Location:- Somewhere in the depths of the Lost East
The forest no longer whispered.
Ever since the sun had risen that morning,it seemed brighter and the heat seemed fiercer; the woods surrounding the old sanctuary had been strangely still, as if the very wind dared not disturb the silence. Birds remained nestled in their nests, and even the usual rustle of leaves seemed subdued, restrained — like breath held before a scream.
Valaerius sat cross-legged on a bed of moss, shirtless beneath the canopy. His body, carved by years of relentless training, now bore the subtle glow of impending change. The seal on his back — once dormant and cold — had begun to pulse faintly, like a heartbeat echoing some distant war drum. A quiet rhythm of fate, counting down the final days before his 18th birthday.
The air around him shimmered, just slightly. A ripple, like heat over stone. He exhaled.
From the edge of the clearing, Seraphyne watched. Not with concern, but with recognition. Her silver hair fell in soft braids, her expression unreadable. She had trained many warriors before, guided many fates… but this — this boy — was different. His power wasn't just approaching; it was remembering. Remembering who he was meant to be, and who the world had tried to forget.
"I felt something," Valaerius said, eyes still closed.
"What did you feel?" she asked, stepping closer.
He opened his eyes — dark irises flickering briefly with something gold. "The world… shifting."
Seraphyne's eyes narrowed. She, too, had felt it — a ripple in the fabric of the world. Somewhere far away, something had awakened. And the seals within Valaerius had responded, as if the sleeping storm in him recognized a distant thunder.
"The world is waking up," she said quietly. "And so are you."
He stood, breathing steady. "How much longer?"
"Two nights," she replied. "Then the seal breaks."
He nodded, eyes distant — as if staring through the trees into a world that had long forgotten him.
But the world would remember soon.
And not just because of him.
Location: Elarion,A remote village, Caelion(God worshipping continent)
In the continent of Caelion, where the faithful carved their cities in reverence and the skies bore witness to centuries of prayer, the gods were not myth — they were memory. Every mountain bore the name of a miracle, every river ran with tales of divine grace, and every breath of wind was believed to carry whispers from the heavens.
Among its many provinces, nestled between silver-tipped hills and sun-drenched meadows, lay the humble village of Elarion — an unremarkable dot on Caelion's grand map. Surrounded by a quiet forest and warmed by golden morning light, it was known only for its lantern festivals and hand-carved sun chimes. No wars had touched it. No prophecies had named it. Its temples were modest, its people even more so.
But on this day, the world would remember Elarion.
The morning began strangely. The sun, instead of rising in its usual slow amber grace, surged over the horizon in a blinding blaze — white-gold, searing, unnatural. Dogs howled. Infants screamed. The temple bells rang without hands to move them.
It was the eighteenth birthday of Aurex, the quiet son of a lantern-maker and a woodworker. Known for his calm nature and thoughtful silences, Aurex had always been unassuming. He had no noble blood, no prophetic lineage, no warrior's pride. And yet, his parents felt it — something stirring beneath their son's skin for years, some light he kept buried.
The village elders gathered in urgent whispers. The priests summoned the boy without delay. He was led barefoot through streets now filled with murmurs and wide eyes. Some villagers blessed him as he passed. Others looked away, unsure if they should be afraid.
At the edge of the cliff overlooking the Radiant Vale stood the Temple of Radiance — a sanctum of light built from white stone and sun-glass. Its dome rose high above the trees, a mirror to the heavens. Unlike the grand temples of the capital, this one was serene — no gold, no jewels, just purity.
As Aurex stepped inside, a wave of heat pulsed through the sanctuary. The statues lining the walls wept golden tears. The high priest, an old man who had never faltered in faith, suddenly stumbled to his knees. The air thickened — as if the world itself was holding its breath.
Aurex took one step forward. Then another. And the moment his foot touched the center of the sun-shaped seal on the floor, everything shattered.
A thunderous crack split the dome — not breaking it, but opening it, letting a beam of pure white light crash down from the heavens. The floor trembled. Crystals in the ceiling flared to life, refracting the beam into a thousand tiny stars.
The boy arched backward, gasping, clutching his chest as if his very soul were being torn open. A blinding sigil burned into his skin — not drawn with ink, but etched in firelight — a glyph that had not been seen for over a millennium. His scream echoed like a song through the temple.
Then, it began.
From behind him, from the very air itself, seven swords of pure light erupted in a perfect ring. They hovered around him — not threateningly, but reverently. Each blade shimmered with impossible radiance, their edges humming with power older than language. They were not forged of steel — they were manifestations of dawn, of hope, of the divine flame that once danced in the heart of creation.
The light surged outward, pouring from the temple's broken dome like a geyser of godhood. It painted the sky gold. It turned shadows to ash.
In Halcion, the capital of Caelion, the Great Mirror of Solari — a divine artifact that had stood untouched for centuries — cracked from top to bottom.
In distant monasteries, monks fainted mid-chant. The birds of the north flew in frantic circles, as if fleeing something they could not comprehend. The great Cathedral of Flame, located thousands of miles away, caught fire — not destructively, but in silent golden tongues that did not consume, only glowed.
And in the secret chambers of the Divine Conclave, high above the clouds in the floating city of Aerielle, an emergency gathering was called. The highest clerics, blind prophets, and oracles convened. None of them had expected this. None of them had foreseen him.
Back in the temple, Aurex descended gently to the floor, his eyes still blazing white. The swords hovered around him, casting beams of light through the mist. And then he spoke — or rather, something spoke through him:
"The Second Flame has been lit. The Sun remembers. The stars watch. One of Seven now stands."
The voice was layered — not just his, but that of the divine and something older, more ancient, like the echo of the first sunrise.
The temple fell silent. The air shimmered. The moment passed.
Aurex collapsed, unconscious. The swords faded. The mark on his chest pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat of light.
But the world had already changed.
By nightfall, word had spread across Caelion. Pilgrims abandoned their homes to journey toward Elarion. Entire sects declared the return of the "Swordbearer of Solari." Scholars dusted off old tomes once dismissed as myth. The ruling priests of Halcion argued among themselves — was this a sign of hope? A challenge to their authority? Or the beginning of something far darker?
Not since the Truce of Ashes had such a ripple shaken the god-worshipping lands.
But beyond the joy, beyond the prophecy, a fear crept into the hearts of those who truly understood. Because according to the Forbidden Hymns:
"When the Blades of Light return, so too shall the balance break. One awakens, and the others stir. Seven shall rise. And with them, the seals of eternity shall crack."
And far from Caelion — in the distant corners of the world — something had already begun to stir.