The floating city of Etheris trembled.
Its foundation — long powered by the stolen souls of innocents — was cracked and weeping golden light. Buildings of divine marble crumbled. Celestial towers leaned as screaming nobles and frightened guards ran like ants through burning streets.
And above it all, in the sky swirling with silver and red clouds, floated a boy.
Luv.
His chest glowed faintly from the echo of the soul-forge explosion, his skin scorched, lips cracked, and veins pulsing with the aftershock of the power he had sacrificed. Yet his eyes—his eyes were calm, hollow, and terrifying.
The sky crackled with divine tension.
Then—
"That's him! The butcher of the Furnace!"
From across the plaza, six Realm Architects appeared — beings once considered beyond law. They were creators of reality in Etheris, immortal sculptors of fate. Each bore their own strange weapon — a bow made of thought, a staff of law, a living sword that sang with every kill.
They descended on Luv without hesitation.
They didn't speak.
They simply attacked — a coordinated strike to end him in one breath. Light fractured. Space twisted.
But Luv had waited long enough. His body was still weakened, his soul incomplete — but rage and resolve replaced missing power.
He grabbed the nearest Architect mid-lunge, slamming him into the cobbled ground with such force that divine sigils burst like mirrors.
Then he ducked an arrow made of memory.
He threw a dead guard's spear — it pierced through the Staff Architect's chest before she could utter her next spell.
The blade-wielder rushed in, sword wailing with agony. But Luv — one step ahead — raised his hand, pulled a shard of broken soul-furnace, and rammed it through the blade's core.
The sword screamed. The Architect dropped.
Three down. Three remained.
One cast an illusion — turning the world into a thousand reflections.
Luv closed his eyes.
"This trick was old when I was young."
He walked through it like mist and crushed the caster's skull beneath his foot.
Only two left now — and they ran.
Luv didn't chase.
He let them run — because fear was more effective than death.
He turned back to the soul-furnace ruin. A small group of the oppressed — the freed slaves, the broken warriors, the blind elders and lost children — stood there, mouths open, eyes wide with awe and terror.
One of them, a scarred man with one eye, whispered:
"He's not human… He's not mortal… Is he…?"
Another wept. "He gave up his power — for us…"
Luv looked down, slowly landing beside them.
Blood dripped from his fingers. He staggered slightly, his knees nearly giving out. A child ran to him and caught his hand.
"You're hurt!"
He looked at her. A tiny thing with matted hair and burns on her arms.
He kneeled and gently patted her head.
"I'm fine."
"No, you're not," she insisted. "You're bleeding. You're… you're dying."
Luv gave a weak smile.
"Not yet."
That's when a voice rang out across the ruins:
"HE'S NOT KAEL!"
It was one of the original guards, gasping and wild-eyed, now surrounded by survivors.
"He stole Kael's face! Kael was a coward, a drunk! This boy—he's something else! Something ancient!"
The crowd turned, unsure. Whispers rippled.
But then another stepped forward — the old woman who had tended wounds in the prison cells. Her hands trembled, but her voice was firm.
"I don't care if he's not Kael. That boy gave up a piece of himself to save us."
Another voice: "He faced gods alone."
Another: "He made the sky bleed."
And then someone shouted:
"He's not Kael. He's our King!"
The chant began.
Low at first.
Then rising.
"King of the Broken!"
"Butcher of Etheris!"
"Soulburner!"
Luv didn't speak. He simply looked at the crumbling city behind him and said quietly:
"Leave. Before they send worse."
And they obeyed — fleeing across the broken bridges and collapsing platforms. Some carried children. Some carried bodies. But all carried hope.
High above, Aira watched from the balcony of her father's citadel.
The entire Upper Court was in chaos. Noble houses screamed for revenge. Generals prepped for war. And still, Aira remained silent.
She walked slowly to the central mirror chamber where her father — Supreme Overseer Varn — waited.
"You let him live," he growled. "You interfered in judgment."
Aira didn't bow. "He shattered your soul-furnace. Your city is falling."
"You admire him?" Varn spat. "You're impressed by a creature like him?"
"I fear him," she said coldly. "But not for what he's done. For what he hasn't done yet."
He stepped forward to strike her — but paused when he saw her eyes glowing faintly with starfire.
"You would turn on your blood?"
Aira whispered:
"I'm not turning yet. But if you make me choose between you and him… I won't choose you."
And with that, she vanished into light — leaving behind only the echo of her warning.
Later, in the fractured city, Luv was cornered.
Not by enemies… but by survivors.
They begged him to lead them.
But Luv refused.
"I'm not your king. I'm not your savior. I'm just a shadow walking in daylight."
Still, they insisted.
So finally, he said:
"If you want to follow me, know this — I don't bring peace. I bring war."
"A trial is coming. Not just for me — but for all of us."
When the sky burns again, do not cry."
"Rise."
A distant thunder echoed.
From the edge of the horizon, across dimensions, came the first response from the gods.
A divine envoy — black-robed, mask of fire, wings of void — appeared before the crumbling ruins of Etheris.
He looked at Luv and spoke in a voice that twisted time:
"Your name… is not written in the Book of Fate."
"Yet your shadow stains every page."
"You are summoned."
Luv didn't flinch.
He stepped forward, barefoot, bloodied, but unbent.
"I'll attend your trial," he said.
"But bring every judge you have."
"Because if one lies—"
"I'll burn the courtroom too."