lies—or they vanished unseen.
In the very heart of the land, beneath the gigantic silver moon, rose the Temple of Xeleth, a great white monolith carved out of unbroken rock, pillars draped with vines that emitted a pale wan light in darkness. There within its holy halls the High Circle of Seers convened.
Incense swirled around the temple, a mixture of powdered starbloom flowers and the resin of the everlasting trees, smoldering in heaps of burnished braziers. The Great Pool of Visions dominated the center of the room, a wide basin holding water that shimmered with the sheen of liquid starlight. In spite of the storm raging about it, the pool's surface was untroubled. It was perfectly tranquil, untouched by time.
And standing before it Elyon, the Grand Seer, a man cloaked in robes of darkest blue and silver. His silver locks cascaded down his back like a stream, and his eyes, clouded by the weight of visions, gazed unrelentingly at the glowing water. He had seen something. Something that had unsettled even him.
Behind him, a huddled crowd of seers stood in quiet anticipation. The youngest among them, Liria, dawdled before moving forward.
"Grand Seer," she whispered, her emerald-green eyes clouded with concern. "The stars shift nervously. A mighty power awakens beyond our vision. Have you glimpsed its source?"
Elyon said nothing immediately. Instead, he lifted his arm over the pool. Slowly, the beaming water began to change. Forms emerged within the water—foggy at first, then sharp, clear as though the images were occurring before their very eyes.
A battlefield stained with blood.
A throne, high and black, built upon triumph.
Two figures right at the center. One, wrapped in blazing flames, a warrior who carried a burning sword that glowed like the sun. The other, wrapped in a storm howling, lightning flashing on the tips of his fingers.
And standing behind them, peering out of the very depths of darkness, was something else.
Something ancient.
Something waiting.
Gasp followed gasp in the chamber as the assembled seers leaned forward, eyes wide with horror.
"The prophecy," one of them panted. "It is happening."
Elyon's expression did not change as the vision vanished, the pool again its silent, shimmering self.
Liria swallowed. "Grand Seer… we have been shown so much of the fire and the storm, but the darkness…" She hesitated. "It is unnatural."
Elyon turned his gaze from the ocean to the infinite open arches of the temple, gazing out into the infinite jungles beyond. There, in the remotest depth of Renute, something moved. Something that even the seers had not dared to speak of for centuries.
"Something has awakened," he spoke softly. His voice, as hard as stone, trembled. "And even we, keepers of fate, might not be able to prevent it."
The temple fell silent, save the distant wail of the wind that blew beyond the walls. Amidst Renute's heart, the old ghosts awoke from their slumber, their whispers of elders traveling on the winds of the leaves.
The world was changing. And even sooner, the holy lands of Renute would be no more protected.
Ganoth's training grounds stretched out before them, beneath the wide open sky, ringed by monolith obsidian walls. Power danced in the air as General Korvan stood before the novice fighters, arms folded over his battle-worn shoulders. This was not a day of drill and combat—it was the day they would learn to command their Spirit Cloak.
"Listen well," Korvan's booming voice thundered. "You have conditioned your bodies, your minds, and your swords. But strength is not just in steel. It is time you learned to merge your Spirit into your flesh—this is what turns warriors into legends."
The five of them stood loosely in a circle: Prince Lionel, Azur, Serai, Kaela, and Garran. They each carried the legacy of their ancestors, their Spirits dormant within them, waiting to be awakened in full.
Lionel shrugged, his shoulders flexing as he gripped the hilt of his greatsword. "Spirit Cloak… so this is the art that my father and the great warriors have attained."
Azur's sparkling blue eyes were intense with curiosity. "How do we activate it?"
Korvan sneered. "You won't turn it on. You will learn to be it."
He drove his foot into the ground with a forceful blow, and in a flash, a dark reddish aura burst out of his form. It writhed like fire but flowed like living energy, outlining his form in a fire-scarred cloak of brute power. His voice went lower, his presence more imposing.
