Chapter 11: The First Catalyst's Shadow
The world seemed to tilt on its axis. The murmurs of the crowd, the weight of Vorlik's suspicious gaze, the very air in his lungs—it all faded into a dull roar, drowned out by the thunderous, singular truth echoing in Leander's mind.
*Azhoroth is the first Catalyst.*
The words were not just a revelation; they were a key, sliding into a lock he hadn't known existed deep within his soul. It explained the visceral familiarity of the fallen god's memories, the ease with which he had touched Pythios's pride. It wasn't just an echo. It was an inheritance.
He was not the cure. He was a symptom of the same disease.
Elpis's hand found his arm, her grip tight. "He's lying," she whispered, but her voice lacked conviction. She had seen the darkness in his eyes after the fight.
The stranger, Kaelen, stood unmoved, his expression one of patience and profound, weary knowledge. "This is not a conversation for the square," he said, his gaze still fixed on Leander. "The walls have ears, and the shadows have long memories."
Vorlik stepped forward, his authority reasserting itself. "You'll speak where I decide, stranger. Guards—"
"No." The word left Leander's lips quietly, but it carried a finality that silenced the Captain. All his life, he had been an orphan, a question mark. Now, for better or worse, this man held an answer. "We will hear him. In the archives."
The air in the dusty archives was thick with tension. Leander, Elpis, Roric, Orion, and a deeply skeptical Vorlik faced Kaelen, who stood calmly before the map-strewn table as if he owned the room.
"Speak," Vorlik commanded, his arms crossed. "And know that if I sense a single falsehood, you will find our hospitality lacking."
Kaelen gave a slight, acknowledging nod. "Long before the Desolation, before the gods warred, this world was raw, its potential locked away, much like your own powers were until recently. The first being to shatter that barrier, to awaken the latent magic in the world itself, was a entity of immense ambition and creativity. He was the First Catalyst. You know him as Azhoroth."
He paused, letting the name hang in the air.
"He did not start as a being of destruction. He shaped mountains, coaxed rivers from stone, and filled the silent world with the first, fragile strains of magic. But power, unchecked, corrupts. His pride grew with every creation. He believed the world was his masterpiece, and he its sole, rightful master. When other consciousnesses—the first gods—arose from the magic he had unleashed, he saw them not as peers, but as flaws in his design. Interlopers."
Leander listened, a cold knot tightening in his stomach. He remembered the vision—the celestial fire, the shattering pride.
"The war was not a rebellion against a tyrant," Kaelen continued, his voice low. "It was a culling. The other gods united to stop the 'Flawless One' from unmaking them and starting his work over. They could not destroy him, for his power was the very foundation of the world they now inhabited. Instead, they cast him out, imprisoning him in a celestial void."
"And how do you know all this?" Roric asked, his voice guarded. "This is ancient history, lost to time."
A sad, faint smile touched Kaelen's lips. "Because the ones who imprisoned him, the first gods, feared another would rise in his place. They created an order. The Wardens of the Echo. Our purpose is to observe, to watch for the signs of a new Catalyst, and to ensure they do not follow the same path to damnation."
His eyes settled on Leander, and the weight of millennia seemed to press down on him.
"You are not the first potential since Azhoroth," Kaelen said. "There have been others, flickers in the dark. We guided them, or, when necessary, we extinguished them before their spark could become a conflagration. But you… your awakening was different. It was not a flicker. It was a detonation. You did not just unlock your own power; you shattered the prison the first gods built around every human soul. You are the most powerful Catalyst born since the beginning."
The truth was a physical blow. He wasn't a savior. He was a risk. A threat the Wardens were created to neutralize.
"So you've come to… what?" Leander asked, his voice hollow. "Guide me? Or extinguish me?"
Kaelen's gaze was unflinching. "That depends entirely on you, Leander. Azhoroth feels your presence. You are his legacy, his second chance. He will seek to corrupt you, to twist you into a weapon to finish what he started. The darkness you felt when you fought Pythios? That is your birthright. It is the path of least resistance."
He took a step closer, his intense eyes boring into Leander's.
"I am here to show you that there is another path. That the power of the Catalyst is a tool, not a destiny. It can create, as well as destroy. But you must learn control. You must learn to wield the echo of the first fire without being consumed by it. Your next test is coming. Azhoroth will not send another Pythios. He will send something far worse, designed specifically to break you."
Vorlik finally spoke, his suspicion now tempered by a grim understanding. "And what is your stake in this, Warden? Why help us?"
Kaelen's face grew hard, the weariness in his eyes deepening into something like grief. "Because the last Catalyst I failed to guide… the one I was forced to extinguish… was my brother. I will not make the same mistake twice. Azhoroth's legacy ends here, one way or another."
He looked back at Leander, the unspoken choice hanging between them: student, or target?
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Author's Note:
The truth is revealed, and Leander's world is shattered once again. He is not a chosen hero, but a dangerous successor to the world's greatest villain. With a mysterious Warden as his only guide, can he forge a different path, or is he doomed to repeat the sins of his progenitor?
The stakes have become intensely personal. Thank you for your incredible support. If this new layer to the saga has you hooked, please consider adding the story to your library or leaving a rating—it truly makes all the difference