When Leos returned to Neosis, he was brought to the Royal Grand Library. There, the kingdom's top scholars and magi examined the golden chains still locked around his wrists. Even though he had escaped the sea cave and its monstrous guardian, Leos could not shake off the last trace of his captivity. The two golden chains glowed with a faint, sacred light that sent chills down his spine. They were more than just reminders of his imprisonment; they weighed on him with every step. These chains had been forged from the light of Elion, the Sun God.
The scholars tried everything they could think of. They attempted to dispel curses, washed the chains in holy water, used ancient talismans from the first dynasty, and even tried to cut them with silver blades made from sacred cactus bones and volcanic fire. Nothing worked. The chains would not burn, melt, break, or respond to any magic. It seemed they existed only to bind Leos forever and remind him of the god who had imprisoned him.
"This is not merely a chain," an elderly mage with silver hair said. "It was forged from divine power itself. To break it, one must wield power equal to that of a god."
Leos clenched his fists, his eyes calmer than before. "Then if I can't remove it… can I live with it?"
When the scholars could do no more, Leos suggested a risky alternative. He spoke of a forbidden ritual from old myths, never tried before, that would fuse the divine chains into his own flesh and blood. This spell could turn his curse into a source of power. It was frightening, but it also offered hope.
With King Kyros's permission, the scholars prepared for the ritual deep below the city, in an old temple honoring the god of transformation. They drew a ritual circle with blood and surrounded it with sacred sand from the southern desert. Incense filled the air while ancient chants echoed through the underground hall.
Leos stepped into the center of the circle, his hands still chained but his stance unshaken. A young scholar whispered to the one beside him, "The prince is reckless to attempt this."
"Silence," the high priest commanded. "Begin the rite."
A blinding red light burst from the ground and surrounded Leos like fire. The golden chains twisted and shook against his skin, then slowly melted into streams of light that sank into his wrists. Thunder echoed through the chamber. When the light faded, the chains had vanished. Instead, two glowing tattoos circled his wrists, red as blood, shining like metal, and pulsing with a strange power.
Leos gasped for air and dropped to his knees. A scholar rushed forward to catch him. "Your Highness, how do you feel?"
"Strange… but it doesn't hurt," Leos murmured, studying the new markings. "It feels like something is crawling beneath my skin."
From that day on, Leos began an intensive training regimen. Magi and royal guards oversaw his every move. He learned to sense the divine energy of the Sun God within him, to tame it, to summon it at will.
"Relax. Don't force it," one mage instructed. "Control it as though it were part of your own body."
At first, Leos would collapse from exhaustion, his body trembling violently each time he summoned too many chains or held them for too long. Once, he fainted after conjuring three chains at once and trying to make them strike moving targets.
"Stop!" a healer shouted as Leos fell. "You're pushing yourself too far!"
But Leos only smiled weakly. "It's fine. I'll get used to it."
Day by day, he improved. The prince could now shape the chains into razor-sharp whips or twist them into golden armor to block magical attacks. Once, he sent a chain shooting forward like lightning, binding a distant target ten paces away in an instant. Sweat poured from his brow as the red tattoos glowed brightly, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat, as if answering his call.
"Remarkable," an old mage said, nodding. "He can wield Elion's power without losing control. Truly extraordinary. The prince is gifted beyond measure."
Leos stood at the center of the training ground, breathing steadily, arms relaxed at his sides as the golden chains faded into the air.
"Good," he said, his voice low but firm. "Elion would never have imagined his own power could be mastered by a mortal."
The scholars and magi watched in silence. No longer did they see Leos as a prisoner bound by divine chains, but as a master of them, a being who wielded the very power that once enslaved him. He was no longer a symbol of sin or weakness. The crimson tattoos on his wrists had become something far greater: the mark of strength, and the proof of freedom.