The clang of steel and the cries of the dying tore through the battlefield. Blades met shields, arrows darkened the sky—but in the rear line, one man struggled even to lift his own defense.
Mud clung to Azerion's boots like chains. His shield felt impossibly heavy, his arms trembling as though filled with molten lead.
"Azerion! Keep up, damn you!" his captain snarled.
He stumbled forward, barely raising his spear as arrows hissed past his head.
Laughter erupted behind him, sharp and cruel, even as men bled and screamed.
"Dead weight."
"Coward."
"Why bring him at all?"
Azerion's cheeks burned. He swallowed his shame and swung his spear with all his strength—but the strike went wide. An enemy soldier lunged, blade flashing.
Azerion froze.
Steel would have split his skull if another soldier hadn't stepped in at the last second—killing the enemy with a clean, practiced strike.
"Useless," the man spat, not even sparing Azerion a glance.
By nightfall, the battle was over.
The nobles drank to their "glorious victory," laughing beneath torchlight. Azerion, bruised and aching, dragged his battered body away from the campfires to the quiet outskirts of the encampment.
There, as always, waited Serenya.
She rose when she saw him, relief flickering across her face before worry took its place. Without a word, she guided him to sit and began cleaning his wounds.
"They said nothing new today," she murmured softly. "I hope."
Azerion let out a bitter laugh. "They don't need to. Their eyes say enough." He looked away. "I'm useless. A burden they're forced to carry."
Serenya paused. She cupped his face, gentle but firm, forcing him to meet her gaze.
"To them, maybe," she said. "But not to me. Not ever."
For a moment, something warm settled in his chest.
As she leaned back, the pendant resting against her collarbone shimmered—just faintly, like a dying star.
Azerion noticed the glow. His brow furrowed, but he said nothing.
Weeks passed.
Nothing changed.
If anything, his name became a joke whispered openly. Captains mocked him in front of recruits. Comrades no longer bothered hiding their contempt.
Still, Azerion endured.
At night, Serenya's smile was the only thing that kept him standing.
Then came the expedition.
A scouting party was ordered into the mountain range beyond the frontier—tasked with charting a forbidden cave long avoided by the army. Azerion was assigned without explanation.
He knew why.
"This is perfect," one soldier whispered as they marched. "No one will care if the weakling dies."
Another snorted. "He'll probably trip on a rock and do us the favor himself."
Azerion said nothing.
When the cavern mouth finally yawned before them, ancient and black, dread coiled tight around his heart. Strange cracks of pale light pulsed within the stone, as if something beneath was breathing.
They went in.
The deeper they walked, the heavier the air became. The ground trembled faintly beneath their boots.
Then—
Hands shoved him.
Hard.
Azerion barely had time to gasp before his footing vanished.
"No—!"
His scream echoed as darkness swallowed him whole. He crashed against jagged stone, pain tearing through his body. Something snapped. Warm blood pooled beneath him as his vision blurred.
Above, voices faded into cruel laughter.
"Good riddance."
But in the abyss, something stirred.
Eyes unseen opened.
A presence older than gods pressed into his breaking soul, vast and cold.
"So…" a voice whispered, echoing inside his very bones.
"Even the forgotten may rise."
Azerion lay shattered, breath shallow, life slipping away. With the last of his strength, he forced his lips to move.
"…Yes…"
Light erupted.
It surged into his veins, searing flesh and spirit alike. The cavern shook as if the world itself recoiled.
"Then Supremacy shall be yours—"
the voice intoned, ancient and merciless,
"—but what you rise as will no longer be human."
Episode 2 – The Voice Beneath
Darkness pressed against Azerion's body like liquid stone. Every breath was a battle; every heartbeat felt borrowed. Pain coursed through his limbs, yet the voice of the Core resonated deep within his mind, calm, eternal, unyielding.
"So… even the forgotten may rise," it whispered again.
Azerion's lips trembled. "…Yes," he whispered, the word a thread barely holding him to life.
A surge of white-hot light tore through his veins. Bones shifted, muscles reformed, and the pain became clarity. His vision sharpened—far beyond human sight. He could see the jagged cave walls as if they were threads of silk, the tremor in the rocks, even the faint pulse of life above.
Azerion gasped, voice raw:
"What… what am I?"
"You are no longer the man who fell," the Core replied. Its tone was both seduction and threat.
"You are the vessel of Supremacy. Power abandoned to humanity is meaningless; you will become its master."
The words echoed in his mind like hammers, each one driving away fear and shame. Pain twisted into exhilaration, terror into hunger. Azerion's hands clenched the cold stone beneath him.
"I… I will rise. I will not be forgotten!"
A flicker of movement caught his attention. Shadows, deeper than the darkness itself, danced along the cave walls. The Core's voice hummed with amusement:
"Every choice has a cost, abandoned one. Will you embrace it, or will it consume you?"
Azerion's chest burned. Memories of mockery, failure, and Serenya's smile collided. The Core's power responded—not just to desire, but to emotion. Pain became fuel, fear became focus.
Tentatively, he lifted his trembling hand. The air shimmered, almost bending under his will. A shard of stone lifted from the cavern floor, spinning slowly above his palm.
"I… control it?" His voice was disbelief and awe wrapped together.
"Yes," the Core replied, voice hard as granite.
"But remember… dominion over reality is a knife with two edges. Every command drains what you are. Every act of power marks your soul."
Azerion's gaze fell to his hands. Black veins rippled beneath his skin, glowing faintly in rhythm with the Core's heartbeat. Fear crawled up his spine—but he did not retreat.
"Then I accept," he said, teeth gritted. "I will endure. I will rise. I will become more than they ever imagined."
The cavern trembled violently. Stones floated, cracked, and shattered, orbiting him like debris around a newborn star. Azerion stumbled, gasping, but the Core's presence steadied him.
A sudden whisper, softer than the others, cut through the chaos:
"Do you crave strength… or vengeance?"
Azerion's lips twisted into a grim smile. "Both. I will take everything I am owed… and more."
The light flared once, blinding, then contracted. He collapsed to the cavern floor, breathing ragged, but alive. His body felt alien, yet stronger. His mind thrummed with possibilities—and with a warning: every step forward would cost more than the last.
Above, the wind howled through the mountains. Somewhere, soldiers continued their petty lives, unaware the "useless" soldier had already begun his transformation.
Azerion whispered into the darkness, voice full of fire and promise:
"I am not forgotten. I will not be forgotten. Let the heavens tremble at what rises from ashes."
And in the shadows, unseen eyes watched, calculating, waiting…