"This. is the Spirit Cloak.".
The power rippled, sending dust flying from the ground as the force of his pressure came down upon them.
"It is not transformation," Korvan continued. "It is not possession. It is oneness. Your Spirit is yours, but you have always kept it apart—a power to summon, a force to command. That is why you are weak."
Serai's sharp eyes gleamed. "So how do we cease keeping it apart?
Korvan's energy wavered, then vanished as he reabsorbed himself into normal form. "You release. You stop thinking of yourself and your Spirit as two different things. You breathe as one. You move as one. You strike as one. The moment you falter, the moment you doubt, the power will be lost to you."
He pointed to each of them. "Now. show me that you are worthy of this power."
The five warriors shut their eyes, controlling their breathing.
The Awakening Begins
Lionel first. His golden aura swirled around him like fire, his body lighter, stronger, sharper. He could feel his golden light mixing with his shadows, blending instead of fighting. His greatsword hummed with power in his hand.
Azur's energy surge in turn—lightning erupted about his person, accompanied by the shrieking gusts. His Storm Spirit flowed through his blood, and he was weightless for an instant, as if he could fly the sky itself.
Serai bunched her fists, her Spirit Cloak manifesting as a gentle, near-imperceptible sheen, jacking her speed to a near-blur. She moved forward and nearly vanished from sight.
Kaela's aura burned like a fire that was not there, her power coiled in her muscles. She exhaled, raw energy of her Tiger Spirit making her feel that she could tear mountains apart.
Garran's body became a immovable mountain, his Spirit Cloak dense and heavy as iron, his spirit making him feel unbeatable.
They had it for a moment. They were invincible for a moment.
Then—
Lionel faltered. His shadows flickered erratically, the golden light dimming as he struggled to maintain balance.
Azur's storm lost focus, the wind cutting too sharply, the lightning sparking out of control.
Serai's speed caused her footing to slip, and Kaela's power wavered for a brief second.
Garran's strength trembled as the energy became too much to hold.
One by one, the Spirit Cloaks faded.
Korvan exhaled, his head shaking. "You felt it, didn't you? That moment of perfection. And then, you doubted."
Azur clenched his fists, irritated. "How do we hold on to it?"
Korvan's expression turned serious. "You don't hold on. You internalize. You overanalyze. You second-guess. That is why you fail."
Lionel wiped sweat on his forehead. "Then we need to reach that state… without losing focus.".
Korvan nodded. "Not for an instant. For as long as the struggle demands it."
The five warriors glanced at one another. They had experienced true power, and they had lost it. But now they understood what they were reaching for.
And they would not rest until they had mastered it.
One Month Prior to War
Storm clouds hung heavy in the air above Ganoth, a sign of the growing tension that gripped the kingdom. In the Black Fortress war rooms, King Vaedros loomed over a giant map of the world, his golden-red eyes following the battlefronts inscribed upon it. Candles flickered, casting shadows upon the gathered warlords and strategists.
General Korvan stood, his voice calm but insistent. "We have a month to the invasion of Kei. Planning is complete. We must finalize our assault plan and deploy."
Vaedros leaned forward, his hands drumming against the cold stone table. "How are our forces deployed?"
Korvan nodded. "The legions are ready. Our siege weapons are being reinforced for the mountain assault, and our supply lines will be secured within two weeks. Kei's warriors are strong, but their walls will fall like all the others."
One of the warlords, a scarred old veteran of the Sai campaigns, snarled. "Kei is not like that. Their fortresses were carved out of mountains centuries ago. If we attack headlong, we'll spend our troops dry before we reach their gates."
Vaedros grinned. "Then we don't strike at them head-on." His finger traced the map, resting on a pass through a valley. "We strike their supply lines first. Cut them off from being resupplied. Starve them. When they are weak and hungry, then we crush them."
Korvan nodded sharply. "A sound strategy. But what of alliances? Kei has been attempting to mobilize the other nations against us."
