The air was thick with tension as Masaru stood upon the scorched earth of Azthar's outer ring. The once-flourishing magical outpost now lay in ruins—crumbling towers, blackened trees, and silence so deafening it screamed of betrayal. Adolpha walked beside him, fur bristling, her crimson eyes scanning the shadows for threats. Behind them, Himari and Kael moved in quiet synchronization, sharing glances that spoke of the growing bond between light and shadow.
Masaru's eyes narrowed as he stared toward the horizon. "This was no ordinary attack. It's not the Creator's style to erase a place so thoroughly unless he wanted to hide something."
Kael crouched near a charred emblem etched into the ground. "It's the crest of the Forgotten Flame Sect," he muttered. "They were supposed to have been wiped out centuries ago."
Himari's breath hitched. "The Forgotten Flame? That was… they believed in a forbidden branch of fire magic. One that could corrupt and consume the soul itself. But they were sealed by the Ten Great Mages."
Masaru clenched his fists. "Then someone has broken that seal."
"Or," Kael added with a grim voice, "the seal was never meant to hold."
The group moved through the ruined outpost cautiously. Masaru led, guided not by sight, but by a pull—an instinct deep within his reborn soul. Memories flickered like dying embers. A flame-wreathed figure from his past life, a girl with eyes like molten gold, laughing as the world burned behind her.
"You're remembering something," Himari noted, stepping closer to him.
Masaru's jaw tightened. "Yes. Her name was Sylvara. She was… one of the Creator's weapons. But she vanished long before I died."
"I thought she was dead," Adolpha said quietly. "The last time we met, she nearly reduced half a continent to ash."
Kael frowned. "Then if she's alive…"
"She might be the one who lit this fire," Masaru finished.
They reached what remained of the central sanctum, half-buried under rubble. Ancient runes flickered with unstable magic. Masaru raised a hand, feeling the distortion in the air. It wasn't just fire magic—it was something else. A scream from beneath the ruins froze the group in place.
"Did you hear that?" Himari whispered, drawing her staff.
Another scream, distant and muffled, followed by the crackle of embers.
Masaru stepped forward and placed his palm on the rune-sealed door. The magic reacted violently, bursting upward in a column of flame. Everyone leapt back, weapons ready.
From the fire emerged a figure—tall, cloaked in robes that shimmered like flame and soot. Her hair was crimson, her eyes glowing with a dangerous amber hue. And when she spoke, it was with the weight of both fury and memory.
"So, the hero returns. Reborn in a new shell. Do you even remember what you did to me, Masaru Izuku?"
Masaru's breath caught. "Sylvara."
She tilted her head. "Oh, so you do remember. Then tell me—do you remember how you betrayed me?"
Himari stepped in front of Masaru, staff raised. "He never betrayed you. You were a weapon of the Creator."
"I was a child! A girl twisted by divine hands! Masaru let it happen. He let me burn so he could live as a hero." Her flames surged around her, a vortex of hatred and sorrow.
Masaru lowered his sword. "I remember everything. You begged me to kill you when you couldn't control the flames. I couldn't do it… I thought sealing you was the only way."
Sylvara laughed, bitter and cracked. "And now you return, wielding Death itself, pretending to be a savior again?"
"I'm not pretending," Masaru said, stepping forward. "I'm here to burn down the gods' lies—and I want your help."
The flames halted. Sylvara's eyes narrowed. "You… want my help?"
Adolpha growled lowly. "She's unstable."
Kael remained tense. "She could reduce this whole land to ashes."
Masaru's voice was firm. "And yet she's alive, here, in ruins the Creator wanted erased. He's afraid of her. That means she matters."
Sylvara looked torn—between vengeance and hope. "You expect me to forget centuries of pain?"
"No," Masaru said. "But I offer you something better: a chance to turn that pain into power. Help me destroy the Creator."
For a moment, silence reigned. Then Sylvara let the flames around her simmer down.
"I'll consider it," she said. "But not because I trust you. Only because I want to see the gods bleed."
Masaru nodded. "That's enough for now."
Suddenly, the sanctum beneath them trembled. From beneath the cracked floor, ancient glyphs began to glow—activating a dormant spell.
"It's a trap," Kael shouted. "Everyone out—now!"
The floor exploded with blazing runes. Sylvara screamed in rage, and a fire dome enveloped them, shielding the group from the worst of the blast. Masaru gritted his teeth, grabbing Himari and Adolpha while Kael pulled Sylvara back. They leapt from the collapsing ruins, landing hard on the scorched field.
Debris fell like meteorites. Fire twisted through the sky in a furious cyclone. The Creator's voice echoed faintly in the wind, taunting.
"You gather your broken tools, Masaru. But even with them… you will fail."
Masaru stood, shaking, staring into the burning remains. "No. I will not fail. This time, I'll gather every shattered soul… and we'll rise."
