The fire's glow flickered softly in the night, casting long shadows across the faces of Kertia and his companions. The stillness of the ruined landscape pressed in around them, broken only by the occasional crackle of burning wood.
Kertia's thoughts drifted back beyond the realm of mortals, to memories not entirely his own—fragments of a divine past buried beneath layers of human experience.
In a vision, the cold stone chambers of the mausoleum shimmered into view. Ancient runes glowed faintly, illuminating the countless sarcophagi that held the gods of old.
There, the Guardian sat alone, watching over the tombs with unyielding vigilance. His eternal duty was both a burden and a source of solemn pride.
But even gods can tire.
In that moment, the divine voice echoed, granting permission for the Guardian to descend—to become mortal and walk among men.
Kertia's eyes snapped open. The vision faded, replaced by the harsh reality of the campfire.
"Your memories," Arielle said softly, "they're the key. Your power isn't just magic—it's divine. But that also means greater danger."
Doran nodded grimly. "The gods' enemies will come for you, seeking to silence the Guardian's return."
Tomas looked to Kertia with unwavering trust. "We'll stand with you, no matter what."
As dawn approached, the team prepared to press deeper into the ruins. The source of the corruption awaited, a shadow darker than any they had faced.
Kertia felt the weight of destiny tighten around him like a shroud. But with his friends beside him, and the power of the Guardian rekindling within, he was ready to face the coming storm.
The battle for the balance between life and death had truly begun.
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