Sareth's scream tore through the sky like a funeral dirge—raw, visceral, weighed down with centuries of pain. His hands trembled, clutching at the air, his body distorted by a power far too immense for any man to bear. The Vorm in front of him growled, faltered, disturbed by what the human had become. Yet beneath this shattered shell, a spirit still fought on. The spirit of Sareth.
Deep within, there was only silence. A vast field swept by a windless breeze. Then, a soft voice. "Sareth… are you coming home soon?" The scene changed. He was ten years old, running through tall grass on a modest farm, the sun blazing overhead. His mother, strong and kind, was calling from the porch. His father, shirtless and smiling, was fixing a wheel.
He hadn't been born a soldier. He was born a farmer's son.
His life had once been simple—marked by harvests, laughter, and stories shared by the fire. He had known pure love, warm bread, calloused hands, and mornings damp with dew.
He had known peace.
And then… everything changed. He was twenty. A black gash split the sky. An unknown presence descended to Earth—an entity no one could name. It tore open a rift—a void without end. From it emerged the Vorms.
That very day… both miracle and horror were born together.
The attack was so sudden, so violent, it seemed nothing could survive. But hundreds of kilometers away, in bunkers buried beneath the mountains, engineers and scientists were hard at work. It wasn't chance.
Years earlier, a renowned seer had foretold humanity's downfall.
"A nameless calamity will descend from the sky. On that day, the earth will no longer suffice. You must build a sanctuary in the void."
She had always been right. So, in secret, nations joined forces—their knowledge, resources, and fears united. And they built the unthinkable: a floating continent. Suspended high in the atmosphere by advanced gravitational technology, hidden from the eyes of the uninitiated. That day, as the world burned below, the sanctuary rose into the sky, saving what little remained. Humanity was torn from death by the clairvoyance of one woman… and the genius of those who believed her.
But for Sareth, there was no miracle. No salvation.
He remembered. Frozen in the fields, unable to move. Flames devouring the wheat. He screamed, but his legs wouldn't obey. And in front of him, his parents… torn apart alive. Their blood, their final gaze, their silent prayer… He could do nothing. Nothing.
"Damn the gods," he had whispered, kneeling in the mud, voice shaking with fury. That day, he made a vow. He would live for one thing only: to exterminate every last Vorm. And find whoever had started it all.
His mind returned to the present. The Vorm had pierced his abdomen, but his body expelled the blade in a surge of black energy. Sareth roared again—not in pain, but from sheer willpower. His blood evaporated, but his fire still burned.
On the floating continent, later named Aerithys, humans rebuilt—slowly, fearfully. But the Vorms returned. Always. Everywhere. Peace never lasted. So the Five Corps were formed. Sareth never hesitated. He joined the most desperate of them all: the Dreads Corps.
Day after day, he faced death. He lost comrades, brothers-in-arms, mentors. Each victory came with a coffin. Each reclaimed ruin, a fresh grave. But he endured. Because he had a family. A light.
He saw himself on a narrow bed, holding the hand of a radiant woman—his fiancée. And in his arms, a bright-eyed little boy. He had sworn never to fail again. To never relive that nightmare. To protect them.
But the gods betrayed him once more. One night, during a mission to the east, a horde struck the city. His wife—pregnant. His son—four years old. Both… devoured. Again. By the same beasts. The same fate. Again.
He found nothing upon his return. Nothing but ashes. He screamed so loud that night, the ground cracked beneath him. He bloodied his fists striking the mute ruins. He had lost everything. Again.
But he kept going. To honor their memory. So no one else would suffer as he had. He rose through the ranks. Saved lives. But the pain never left his eyes. It lived within him.
His best friend, Arven, had been all he had left—a pure, loyal soul, a reminder of what it meant to be human. But last year… Arven was crushed by a Vorm, right before his eyes. And he could do nothing. Again.
On the battlefield, Sareth rose with a beastly growl. His aura exploded. The Vorm was hurled into a shattered wall. Kael and the others stepped back, stunned. Dark wings sprouted from his back. He was no longer human.
But in his mind, he saw faces. All the faces. His parents. His wife. His son. Arven. His squad. Everyone who had ever mattered. Everyone he had lost. He reached toward them.
"I'm coming… soon."
His knees buckled. He collapsed. The Vorm staggered back to its feet, but Sareth no longer saw it. He stared at the sky. His body burned from within. He had given too much. Endured too much. Suffered too long.
Kael stepped forward, trembling. He didn't know why he wanted to cry. He didn't even know Sareth. But he saw him. He felt it. The soul of a dying man. A hero fading away.
Sareth whispered, "Don't let… what happened to me… happen to you." His voice was hoarse, broken. "Your families… they're waiting. Go home. Alive."
Declan knelt beside him, laying a hand on his shoulder. Naelys held back her tears. The soldiers around them stood frozen. This wasn't just a farewell. It was a torch being passed. The final breath of a man who had given everything.
"Take this as a gift," he murmured. "And don't thank me." He closed his eyes. His body trembled one last time. Then lay still.
But inside… he was floating. Lifted by unseen arms.
His mother embraced him.
His father laughed.
His wife cried with joy.
His son ran toward him.
Arven welcomed him, smiling.
"You can rest now."
"You kept your promise."
"You've finally come home."