The sky was deep red like it was bleeding from the heavens, and clouds twisted like giant beasts over the dead plains of Varnhold's edge, but Ceyr kept walking through it all like a shadow that didn't belong to the world anymore, his cloak torn and dragging across the burnt earth, his body covered in dried blood and new scars glowing with faint black fire, and his eyes half-shut not from tiredness but from something darker that now lived inside him, whispering louder every second, telling him that the world itself was just meat waiting to be devoured, but Ceyr didn't listen fully—not yet—because even though the power inside him was growing fast, too fast, breaking rules of magic and tearing down the balance of ancient laws, he still remembered the feeling of being weak, being hunted, being hated, and he swore to never go back to that version of himself again, so when the wind stopped suddenly and the grass stood still like statues, he knew someone strong had arrived, someone born to be the end of things, and when he turned around he saw her, Caelina of the Saintblade Order, wearing armor so bright it looked like moonlight in the shape of a warrior, her sword wrapped in holy seals that floated in the air, and her long silver hair dancing like it had its own will, and she looked at him with those cold eyes that could cut a man's soul in half without even blinking, and she said just four words that froze the world, "You carry forbidden hunger."
But Ceyr didn't answer with words, he stepped forward and the shadows moved with him like loyal dogs, and behind him the ground cracked with every step, and the curse inside him laughed loud, "YES! YES! FIGHT HER! TASTE HER LIGHT!" but he held it back with one deep breath, clenched his fists, and raised one hand forward, "I don't want to destroy you," he said, his voice rough like stone grinding against metal, "but I will if I must," and that was enough, because in the next heartbeat she was already there, her sword swinging down like a falling star, and he blocked it with his bare hand, but the holy light burned his skin like acid and he screamed but didn't fall, and she moved again, faster than any knight he had ever seen, her feet not even touching the ground, her body surrounded by runes that glowed with ancient prayers, and she struck him again and again, every hit breaking trees, rocks, mountains—but he didn't die, no, he only got angrier, and the black fire from the Devourer mark exploded out of his back like wings made of hunger, and now it was his turn, he vanished and reappeared behind her with a roar, punching the air so hard it broke the clouds, and she flew back, crashing through five hills, but when the dust cleared, she stood again, blood running down her mouth, her armor cracked, but her eyes still full of light.
"You're not just cursed," she whispered, "You're becoming something else." And Ceyr didn't know what to say, because he was scared of that too, scared that one day he would wake up and not even be himself anymore, just a weapon, just a mouth for the Devourer inside him, but he didn't stop, because the only way out was forward, and their battle raged for hours, no, maybe days, no food, no rest, just blades, fists, screams, magic, the sky changing colors, beasts running from the energy, rivers drying, even the stars above dimming as if the gods themselves were watching carefully, and when it was finally over, both of them stood on a hill of ruin, panting, broken, but alive, and Caelina dropped her sword, looked at him with tired eyes, and said, "You… you aren't ready to fall… yet," and then she walked away, disappearing into the fog like a dream, but not before she looked back and added, "I'll return when the hunger swallows your heart… and if you lose yourself… I'll be the one to end you."
Ceyr fell to one knee as she vanished, blood dripping from his mouth, the world spinning, the Devourer screaming in rage inside him for not feeding, but Ceyr whispered, "Not now… not yet… I'm still me," and then he passed out, the shadows wrapping around him like a cocoon, and deep underground, something ancient woke up because of his battle, something with many mouths and no name, something sealed by gods and kings long ago, and it smiled in the dark and whispered, "The throne… has begun to tremble," and far away, in a silver castle in the sky, twelve Archlords gathered, watching his rise, arguing, fearing, some wanting to kill him, some wanting to use him, but all of them knowing the same truth—Ceyr wasn't a mistake, he was a prophecy walking on two legs, and the next time he fought, the world itself might bleed.