Chapter 2: The Emissary's Mark
The skies cleared by dusk, casting golden light across the spires of Luther Academy. Bells rang from the central tower, marking the end of examinations, but Jean heard none of it.
She sat alone in the Grand Garden, beneath the silver-leafed tree said to have been planted by Martin Luther himself. Her sword rested across her lap, a single smear of Kain's blood still drying along its edge. She hadn't cleaned it. Not yet. Not until she understood what had changed.
"My chosen blade…"
That voice still echoed in her thoughts—pure, melodic, eternal. It had pierced deeper than Kain's strikes ever could.
Across the garden, footsteps approached. Jean didn't look up.
"You fight like a cornered wolf," said a familiar voice.
Jean turned. It was Sylvia Luther, her elder sister—the once-heir, now recluse. The scar beneath her right eye caught the setting sun, a mark of battles never spoken aloud.
"I thought you weren't attending the trials," Jean said.
"I wasn't. But I watched the sky. I felt it."
Jean met her sister's gaze. "Felt what?"
Sylvia's eyes, deep red like tempered steel, narrowed. "You've been chosen."
Jean's throat tightened. "By who?"
Sylvia didn't answer. Instead, she knelt and drew her finger through the soil at the tree's roots, forming a circle and marking eight radiant points around it. "The gods rarely speak to mortals. When they do, they leave a mark."
Jean watched the glyph glow softly, golden light pulsing through the earth. Her heart stilled.
Sylvia looked up. "Show me your back."
Jean hesitated, then turned. She pulled down her collar.
Sylvia drew in a breath. There, between Jean's shoulder blades, was a glowing sigil—the crest of Celeste, the Goddess of Light: a radiant sun encircling a sword plunged into the earth.
"Celeste…" Sylvia whispered.
Jean turned to face her sister. "What does this mean?"
Sylvia stood, her voice low. "It means you're no longer just a daughter of the Luther Clan. You are now one of the Emissaries of the gods."
Jean felt her chest tighten. "Then this isn't just about the Succession War, is it?"
"No," Sylvia said. "The world is changing. The gods have awoken. Which means…"
She looked to the horizon. Storm clouds were gathering again, black and cold.
"…the dragons will return."
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Elsewhere, beneath the ruins of the Iron Peaks…
A cavern of obsidian stretched into the void, echoing with molten breath. Bones littered the black floor—human, elf, beast.
In the center of it all lay a vast shape, coiled like a sleeping mountain. The air shimmered with heat. Shadows crawled, alive.
Then a single, slit-pupil eye opened—burning orange.
Antares stirred.
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