"There is no strength in being chosen. Only in choosing to fight when no one will."
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The sky was burning.
Not in flame—but in light. Cold, absolute, merciless.
A pale world hovered above the battlefield, bleeding silver dust across the ruins of a forgotten kingdom. Craters replaced cities. Ash replaced breath. And in the heart of it all, where even the wind dared not stir, knelt a boy with a broken sword—and broken soul.
Joe Lanzeta.
Nineteen. Mortal. Unarmed. Kneeling in the shadow of gods.
Around him, the corpses of giants lay shattered—burned from the inside out by divine judgment. Once, they were protectors. Now, they were warnings.
Across the scorched plain stood Rico Austin, the Sunborn Reclaimer—garbed in radiant armor that hummed with holy authority. His voice echoed like a law older than time.
> "This is your last mercy, child. Surrender the fox, and I'll grant you a clean death."
Joe didn't answer.
His arms trembled. His fingers were torn from gripping the hilt too long. His blood—blackened from the Abyssfire—hissed where it hit the ground. Everything in him screamed to fall. To end this.
But then he looked up.
And he saw her.
Suspended above him, bound in chains of light, was Angelica—her white hair drifting like a veil in the stilled air. Her eyes, red like blood-moons, held no fear. Only sorrow.
Even now, she didn't beg.
She only watched him.
Hoping.
Believing.
In him.
> "One day," Joe whispered, eyes narrowing as his grip tightened on the ruined blade, "I'll become strong."
The broken sword ignited.
Not with fire—but with defiance.
Black and red light erupted from his core, shattering the divine weight pressing against his back. Rico's eyes narrowed—too late. The crater beneath Joe exploded, molten runes burning into the earth. Angelica's chains cracked with a divine shriek.
The gods had called him unworthy.
But now the unworthy rose.