Beneath a dying sun, the world slumbered in twilight. The sky itself seemed torn half drenched in morning gold, half consumed by endless dusk. In that broken horizon stood a lone figure upon a cliff of ancient marble, his white-gold robes whispering against the wind.
Lucien Aurel Shurelle.
The name once carried reverence a title sung by priests, feared by kings, and worshiped by those who sought salvation. The Saint of Dawn. The Radiant Paragon. The man who defied the gods.
But now, as the last light faded behind him, Lucien's silhouette looked less like a savior and more like a ghost. His silver hair streaked with threads of gold shimmered faintly under the pale glow of the twin moons. In his hand rested a broken pendant, shaped like a sun split in two. Each half pulsed with a different light: one warm and golden, the other cold as shadow.
He closed his eyes, feeling the world's breathing an uneven rhythm, fractured and fading. The divine and demonic energies that once shaped creation now clashed within his veins, gnawing at his soul. Every heartbeat demanded balance; every breath defied destruction.
"The heavens… still watching, are they?" His voice was quiet, nearly carried away by the wind. "Then witness me once more."
From beneath the cliff rose distant echoes the tolling of temple bells, the whispers of forgotten prayers. The air shimmered. A faint golden halo flickered at his back, entwined with a darker, smokelike ring. For a moment, light and shadow danced in reluctant unity, and the ground itself trembled with reverence.
Lucien opened his eyes. Within their amber depths sparked a promise, neither divine nor profane — something mortal, painfully human.
"I will create a dawn that even the gods must kneel to."
As the first star of night pierced the heavens, the Saint who betrayed the divine turned his back on salvation walking into the shadowed world that had long awaited his return.