The world was ending in light and fire.
Astraea's once-glorious skies were now shrouded in ash and thunder. Screams rippled through the air like cracks in glass. Cities burned. Broken towers crumbled like sandcastles, their white-gold spires blackened by Kael's branded legion.
Dævd. The last of royal blood stood motionless in the temple ruins, blood running down his cheek, the sting in his eye dulled by adrenaline. In his hands, the sword pulsed — Lucent Grave. But it wasn't just a blade anymore. It was her. Vaelrya, his elder sister, had offered herself to the sword, becoming its living soul.
Vaelrya's voice was still fresh in his head, like wind through chimes:
"I'm not leaving you, Dævd. I'll be the blade that guides your hand… until you're strong enough to stand alone."
His breaths were sharp.
He hadn't even had time to grieve.
He couldn't feel her body anymore — only the divine hum of the relic she'd fused with, the remnants of her soul now part of his grip.
Then a sharp noise cut through the silence. The echo of armored footsteps, heavy, deliberate and monstrous. One of Kael's Branded. Getting closer. Too close.
From across the shattered courtyard, a branded warrior approached. A terrifying, lesser elite. This one moved with intention. Inhuman eyes burned beneath a twisted helm, and his charred cloak smoldered like it was woven from coal.
"The king's last runt," the branded soldier growled, dragging a jagged war-claw across the stone floor. "Heard I'd find you here."
Dævd staggered back. The blade in his hand lit up — unprovoked.
A voice echoed from within it.
"No. Not yet. You must live. Let me act."
The sword erupted with sudden light — divine, silver-blue. For a split second, the world slowed. A ghostly silhouette of Vaelrya flared behind Dævd, her spirit roaring from the blade.
With a flash, she deflected the Branded's strike and blasted him into the temple wall.
"Move!" her voice echoed inside his head. "Now's your chance — go!"
Dævd didn't hesitate. He ran through the corridors, lungs burning, heart pounding. He didn't even see the shadow waiting in the doorway.
Until he collided with her.
She caught him gently — a woman, battered, weary… and familiar.
"Mom…?"
His voice cracked like the broken marble beneath them.
"Dævd," she whispered, pulling him into a trembling embrace. "Thank the stars…"
He could barely hold it in — the pain, the loss, the sword in his hand still alive with Vaelrya's soul.
"I couldn't save her…"
"You did," she said, brushing his hair back. "She saved you. And now it's my turn."
Her hands moved quickly. From her robe she drew a cloth — smooth, ancient, and laced with silver thread. A blindfold.
"No," he said, stepping back. "I can fight."
"Not with those eyes."
"But…"
"They're awakening, Dævd. And if the wrong soul looks into them now, they'll rip this world apart."
She stepped close and tied the blindfold gently across his face. Her fingers shook as they did, not from fear, but grief.
"When the time is right… you'll know."
The Aetheric Gate in the chamber behind her began to glow, activated by the sword's presence. Its energy rippled through the floor — unstable, pulsing.
"Come with me!"
He hesitated and in that second, another Branded roared again in the distance.
"We don't have much time."
She stepped forward, eyes fierce despite the tears trembling in them. She reached out and took Lucent Grave from his hands. The blade reacted to her touch — glowing faintly, the runes across its length pulsing with suppressed stormlight.
"So this sword… holds the soul of my daughter," she whispered, voice soft with awe and grief. "She'll carry you farther than I ever could."
Then, without hesitation, she pressed her palm against the blade's edge.
The steel bit deep.
Crimson blood ran across the gleaming metal — sizzling the moment it touched the ancient runes. The sword came to life. Lightning arced from its hilt, wrapping around her arm, dancing like living veins of storm.
The air warped.
A deep hum began to build in the chamber. Symbols once hidden on the marble floor flared to life. The portal's frame, long silent, ignited in blinding azure, spiraling open like a vortex of shattered light.
"There. It's ready," she said, wincing but holding the blade upright.
She turned and pressed Lucent Grave back into Dævd's hands. The moment his fingers curled around the hilt, the sword flared, as if recognizing its master again.
Then, she pulled him close.
"My son… the next time you open your eyes, the world will not recognize you," she murmured into his ear. "But you must walk through it like a king. Like the storm you were born from."
Dævd clutched her tighter. "Come with me."
She pulled back, cupping his face. Her blood still trickled down her fingers.
"If I don't close the gate behind you… they'll follow. You'll never be safe."
The roar of the Branded soldier echoed closer — stone breaking, footsteps pounding.
"I can't lose you too," Dævd choked.
She smiled through tears — a warrior's smile, unbreaking. "You won't. I live in you now. In every strike you make with that sword."
"Then when will I see you again?"
"When the storms rise," she whispered.
She kissed his forehead, took a deep breath and with all her strength, shoved him into the portal.
Light exploded around him.
And just before everything faded, he saw her turn — sword drawn, face lit by the gate's radiance — ready to face the branded soldier alone.
The portal snapped shut behind him.