Veran's breathing was ragged as he awoke. Not on a blackened battlefield, not among the corpses of angels and demons, but in a familiar forest, lit by a pale moon. The rustling of leaves and the scent of damp earth took him back to a time long forgotten, a time when war had not yet consumed everything.
Beside him, Raigor leapt to his feet, his golden eyes wide. The werelion inhaled deeply, his hands curling into shaking fists. "We did it…" he murmured.
Veran whirled toward the clear water of a nearby stream and saw his reflection: his face young, his muscles unmarked by countless battles, but within him the power of the storm roared as always. He had truly come back.
Raigor stepped forward, staring intently. "We have a chance, Veran. We must move now."
The two warriors set out. They knew the fate that loomed over the world, and they would waste no time. The first stop was the kingdom of Eldoria, still intact and shining, long before its walls crumbled under the weight of war.
Veran and Raigor marched for days, avoiding beaten paths and watching history unfold like a tragic comedy. Soldiers who would fight and die years later trained young recruits with serene smiles. Merchants traded, unaware of the future ruin that awaited them. But most disturbing of all was that some familiar faces—traitors, puppets of war—walked among the crowd, still unaware of their own future sins.
Raigor gritted his teeth. "Seeing all this… makes me want to tear them to pieces before they have a chance to betray us."
Veran put a hand on his shoulder. "If we kill them now, it might make things worse. We must find out who really orchestrated this."
Their destination was the Temple of Eternal Vision, a sacred place where the Prophet King was said to be able to see glimpses of the future. If anyone knew who was pulling the strings behind the war, it was him.
They passed through the temple's great golden gate and were greeted by an eerie silence. White-robed monks moved between the columns, but one of them, an elder with eyes as dull as mist, approached with an enigmatic smile.
"Ah… the fallen heroes who walk again. The Dragon of Time has whispered of your return."
Veran and Raigor stiffened.
"You… know?" Veran asked, ready to spring forward if danger struck.
The prophet nodded slowly. "Time is a fickle river, and you have diverted its course. But beware… others have already sensed your return."
A shiver ran down Raigor's spine. "Who?"
The elder did not answer immediately. He approached a basin of water engraved with ancient symbols and dipped his gnarled fingers in. The water rippled and darkened. From those depths emerged the image of a man wrapped in a black cloak, his eyes shining like dying stars.
"The Puppet Master of War has sensed the change in fate. He and his minions will come to stop you."
Veran's heart pounded in his chest. The true enemy was not just angels and demons… but something that operated beyond time itself.
"If you want to change the future, you must be faster, smarter. The Puppet Master will play his cards before you can move yours."
Raigor clenched his fists. "Then we have no time to waste."
As they exited the temple, the wind howled around them. Veran felt a pang in his chest: a dark omen.
As they stepped outside, a group of hooded figures awaited them, eyes glowing in the shadows.
One of them smiled. "Did you really think you could rewrite history without anyone noticing?"
The battle for the fate of Eldoria had already begun.