The bells tolled—slow, heavy, and final.
A boy knelt at the center of the execution square, wrists bound in iron shackles. The midday sun bore down on him, making the dried blood on his torn tunic crack. Dust clung to his face, but he made no effort to move. He had already lost everything.
A sea of people surrounded him, their eyes filled with a mix of hatred, fear, and curiosity. They whispered among themselves, their voices blending into a dull murmur.
"A heretic."
"A fool who defied the gods."
"He brought this upon himself."
At the top of the marble steps, beneath the grand banners of the Divine Concord, a priest in golden robes raised his staff. His voice rang out, sharp and unwavering.
"Varian Caelum."
The boy did not flinch.
"You stand guilty of the highest crime—heresy against the gods. You have spoken of forbidden knowledge. You have uncovered relics that should have remained buried. For this sin, your life is forfeit."
The crowd erupted in cheers, as if celebrating a festival rather than an execution.
Varian's gaze remained fixed on the ground. He did not plead. He did not beg. There was no point.
The priest stepped forward, his staff glowing with divine power. "May the gods cleanse your soul and cast your sinful existence into the void."
The executioner, clad in black armor, raised a ceremonial blade. The sunlight gleamed off its edge, sharp enough to sever flesh and bone in a single stroke.
Varian closed his eyes.
"Is this how it ends?"
His mind drifted to the past—his mother's voice warning him to stay away from the ruins, the hidden chamber where he found it, the night he first felt the presence of something… different. Something forbidden.
He never intended to defy the gods. But the moment he uncovered that ancient relic, his fate was sealed.
The executioner's blade descended.
And then—the world shattered.
Boom.
A deafening sound ripped through the air. The executioner's blade stopped inches from Varian's neck. The ground quaked, the very air vibrating with something unnatural.
People screamed as cracks spidered across the execution platform, the once-solid marble splitting apart. The priest staggered backward, his golden staff flickering.
Something ancient stirred.
And Varian felt it.
A presence surged within him, a pulse of energy that was not his own. It coiled around his very soul, awakening something buried deep in his blood.
Then, a voice—not spoken, but felt.
"You are not alone."
The iron shackles binding his wrists snapped apart as if they were nothing but dust.
The priest's eyes widened in horror. "This power… it's—"
Boom.
Another explosion rocked the square, sending people scrambling. The very sky darkened, swirling with unnatural clouds. Divine suppression—the power of the gods—should have stopped this. But it didn't.
The executioner roared, raising his blade once more. But before he could strike—
Varian moved.
It was not instinct. It was not thought. It was something else entirely.
In an instant, he was no longer kneeling—he was standing.
His hand moved on its own, and power surged from within him, raw and untamed. The executioner's blade came down—but it never reached him.
A force erupted outward, invisible yet undeniable.
The executioner was sent flying, crashing through the marble steps with bone-shattering force. The priest stumbled back, eyes wild with disbelief.
"This… this is blasphemy!" he shrieked.
The crowd had fallen into stunned silence. They had witnessed a miracle—but not one of the gods.
And that was the true heresy.
Varian looked down at his own hands, trembling with unfamiliar power. His heartbeat pounded in his ears.
He should be dead.
Instead, he had awakened.
The priest's terror turned to fury. He gripped his staff, divine light crackling around him. "Seize him! Kill him before—"
The sky split open.
A blinding light descended from the heavens, swallowing everything in divine radiance. The will of the gods had come.
Varian's instincts screamed. He had no control over this power. He had just barely awakened it. He couldn't fight a god.
His only choice was to run.
Without hesitation, he turned and sprinted toward the ruins beyond the city walls—the same ruins where his fate had begun.
Behind him, the bells tolled once more.
But this time, they did not ring for an execution.
They rang for something far worse.
They rang for a heretic who had defied the gods—and survived.