The wind howled that night — not as a storm, but as if the heavens themselves were whispering a warning.
In the southern valleys of Arvath, where twilight and dawn clashed upon the horizon, two forces began to move.
One cloaked in shadow, the other wrapped in light.
The air trembled as Sora stepped onto a cliff overlooking a forgotten battlefield. Bones slept beneath the soil, and broken spears jutted from the earth like accusations. The moon hung cold above him — full, silver, and unblinking.
"I can feel it again… that radiance,"
he murmured.
"So close… it almost stings."
He stretched out a hand, and the night seemed to breathe with him.
The shadows pooled, swirling like a sea called by its king.
With every heartbeat, the ground darkened — roots, stones, and dust bending to his will.
Yet beneath the power, his thoughts were not of conquest.
They were haunted — by a voice half-remembered and a name that now burned behind his eyes.
"Seraphine…" he whispered. "Why do you linger in my mind as if we once shared a world?"
A faint tremor rippled through the valley — not from wind or quake, but from two souls recognizing each other across distance.
---
Far across the plains, Seraphine stood at the edge of a canyon, her golden armor reflecting moonlight like water. Around her, the Inquisition's banners fluttered, but she barely saw them.
She could feel it too — the presence pressing at the edges of her soul.
Familiar. Heavy. Terrifyingly close.
A knight approached behind her. "My Lady, the scouts say the forest trembles. The light falters there."
She didn't turn. Her hand hovered over her staff, its gem pulsing faintly with divine resonance.
"That's no forest tremor," she said softly.
"That's him."
Her eyes lifted — twin mirrors of gold and crimson — and the night seemed to burn around her as she raised her staff to the sky.
"By the radiance of Elarion, reveal the abyss that mocks the sun!"
A circle of golden light erupted overhead, illuminating the clouds like dawn reborn.
At that same moment, Sora's eyes snapped open.
> "So… you've found me."
He raised his palm, shadows rippling upward in reply. The night turned to ink, devouring the stars.
And then — it began.
---
The heavens screamed.
Light and shadow collided over the valley, miles apart yet intertwined — not through touch, but through memory.
Sora launched forward, the ground cracking beneath each step. His form blurred into mist, reforming behind streaks of shadow that lashed upward like serpents. In response, Seraphine swung her staff downward, releasing a torrent of sanctified light. The collision split the air, a boom echoing through the valley.
Every burst of light carried warmth that hurt his heart.
Every surge of shadow stirred longing she couldn't name.
Sora thrust out his arm — tendrils of darkness solidified into spears, darting toward the sky. Seraphine countered, her staff spinning in a radiant arc, each motion painting sigils of light that dissolved his attacks midair. Their powers collided again and again — explosions of gold and black painting the heavens like warring stars.
The earth itself couldn't bear it; rivers froze mid-current, and the air split like glass. From afar, villagers saw the sky crack in two — gold on one side, violet-black on the other — and called it the Night of Sundering Skies.
---
Seraphine staggered as the radiance faded. Her chest rose and fell, her armor scorched by dark residue.
> "He's… not what they told us," she breathed.
Her heart raced — not from fear, but from something older.
Recognition.
Meanwhile, in the ruins, Sora gazed at his trembling hand. Her light had brushed him — and for a heartbeat, the cold that ruled him broke.
> "That warmth… why does it feel like home?"
Both fell silent beneath the dying storm, neither knowing they had touched each other's soul through that clash.
And far beyond mortal sight, in a realm where fate and memory intertwine, two threads of light and shadow began to twist closer — no longer opposing… but returning to where they once began.