The world seemed to hold its breath.
A faint tremor rippled through the ground, crawling up Ragnar's boots like a whisper from beneath the surface. The air turned dense — as if the atmosphere itself bent under a new, overwhelming presence.
Dust floated, weightless, carried by the eerie silence. The runes engraved on the temple walls began to glow faintly, their blue light flickering like a dying flame trying to awaken.
Ragnar stood motionless, his eyes fixed ahead. Behind him, Lyra gripped her staff tightly, her knuckles pale. Even she could feel it — the shift in the air, the pulse that didn't belong to any human.
Then came the voice.
Deep. Ancient. Layered with echoes of ages long gone.
"Who... dares to disturb my slumber?"
The ground cracked. The giant seal in the center of the chamber split open, and from within, light erupted — pure and golden. The radiance flooded the hall, forcing Ragnar to shield his eyes.
A figure emerged from the brilliance — tall, graceful, yet terrifying. His hair shimmered like molten silver, his eyes carrying a golden hue that burned like the heart of a dying star. His armor was old, engraved with runes none alive could read, yet it seemed untouched by time.
Valerius.
The Forgotten Guardian. The name itself was a legend buried under thousands of years of dust.
When the light faded, his gaze fell directly on Ragnar.
"You…" Valerius's voice was calm, but the echo behind it felt like a storm ready to break. "You bear the Mark of Eternity."
Ragnar's heart pounded. The mark — it pulsed faintly under his skin, just as it always did when something beyond mortal comprehension appeared.
He clenched his fists. "You know about it?"
Valerius's eyes narrowed. "Know it? I was there when it was forged."
The room fell silent again, but this time it wasn't peace — it was pressure. Every breath felt heavy, like inhaling lightning. Lyra staggered, barely managing to keep her balance.
"Ragnar…" she whispered, voice trembling. "His energy—it's beyond anything I've ever felt."
Valerius took a step forward. The ground cracked under his heel. "You stand where no mortal should, child. Tell me… why have you come?"
Ragnar met his gaze, unflinching. "To awaken what was lost. To understand why this world is dying."
A low hum vibrated in Valerius's throat — amusement, maybe, or something darker. "Then you seek the truth. But the truth demands blood, courage… and sacrifice."
He raised a hand, and the ancient sigils floating in the air began to twist, forming a circle of light around Ragnar.
Lyra shouted, "Ragnar! Step back!"
But Ragnar didn't move. "If this is the price to learn… then I'll pay it."
The circle flared. Wind screamed through the chamber as Valerius's power surged outward — testing him, judging him. Ragnar's vision blurred. Images flashed before him — glimpses of a war that shattered realms, a burning sky, gods falling like broken stars.
Then… silence.
Ragnar dropped to one knee, sweat dripping down his chin. His hands trembled — not from fear, but from the weight of what he'd just seen.
Valerius studied him for a long moment. Then, slowly, the ancient guardian lowered his hand. The light faded.
"…You didn't break."
Ragnar raised his head, meeting those golden eyes again.
Valerius's expression shifted — something between surprise and respect. "Perhaps… you truly are chosen by fate."
Lyra ran to Ragnar's side, supporting him as he tried to stand. "Are you insane?" she hissed, though her voice shook with relief. "You almost got yourself killed!"
He managed a weak smirk. "Almost."
Valerius turned away, his armor whispering as he moved. "You wish to save this world. Then you must understand what threatens it."
He extended his hand, and the temple walls came alive — runes swirling to form visions in the air. Mountains of fire. Seas turning black. A figure cloaked in darkness, holding a crown of shifting shadows.
"The Eclipsed King," Valerius said, voice low. "He is awakening. Just as I have."
Ragnar's gaze hardened. "Then I'll stop him."
Valerius's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "You speak boldly for one who has not yet seen despair."
"I've seen enough." Ragnar's tone was steady. "I've lost enough."
For a brief second, Valerius's gaze softened. Then he turned his back, facing the glowing seal. "Very well. I will test you again. If you survive the next trial… I will tell you what the Mark truly is."
Before Ragnar could speak, the ground shuddered violently. The seal behind Valerius began to crack again — but this time, it wasn't light that escaped. It was darkness.
The shadows that poured out twisted, forming shapes — creatures with no faces, eyes burning red.
Valerius's voice turned grim. "You brought them with you. The veil is weakening."
Lyra took a fighting stance, magic burning at her fingertips. Ragnar drew his blade, its faint blue aura flickering to life.
"Then let's finish this," Ragnar said, eyes cold and steady.
The first creature lunged — a blur of darkness and teeth — and Ragnar met it head-on. The temple exploded in motion, light and shadow colliding in a storm that made even the ancient walls tremble.
As Ragnar fought, Valerius's gaze lingered on him — studying every move, every strike. There was something in his eyes now — recognition, or perhaps memory.
And then, as another shadow fell, Ragnar's mark blazed to life again — brighter than ever before. The same golden hue as Valerius's eyes.
The guardian froze. His voice came out as a whisper.
"It can't be… not after all this time."
But Ragnar didn't hear him. His world had become light, motion, and survival.
And somewhere in that chaos, fate quietly shifted its hand.