Vaedros's face darkened. "And failed they have. The other nations are weak and cowardly. They will not act." He towered, his very presence filling the chamber like a storm on the brink of releasing its fury. "Kei will stand alone. And when their mountains are aflame, the world will know at last… Ganoth will not be a vassal to anyone.".
Korvan hesitated for a moment. His mind flashed to the young fighters—Lionel, Azur, Serai, Kaela, Garran. They were powerful, more powerful each day, but were they ready? He knew the king would have no patience for doubt, so he pushed his doubts aside.
"They will be ready," Korvan declared, his voice firm. "In thirty days, Ganoth will strike. And Kei will fall."
Vaedros's smile was sharp. "Then let the final preparations begin."
The Training Grounds – Fought in War
Outside the war chamber, the future warriors trained harder than ever.
The air was electric with tension as Lionel and Azur clashed, their swords ringing like thunder. The others observed, beads of sweat on their foreheads as they panted from their own practice.
Serai wiped a skinned cheek, her piercing gaze on the duel. "They're stronger now."
Kaela braced against a tree, muscles tight. "So are we. But will that be enough?"
Garran breathed out hard. "It has to be."
Korvan emerged onto the field, looking at his students. "You are a good fighter. But soon, it will not be training. Soon, you will be on the battlefield." His gaze swept them. "The war is not distant. One month from now, you will be tested. In fire and blood."
Lionel drew his sword, his golden eyes burning. "Then we'll be ready."
Azur sheathed his katanas, lightning dancing across his fingers. "No matter what arrives."
Korvan's mask was unbreakable, but far beneath the surface, he knew the truth.
War was on its way. And it would change them all.
The night air was crisp as Azur and Lionel walked along the quiet streets of Ganoth's inner city. The torches cast flickering shadows on the stone walls. They had fled a moment of peace after another long day of training, walking outside the castle walls to clear their heads.
Azur exhaled, his breath visible in the cold air. "One month until war. Hard to believe, isn't it?"
Lionel, walking beside him, nodded, his golden-red eyes reflecting the torchlight. "It feels like everything has been leading to this. No more training, no more waiting. Soon, we'll be on the battlefield."
Azur smirked. "You sound excited."
Lionel glanced up at the sky. "Not excited. Just… ready."
As Azur could answer, there was a rasping cry from the alleyway to their right.
"Azur. Lionel."
Both boys went rigid, both hands instinctively seeking their blades. Out of the shadows crept a crooked figure, swathed in a torn cloak. His face was old, his eyes clouded white, as if he had stared too hard on the world.
The storm and the shadow," the old man complained, his tone laced with an unearthly certainty. "The golden flame and the rising tempest. The two who will shake the world."
Azur exchanged a glance with Lionel. "Who are you?" he inquired cautiously.
The old man cackled—a wheezy, papery sound. "A simple wanderer. But I have learned things, boy. I have witnessed things." He took a step closer, his bony finger wagging at them. "The prophecy is true. And you two… you are the key."
Lionel frowned. "What prophecy?"
The eyes of the old man sparkled. "The one which tells of two warriors. One born of shadow and light, the other born of storm. Together, they will save this world. or burn it to ashes."
Azur crossed his arms. "That's unclear.".
The man's voice became more urgent. "The road you tread is one of blood, but your fate is more than war. Do not allow the shackles of your fathers to hold you back. When the time is right, you must decide."
Lionel sighed in frustration. "This is rubbish. We've heard enough."
Azur nodded. "Let's go, come on."
As they were going to turn away, the old man bellowed after them, his voice abruptly harsh. "You think me mad? You think the future is not already marching against you? Look beyond your wars, boys. The true war has yet to begin."
Neither of them said anything. They just kept going, the old man's words suspended in the cold air.
Lionel spoke up after a while. "Mad old bugger."
Azur did not say anything.
For deep within. part of him wasn't quite so sure.