The march through the crimson plains felt endless.
Days passed—though it was impossible to tell what a "day" was in this world where the sky bled violet instead of blue. Sleep came in fragments, snatched between battles with beasts and the relentless pressure of mana storms that rolled down from the mountains.
But they did not stop.
Each survivor carried a share of the slain creature's hide and bone. They fashioned spears tipped with mana crystal, armor stitched from scaled plating. It wasn't elegant, but it worked. The weak had been culled. The thirteen who remained were forged sharper by the gods' cruelty.
Kael walked at the front, silent.
Behind him, Lyria murmured healing incantations over a wounded man's arm, pale light blooming from her palms. Seris moved like a shadow beside Kael, scanning the ridges with her predator's gaze.
When the wind rose, it carried whispers—not sound, but impressions. The gods' amusement seeped through the air like poison.
> Look at them crawl.
Still they climb.
Perhaps they'll last another trial…
Kael ignored the voices. His anger had burned past rage into something colder, cleaner. He no longer shouted at the heavens; he promised himself vengeance in silence.
---
By the seventh march, the ground began to change. The endless plains gave way to fractured cliffs and narrow paths that spiraled upward. Here, the air was thinner, but cleaner. Streams of pale blue water flowed from the rocks, humming with mana.
When they reached a high ridge, Lyria gasped.
Below lay a basin cradled by four mountains. Each peak curved inward slightly, enclosing the valley like a natural fortress. In its center shimmered a lake that reflected the violet sky, surrounded by ancient stone pillars carved with runes.
Seris whistled low. "Now that's a view."
Kael stared down, eyes narrowing. The valley was alive with quiet energy. He could feel it—the pulse of the land, steady and powerful. "This is it," he said. "Our sanctuary."
Daren frowned. "You sure? Could be another trap."
"Everything here is a trap," Kael replied. "But this one is worth taking."
They descended carefully, cutting paths into the rock, marking trails with symbols. The air grew cooler, the mana thicker. When they reached the valley floor, they realized how vast it truly was—large enough to hold a city.
Lyria knelt and pressed her hands to the soil. "It's fertile," she said in awe. "Mana flows beneath the surface. We could grow food here. Maybe even channel it for spells."
Kael nodded. "Then we start now."
---
They built their first shelter that night.
There were no proper tools—only what they'd scavenged—but Seris discovered that the crystal bones of the slain beasts could be shaped by will. When charged with mana, the material softened like clay, then hardened stronger than steel. With Lyria's guidance, they created their first walls—smooth, luminous, and alive.
Daren organized the others into shifts: builders, scouts, foragers. Lyra and two others—Ryn and Tovin, best friends since their old world—became hunters, exploring the nearby cliffs for prey.
For the first time since the descent, the survivors had purpose beyond surviving the next minute.
---
Kael watched from a rocky ledge as the village began to take shape. It was crude—tents of woven hide, walls half-built—but it was theirs.
Seris approached quietly, tossing him a chunk of crystal fruit she'd found near the lake. "For the king," she teased.
He caught it without smiling. "I'm no king."
"Not yet," she said, leaning against the ledge. "But they're looking at you like one."
Kael glanced down. The others were moving with rhythm now, following his commands without question. Lyria's laughter echoed as she healed a young boy's cut hand. Daren barked orders at builders. Lyra and Ryn returned with fresh kills slung over their shoulders.
A small, fragile society was taking root.
"Does it bother you?" Seris asked softly.
"What?"
"The weight. All their eyes on you."
Kael looked at her. "I didn't ask for it."
"Leaders never do," she said, smirking faintly. "But here you are anyway."
He studied her face—sharp, confident, yet weary beneath the veneer of sarcasm. "You talk like someone who's led before."
"I have," she admitted. "Didn't end well."
"Then why follow me?"
Her smirk faded. "Because you remind me of the kind of man who doesn't break when the world tries to."
Kael didn't know how to respond. He only nodded slightly, then turned back toward the valley.
Above them, the stars of this world glowed like living embers—each one pulsing faintly in rhythm, as if watching.
---
The next morning, training began.
Kael gathered the thirteen on the valley floor. The air shimmered faintly with mana, and the ground beneath their feet vibrated with unseen energy.
He drew a circle in the dirt with the tip of his blade. "This world feeds on strength," he said. "We adapt or we die. The gods chose us because they think we'll entertain them. So we'll give them a show they'll never forget."
He stepped back, energy rising from his body in faint streams of light. "We'll learn to harness what they fear most—the magic of creation."
Lyria frowned. "Creation? You mean—"
Kael nodded. "The same force they used to shape this world. I've felt it since we arrived. It's wild, but it responds to will. If we master it, we won't just survive—we'll rewrite the rules."
The group exchanged uneasy glances, but curiosity outweighed fear.
Kael extended his hand, and the air shimmered. A faint structure of light formed—like glass veins weaving together. It solidified into a translucent dagger that pulsed faintly with heartbeat-like rhythm.
Gasps rippled through the group.
Seris grinned. "Show-off."
Kael handed her the dagger. "Your turn."
She took it, closed her eyes, and focused. For a moment, nothing happened—then the dagger dissolved, reforming in her hand, sharper and darker. "Not bad," she murmured, tossing it experimentally.
The others tried next. Lyria struggled at first, but when Kael guided her hand, her mana flared—soft and warm, manifesting as a bow of shimmering green light. She smiled faintly, a real smile this time.
Lyra and Ryn worked together, their energies intertwining to form a dual-bladed spear. The air around them shimmered with synchronized pulse—their friendship turned tangible through mana.
Each success was small, but each one carved another piece of identity out of the chaos.
---
That night, Kael sat beside the lake with Lyria. The water reflected their faces, fractured by ripples of light.
"You didn't sleep again," she said quietly.
"I can't," he admitted. "Every time I close my eyes, I hear them laughing."
Lyria hesitated, then leaned closer, resting her shoulder lightly against his. "Then don't listen. Listen to us instead."
Kael turned, surprised by her closeness. The faint blush on her cheeks betrayed her calm tone. "You trust me that easily?"
"No," she said softly. "But I want to."
For a long moment, neither spoke. The silence wasn't awkward—it was grounding. In a world where everything screamed and burned, this quiet moment felt sacred.
Lyria broke it with a whisper. "If we ever leave this world… what will you do?"
Kael's eyes hardened slightly. "Make sure no god ever plays with another life again."
She smiled sadly. "You really believe you can kill gods?"
Kael didn't answer. His gaze drifted toward the heavens.
"I'll make them bleed first. The rest will follow."
---
Days turned into weeks.
The village grew into something greater—a settlement of crystal and mana-light nestled beneath the peaks. They called it Elandra, the City of Survivors. Within seven months, it thrived. Gardens of glowing plants lined the lake. Houses carved from living stone pulsed with soft blue light. Mana streams were harnessed into forges and irrigation.
And in the center of it all stood a throne—not of gold, but of crystal and carved runes. Kael had refused to sit on it for weeks, but the people insisted.
When he finally did, Seris knelt mockingly and declared, "Long live King Kael of Elandra."
Lyria smiled beside him, though her eyes shone with pride rather than humor.
The others cheered—not as jest, but as truth.
Kael didn't feel like a king.
He felt like a weapon sharpened by pain.
But for now, they had peace.
And for the first time, he dared to believe it might last.