Statheros, Angel, and the others stepped into the Hall of Radiance, their footsteps resonating softly against the polished floors.
The walls, a dark and commanding black, shimmered with golden carvings that seemed almost alive, their gleaming light weaving a tapestry of Kemet's storied history. Emily's gaze was drawn to the intricate carvings, each line telling a tale etched into eternity, as Statheros began his solemn narration of Kemet's origins.
"At first, we were a people of isolated tribes, migrating from one oasis to the next," he began, his voice steady yet tinged with the weight of sorrow. "Until the emperor, before ascending as the god of war, came and enslaved us."
As they moved forward, the carvings grew more visceral. Tall and small figures bound in chains, their bodies contorted in anguish as they were whipped by shadowy oppressors. Lifeless forms were cast aside, piled into grotesque mounds that stretched high across the walls. From the darkness of those piles, monstrous, bizarre beings began to rise.
"From the deaths of our people and the depths of their suffering, spawns were born—dreadful creatures, nigh impervious to the elements, and nightmare to all who faced them."
The carvings shifted, illustrating the enslaved and the oppressors huddled together, their faces twisted in despair as they were besieged by the grotesque spawns. Then, from the chaos, a small haloed figure emerged—radiant and divine. A brilliant light burst forth, consuming the spawns in its purity and healing the wounded in its wake.
"In the city now known as Natun, our Great God Amun was born. With his birth came temporary salvation from the spawns, though not without discord. Many of the enslavers saw him as a weapon—something to dissect, to understand, and to replicate. This division fractured both our people and theirs, leading to more fights, more deaths… and more spawns."
The golden carvings continued, unveiling the arrival of the Champions—figures bathed in light, their forms commanding and resolute. The carvings depicted their march across the lands, their abilities unmatched as they vanquished spawn after spawn, liberating settlements and gathering warriors beneath their banners.
"While the discord raged on, the Champions arrived in Harib—a flash of divine brilliance marking their descent. They grew an army, fighting through endless waves of spawns, freeing countless lives. Their journey led them to Natun, where they united the fractured factions and joined Amun in his quest to purge the darkness."
Passing grand archways that opened into different depths of the Hall of Radiance, Statheros maintained a steady, deliberate pace, his voice unwavering as he concluded. "Together, and with Jeanne's sacrifice, they culled the spawns to near extinction. Kemet was born from the unity between us and the former enslavers. Harib rose as our great capital—a beacon of light where the Champions first arrived."
At last, the group reached the grandest archway of all—a soaring frame carved with celestial imagery and adorned with radiant gold. Stepping through, they entered the chamber of the magnificent altar.
Its charcoal black walls interspersed with towering ivory pillars, each gleaming faintly. The marble floors beneath their feet, streaked with veins of charred black, seemed to pulse with subdued energy.
Statheros and the others stepped forward. Emily's gaze shifted uneasily, noticing Douglas's unassuming figure standing beside the altar. His presence, quiet yet foreboding, sent a ripple of uncertainty through the group.
They exchanged skeptical glances, their eyes darting between Statheros and Douglas. Breaking the silence, Statheros's calm yet commanding voice cut through the tension. "Please," he said, his golden eyes glinting with authority, "step onto the altar."
Angel and the others hesitated. After a moment, they ascended to the elevated platform, its surface streaked with veins of white, gold, and black marble. Surrounding them were towering bronze statues of the Champions of old, their longsword, war-hammer and shield resting against the ground in solemn reverence.
Douglas stepped closer to the group, his pale hand gesturing toward the sun-shaped pedestal at the altar's center. His voice, low and deliberate, carried an unsettling command. "Touch the sun, and don't let go."
"What happens if we let go?" Aidan asked, suspicion lacing his tone, as Douglas turned and began to walk away.
His response came not from his lips but as an ethereal whisper carried by a sudden mystical wind. The voice reverberated in their ears like a ghostly echo: "You will die."
"What?!" Aidan and the others cried out in unison, their voices rising with alarm.
Meanwhile, Douglas approached Statheros's side, his demeanor composed as he said, "The preparations are complete, Your Highness."
"Good," Statheros replied, though a fleeting flicker of concern crossed his golden eyes. "Are you ready, Douglas?"
"Yes, Your Highness," Douglas answered with a gentle nod.
"Do it," Statheros commanded, his gaze fixed on the altar where Angel and the others stood, surrounded by the solemn statues of the Champions.
Douglas nodded once more, raising his pale hands with quiet resolve. Layers of luminous pentagrams materialized in the air before him, each intricately inscribed with unique symbols and glowing in a spectrum of colours. A brilliant green pentagram formed beneath his feet, pulsating with energy as it drew in the unseen power surrounding them.
Thunder roared through the chamber, shaking the air as vivid streaks of yellow lightning split the sky. CRACK! A bolt struck the sun pedestal in a dazzling display of light and sound, sending jolts of electricity coursing through Angel and the others. The currents surged through their bodies, channeled by the altar and conducted into the surrounding bronze statues.
As the lightning spread, the bronze figures erupted in a radiant golden light, their once-stationary forms now brimming with divine energy. The ground beneath their weapons and shields splintered and cracked, vibrating with untamed power. And then, it happened.
Meanwhile, in the holy city of Natun, moments before Angel and the others stepped onto the altar...
"Forgive me, Your Holiness," the Grand Oracle whispered, her voice trembling under the weight of her failure. "The worldline has sealed, and I have received no revelation of the Champions' arrival. I have failed you... and our realm." Draped in flowing garments of white and gold that clung gracefully to her hourglass figure, the oracle knelt before the marble dais, her head bowed in shame beneath her veil.
Atop the dais, seated upon a throne of unrivalled majesty—crafted of brilliant white and gold—was an aged man with skin like the desert's sands and a beard as regal as his stature. His deep, contemplative brown eyes seemed to reach into eternity, burdened by silent questions. 'Have I lost faith with the Lord? Have I been forsaken by our Great God? Have I wandered too far down the forbidden path...?'
His thoughts fractured as a sudden disturbance rippled through the world. Rising swiftly from his throne, the holy man turned to the arched window behind him. A shadow fell over his countenance as a furious scowl hardened his features, his eyes blazing with intensity. Beyond the window, the heavens erupted with awe-inspiring brilliance—a radiant light ascending to dominate the skies, bathing all of Kemet in its divine glow.
"Harib!" He exclaimed, his voice a beacon of urgency and wrath. Without hesitation, he burst through the window in a blaze of movement, soaring through the air.
End of Chapter 27