Sylvara emerged beside him, burnt but defiant. "If we are tools… then let us be blades turned against our maker."
Masaru looked at her and nodded.
The war had just gained another flame.
The silence following the Guardian's proclamation was deafening. Lucien felt the weight of time press upon his soul. The flickering torches lining the chamber cast long shadows on the ornate walls, whispering of forgotten truths. His crimson eyes stayed locked on the obsidian altar, where the memory fragment shimmered faintly, still untouched.
"Lucien," whispered Elira, her voice tight with concern, "what does this mean? If the Creator sealed away your original soul, then who... who were you in your past life?"
He clenched his fists. "That's what we're here to find out."
With trembling hands, he reached toward the fragment. The moment his fingers brushed it, the entire chamber quaked. A blinding light erupted, and a flood of sensations surged into Lucien's mind—pain, betrayal, power, and above all, a voice.
"You were never born. You were made."
He gasped. The world spun as he was yanked into a memory.
He stood on a war-torn field beneath a sky lit with burning stars. All around him lay corpses of gods, demons, and humans. At the center of it all stood a tall figure cloaked in white fire—the Creator—his expression calm as he reached down toward a child.
That child... was Lucien.
"No... not a child," Lucien whispered. "A vessel."
The memory shifted. The Creator stood before a divine council, proclaiming, "We must create a new balance. A vessel forged of death and chaos. One who can carry destruction in his blood, yet remain bound to our will."
Lucien's eyes widened. He wasn't reborn by chance. He wasn't merely someone reincarnated with a grudge. He was a construct, designed and cursed to serve a purpose—a tool in the Creator's cosmic scheme.
The memory ended, and Lucien collapsed to his knees, breath ragged. "They made me... to end the gods who disobeyed. And when I awakened... they feared me."
Elira knelt beside him, placing her hand on his shoulder. "But you broke free."
He nodded. "Yes. But the price was my soul. My original consciousness was sealed. What I am now… is the remnant. The rage."
Another voice echoed through the chamber. This one, female, ancient and sharp as thunder. "You remember the truth. Then you are ready."
A new figure emerged from the shadows—tall, draped in armor carved from stars, her silver eyes glowing with timeless wisdom.
"I am Lady Altheria, last of the Ancients who opposed the Creator. We fought beside the original you, before your sealing. I have waited eons to see you awaken."
Lucien stood, still trembling. "You knew who I was?"
"I did," she said solemnly. "And I know what comes next. The Creator will not remain idle now. He knows you've regained a piece of yourself. The seals that bind your true power are weakening. But they are not broken yet."
Elira's expression grew grim. "How do we break the seals?"
"There are three," Altheria said. "One lies within the Void—the very realm you were once cast into. One rests within the soul of the Phoenix Empress. And the final seal… is hidden in the Creator's own domain."
Lucien's heart thundered. The path was clear, but impossibly perilous. "If I retrieve all three… will I regain my true self?"
"You will become who you once were. The Death Sovereign. But beware—your former self was both salvation and destruction. With full memory, you may lose who you are now."
Lucien turned to Elira, whose eyes shimmered with emotion. "Would you still walk beside me, even if I become… something darker?"
She didn't hesitate. "Lucien, I've seen your pain, your kindness, your fury, and your restraint. No matter who you were, you are my choice. I will walk beside you, even into the abyss."
He smiled faintly, then turned to Altheria. "Then guide me to the first seal. To the Void."
She extended a hand. "Then prepare yourself. The Void does not welcome its exiles."
With a flash, the chamber dissolved. Space warped. A black rift opened beneath their feet, swallowing the trio into pure nothingness.
---
They emerged in a world of shifting shadows and whispers—a place where light had long perished. The Void was not simply empty; it was alive. It spoke to Lucien in the voice of his past.
"You are home."
He felt power stir within him—dark, raw, and ancient. The very fibers of the realm responded to his presence.
Elira gasped, holding onto him as the ground beneath them shifted like water. "This place... it's suffocating."
Altheria stepped forward. "The first seal lies in the Obsidian Spire, guarded by what remains of your other half."
Lucien froze. "My… other half?"
"Yes," Altheria said grimly. "When the Creator sealed your original soul, he split it in two. One half was imprisoned. The other was left here, in the Void—to rot, to grow wild, to become… a monster."
A tremor shook the ground. A scream unlike any mortal sound pierced the darkness.
"He's coming," Altheria whispered. "The other you."
Lucien's heart pounded. As the shadows parted, a figure stepped forth—identical to Lucien in form, but draped in black mist, his eyes glowing red with madness.
"Who dares enter my prison?" the shadow-Lucien snarled. "You look like me… but you are weak. You are the lie."
Lucien stepped forward, drawing his scythe. "I am the one who broke free. I've come to reclaim what was taken."
The two Luciens stared each other down—one forged of vengeance, the other of unchained chaos.
And in that instant, both leapt.