The silence came first.
Not the gentle kind—the kind that settles after a storm—but a vast, suffocating stillness that pressed against Aurel's ears and chest, as though the world itself had drawn a breath and refused to release it.
He stood at the center of the ruins, surrounded by broken pillars half-buried in ash and memory. The air shimmered faintly, bending light in unnatural ways, as if reality itself was uncertain whether it should still obey its own rules here.
Aurel's fingers trembled.
Not from fear.
From recognition.
"This place…" he whispered, his voice sounding foreign to his own ears.
He had never been here before.
Yet every stone knew him.
The ground beneath his feet pulsed once—slow, deliberate—like a heartbeat awakening after centuries of sleep. Aurel staggered back instinctively, gripping his chest as something deep within him responded in kind.
A memory stirred.
No—many memories.
Flashes assaulted his mind: skies burning gold, armies kneeling, oceans parting at a single gesture. A voice—his voice—echoing across creation, heavy with command and sorrow.
Aurel gasped, dropping to one knee.
"Stop," he muttered, clutching his head. "Stop showing me this."
But the ruins did not listen.
The air thickened, and from the shadows between the shattered columns, light began to gather—thin threads at first, weaving together into something almost human.
Almost.
A figure emerged.
Tall. Luminous. Featureless, yet unmistakably aware.
"You have returned," the figure said, its voice layered—many tones speaking as one.
Aurel looked up slowly. "I didn't choose to."
The being regarded him in silence. Then, almost gently, it replied, "You never did."
That answer struck deeper than any blade.
Aurel rose to his feet, forcing steadiness into his posture. "If you brought me here to bow or remember, you'll be disappointed."
A pause.
Then the figure stepped closer. With each step, the ruins reacted—stones shifting, symbols igniting faintly along the walls, ancient sigils awakening from their long slumber.
"This place was built for you," the being said. "By you."
Aurel's jaw tightened. "Then why does it feel like a grave?"
"Because it is."
The words echoed longer than they should have.
Aurel turned slowly, taking in the surroundings again—not as a lost wanderer this time, but as something older, something buried beneath flesh and doubt.
"Tell me the truth," he said quietly. "What was I?"
The figure did not answer immediately. Instead, it raised one hand, and the air split open like torn fabric.
A vision unfolded.
Aurel saw himself—not as he was now, but as something vast and radiant. A crown of light hovered above his head, forged not of gold but of will itself. Entire worlds aligned to his presence, their skies reshaping, their laws bending.
He watched as gods argued in his presence.
As some feared him.
As others plotted.
"You were not born," the figure said. "You were named."
The vision shifted.
Betrayal.
Aurel saw a circle of divine figures surrounding him, their expressions masked in reverence and deceit. Chains formed—not of metal, but of oaths and forgotten promises—wrapping around his light, dragging him down.
Aurel clenched his fists.
"So they erased me," he said. "Turned a god into a man."
"Yes."
The vision collapsed.
The ruins returned.
The silence returned.
But Aurel was no longer the same.
"And yet," he said slowly, "I'm still here."
The figure inclined its head. "That was their mistake."
A sudden tremor ran through the ground, stronger this time. Cracks spread outward, glowing with a deep, ancient blue. Power—his power—stirred restlessly beneath the surface.
Aurel felt it now, unmistakably.
Not wild.
Not uncontrollable.
Waiting.
"You're afraid," he said to the figure.
"We are cautious," it corrected. "If you awaken fully, the balance will fracture."
Aurel let out a quiet, humorless laugh. "Balance," he repeated. "That's what they called my imprisonment too."
The figure did not deny it.
Aurel stepped forward, standing so close that the light from the being washed over his face. For a moment, the ruins reflected his eyes—and for an instant, they glowed with something ancient and infinite.
"I don't want dominion," he said. "I don't want worship."
The figure studied him.
"But," Aurel continued, his voice lowering, "I will not remain broken for their comfort."
The ground pulsed again—stronger, faster.
Far away, beyond the ruins, something felt it.
Something ancient turned its attention toward him.
The figure recoiled slightly. "If you continue down this path, they will come."
