Sylvantherion stood motionless.
The dust from his landing settled around his boots. But he didn't feel the grit. He didn't feel the wind biting at his exposed skin.
His gaze remained fixed on the ground.
On the tragedy sprawled in the dirt.
He looked at the face of the fallen woman. Pale. Drained of blood. The features were etched with a lifetime of burdens, but the nobility remained.
Seraphina.
His chest tightened. A dull, heavy ache.
Then his eyes drifted to the girl holding her.
Grime streaked her cheeks. Tears fell in silence. But beneath the grief and the blood, the resemblance was undeniable. The same majestic hair. An aura that spoke of itself.
Dear Seraphina's child.
Sylvantherion's jaw tightened. The muscles bunched.
He inhaled slowly. A long, ragged breath that rattled in his throat. He forced the air deep into his lungs, trying to steady the tremor in his hands.
The scene was heavy. Melancholic.
Twitch!
His ears flicked.
A disturbance behind him.
Sylvantherion turned.
His eyes landed on the edge of the arena.
A massive structure dominated the space. A cocoon. Thick roots twisted around each other, forming an impenetrable prison. Branches interlocked like fingers, hardened and ancient.
He narrowed his eyes and colors bled away.
The physical wood of the cocoon faded, replaced by the energy that bound it.
Emerald light blinded him.
It pulsed. Alive. The mana woven into those roots was not merely a spell. A command. Nature itself had bowed to a singular will. Absolute dominion over the earth.
Only an Awakened Queen could command such authority.
The realization struck him. Hard.
The world snapped back to color.
Sylvantherion turned back to the center of the arena. He looked at the girl again.
Amanda.
He focused.
Her physical form blurred. And the brilliance erupted.
Her soul blazed, a bonfire. Violent. Radiant. A storm of power that dwarfed every other light in the stadium. It swirled with potential, raw and untamed.
Sylvantherion closed his eyes for a second.
Seraphina...
The thought echoed in his mind. A silent conversation with the ghost lying in the dirt.
You have fallen. But you have left us a legacy greater than I could have comprehended.
Your mother and I are proud of you...
He opened his eyes. Steel returned to his gaze.
Your daughter is the key. The Awakened One.
He clenched his staff. The wood creaked under his grip.
I swear to the Elven God. I will be her shield. I will be her blade. Ensuring her rule stands eternal.
"Is... is that him?"
A whisper broke his concentration.
Sylvantherion didn't turn.
"It can't be..."
"Those crowned ears. The staff."
"The Great Sylvantherion!"
The whispers spread. Like wildfire in dry grass.
Elves in the stands rose to their feet. Disbelief washed over their faces. They pointed and leaned over the railings. The shock of his appearance momentarily eclipsed the horror of the battle.
"He returned!"
"We are saved!"
The murmur swelled into a roar. An uproar of desperate hope. It bounced off the arena walls, growing louder. Chaotic. The same back-and-forth came once again. Rebellion versus corruption.
Disrespectful.
Sylvantherion's face darkened.
He simply exhaled.
And let his aura flood the space.
Heavy. Suffocating.
The air in the arena thickened and the temperature dropped. Their uproar died in their throats.
Silence fell. Instant and absolute.
Sylvantherion slowly turned his head. He swept his gaze across the stands. His eyes were cold. Hard as flint.
"Has the battle taken your sight?"
His voice was low. But it carried to the furthest rows.
"Are you so blind that you cannot see?"
He gestured a hand toward the center of the arena. Toward the girl hunching over the corpse.
"Your Queen mourns."
Shame rippled through the crowd. Heads bowed. The elation vanished, replaced by a somber guilt.
Sylvantherion lowered his hand. He looked towards the castle. Toward the high seats where the leadership had once sat.
His expression twisted. Disgust curled his lip.
"You spoke of Elders," he rasped. Addressing the silence. "You spoke of corruption."
Then he looked at Seraphina's body. The connection was clear. The rot went deep.
"I will find them."
The promise hung in the air.
"I will look into these 'Elders' you speak of. And if they are responsible for this..."
His eyes flared.
"They will pay dearly."
Sylvantherion turned his gaze, and something caught his attention.
Past the grieving Queen. To the brilliance standing behind her.
He blinked.
His vision shifted. The monochrome void returned.
And he recoiled.
The light radiating from the male elf was blinding. A pillar of white density that dwarfed even the Queen's blazing aura.
It was wrong.
Thick and compressed.
Sylvantherion focused. Narrowing his eyes against the glare.
The chaotic storm flickered.
A face appeared in the soul. An elfling with a frowning face.
Flash.
A warrior in a silent scream of rage.
Flash.
An Elder. Stoic. Cold.
Flash.
Images cycled like a deck of cards shuffled by a madman. Thousands of lives. Thousands of souls. Over and over. In split seconds.
But one image returned more than the others.
A bright, otherworldly glow. It pulsed with a frequency that did not compare to any or the combined flickering souls.
Sylvantherion's breath hitched. His heart went taut. A painfully familiar ache.
He stepped forward. His lips barely moving.
"Caelir..."
Crack!
A deafening sound split the sky.
Sylvantherion flinched as he looked up.
The heavens broke. The grey clouds vanished, replaced by a violent strobe.
White.
Red.
White.
Red.
The atmosphere screamed. A digital screech that grated against bone.
Sylvantherion gripped his staff. His lip curled in a snarl.
"Again," he spat. "Always with these artificial announcements."
Then, the voice came.
It came from everywhere. A mechanical, genderless tone that vibrated the very stones of the arena.
WARNING! WARNING!
ARCHIVED SYSTEM DETECTED!
INITIATING WORLD SYSTEM PROTOCOL!
The vibration stopped.
Silence.
Then, the air above the arena twisted.
Space folded in on itself. A distortion appeared. A dark, swirling singularity.
Vwooom.
Gravity reversed.
Debris lifted off the ground. The dust. The loose stones. Even the air was sucked toward the center. Sylvantherion planted his feet, leaning against the sudden vacuum. He saw the elves in the stands clutching each other, their feet lifting off the floor.
Then, the pull was released.
Expelled.
A silhouette floated in the center of the distortion. Hovering.
It was dark. Featureless. Yet its presence weighed heavier than anyone else present.
Above its head, text manifested.
A deep, glowing Violet.
The letters burned into the air. Glaring. Paralyzing every soul who dared to look.
[ DAEMON ]
[ WORLD ENTITY ]