He woke to glass. A bar mirror filled his vision, warped by ripples of light. For a long moment he didn't breathe—only stared at the reflection of a man who shouldn't have had a face. His own. Whole. Elijah pushed himself upright. Muscles obeyed. Legs steadied. His palm rose in disbelief and the words broke out dry and hoarse. "Are those my hands?" He flexed his fingers. Skin smooth, color returned. The scars were gone, the tremor gone, the tremor that once lived in his bones. He could stand, walk, even feel the faint pulse under his thumb. He should have been dead in a hospital bed on Earth.
The chamber around him wasn't a hospital. Wood-paneled walls, banners stitched with golden suns, candles breathing silver smoke. Beyond the windows, spires and marble streets gleamed beneath a pale-blue sky. A door opened. Armor clinked. The man who entered wore white plate etched with sunfire sigils. His eyes were trained and reverent, yet cautious—as if approaching something sacred that might also burn. He removed his helm and bowed. "Champion of Valmira," he said, voice low but formal. "You stand in the sanctum of His Radiance Aureth. You have been summoned to Terra." Elijah stared, unblinking. "Summoned?"
"Yes, my lord." The knight straightened. "The Demon Continent gathers at our borders. Our holy army has bled beyond endurance. The King and High Clerics called upon the Rite of Heroes—the Eightieth since the First War. You are the answer we received." The words slid past him like wind through paper. Demon Continent. Heroes. Eightieth. None of it meant anything. "I was…" He stopped. Memories bled through—the hotel, the blast, Kaid's eyes, blood, the white light. He gripped the edge of the counter to keep from collapsing. The knight's gaze softened slightly. "Your arrival was guided by divine will. His Radiance said only one thing before the ritual closed—'I have found the best candidate.' "
Elijah's pulse slowed. That sentence. He'd heard it before—just before the world went dark. He looked back to the mirror. For a heartbeat the reflection didn't match him. A faint shimmer, a pattern of circles like a sigil beneath his skin, flickered then vanished. A whisper followed, not from the knight but from somewhere deeper, threaded through his skull like static. > Welcome to Terra.
The voice wasn't divine. It was cold, balanced, almost mechanical. Eidryn. The Loom. Elijah clutched his head. "Who—what was that?" The knight frowned. "Nothing, my lord. Perhaps the air." He hesitated. "The Magisters await to test your blessing. They will reveal your skill name. After that, the court shall receive you." "Skill name?" Elijah echoed, dazed. "Yes. Each soul bears one. The device will speak it."
They led him through corridors lined with sunlit glass and saints carved in crystal. The air hummed faintly, as if the building itself prayed. At the hall's center stood an obelisk of white stone veined with gold. It pulsed in time with his heartbeat. "Place your hand here," the knight said. Elijah hesitated, then pressed his palm to the stone. Cold surged through his veins. The sigil beneath his skin flared again, lines converging, bright as lightning. The obelisk filled with light. The voice came—clear, emotionless, resonating through the chamber walls. > Skill detected. Archive. Description restricted.
Gasps rippled among the armored figures. The knight dropped to one knee. "Archive… the total tally of all humanity. Only myths speak of such a power." Elijah pulled his hand away. The light dimmed, leaving silence thick as fog. Inside his mind, another whisper followed, quieter than breath. > We have waited for you, Elijah.
He turned to the mirror of the obelisk's surface, but his reflection had already begun to shift—eyes darkening, a faint outline of smoke coiling behind him. For the first time since the warehouse, fear returned.