Aurel nodded. "Good."
The light around him surged briefly, then faded back under his skin like a secret flame.
He turned away from the ruins, leaving the glowing symbols to dim once more.
As he stepped beyond the boundary, the silence shattered—not with sound, but with consequence.
The world had noticed him again.
And this time, it would not forget.
Aurel had taken no more than three steps away from the ruins when the air behind him collapsed.
Not exploded—collapsed, as if reality itself had folded inward.
He turned sharply.
The ruins were changing.
The broken pillars no longer crumbled under age; they were straightening, stone grinding against stone as ancient structures pulled themselves upright. Symbols that had dimmed moments ago reignited, burning brighter than before—no longer blue, but a deep, unsettling gold.
The ground beneath Aurel's feet trembled violently.
"This isn't awakening," he muttered. "This is—"
A sound cut through the air.
A horn.
Low. Vast. Endless.
It did not echo; it commanded the world to listen.
Aurel staggered as the sound passed through him, not into his ears but into his bones, his blood, the very thing inside him that was still remembering what it once was. His vision blurred, and for a brief moment, he saw two worlds at once—the present, and another layered atop it.
A sky split by fractures of light.
Cities kneeling.
A throne abandoned.
He clenched his jaw and forced himself to stand.
"Show yourself," he said, his voice stronger than he felt.
The luminous figure reappeared—no longer calm, no longer distant. Cracks of light ran through its form, as if it were struggling to hold itself together.
"You should not have lingered," it said, urgency bleeding into its layered voice.
Aurel narrowed his eyes. "You said they would come. You didn't say this fast."
"They were already watching," the figure replied. "Waiting for certainty."
Another tremor—closer this time.
Beyond the ruins, the horizon darkened unnaturally, clouds spiraling inward as though drawn toward a single point. Lightning flickered, but it made no sound.
Aurel felt it then.
A presence.
Not vast like memory.
Not distant like myth.
But sharp.
Focused.
Hunting.
"Who?" he asked quietly.
The figure hesitated.
That hesitation told him everything.
"You're afraid of one," Aurel said.
"Yes," the being admitted. "Because it remembers you clearly."
The air split again—this time not into a vision, but into a wound.
From the tear stepped something wrong.
It wore a form shaped like a man, but its outline shimmered, unable to settle. Its eyes burned white, not with light, but with absence—as though they erased whatever they focused on.
And when it smiled, the world recoiled.
"Aurel," it said, tasting the name. "Or should I say… what's left of you."
Aurel did not move. "I was wondering who would come first."
The entity tilted its head. "You sound disappointed."
"I was hoping it wouldn't be you."
The smile widened.
"Still arrogant," it said softly. "Even reduced to flesh."
The ruins reacted violently now. Symbols flared, then shattered. Stone cracked under pressure that had nothing to do with weight.
The luminous figure stepped between them. "You are not permitted—"
With a single gesture, the entity erased it.
Not destroyed.
Erased.
The light unraveled into nothingness, as though it had never existed.
Aurel felt something snap inside him.
The air around him thickened, heavy with pressure. Dust lifted from the ground, freezing midair. His heartbeat slowed—not weakened, but controlled.
"You shouldn't have done that," Aurel said quietly.
The entity's smile faltered—just for an instant.
"Oh?" it replied. "And what will you do?"
Aurel raised his hand.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the ground beneath the entity fractured, ancient power surging upward like a restrained scream finally released. The ruins howled as energy poured through forgotten channels, responding not to memory—but to command.
The entity was forced back a step.
Its eyes narrowed.
"So," it said slowly, "you are waking up."
Aurel's hand trembled—not from weakness, but restraint.
"I told you," he said, voice layered now with something older, heavier. "I don't want dominion."
The sky cracked with thunder at last.
"But I will not be erased again."
The entity laughed—sharp, delighted, dangerous.
"Good," it said. "Because when the others arrive… they will not give you a choice."
The tear in the air widened.
More presences stirred beyond it.
Watching.
Waiting.
Aurel stood at the center of the ruin, power surging around him, past and present colliding violently inside his chest.
And for the first time since his fall—
He chose not to run.