Darkness.
Not black.Not empty.
Just... nothing.
Tarn floated.
He didn't breathe.Didn't feel the heat of Lifefire.Didn't feel the cold of death, either.
He was just... there.
Then—
Pain.Sudden. Sharp. Deep.Like a thousand needles stabbing from inside.
His chest burned.Not Lifefire. Not yet.
His eyes shot open.
Light. Blinding.
He gasped. Coughed. Rolled over—onto clouds.
Yes.
Clouds.
But they were solid.
Soft, white stone. Warm under his skin.Glowing symbols carved into the floor.Language he didn't know, but somehow understood.
"Birth complete. Soul rethreaded. Memory stabilized."
A voice.
Mechanical. Cold. Not a god. Not a human.
Something else.
Tarn sat up.
His hands—They looked the same. Strong. Scarred.But the veins under his skin...They glowed.
Faint, red light. Not Lifefire.
Something else.
He stumbled to a mirror—shimmering from the air itself.
He stared.
Red eyes. Deeper than before.Hair like burning embers. Glowing slightly at the tips.His skin... no longer ash-marked, but smooth. Branded with golden symbols.
He was one of them now.
A Vanyrian.
No. Not just a normal god.
A new one.
Made. Not born.
"Why…"
His voice echoed, more than it should've.
Memories surged.
His tribe. The fire. The battle.Azrael. The chain.The sky splitting.
And his death.
His teeth clenched.
"They stole our land… killed my people…"
His fist slammed into the cloud-stone.The entire area trembled.
"And now they want me to be one of them?"
Footsteps.
He turned.
A woman stood nearby. Pale gold robes. White tattoos glowing softly on her arms.
Eyes sharp. Watching.
"You died in battle. But your soul didn't fade. The system accepted your spark."
"System?"
"The Soulforge. The Divine Loom. Whatever you want to call it. You were remade."
Tarn stood slowly.
"Why me?"
"Not sure. Rare. But it happens. You're a god now. A true Vanyrian. Welcome to the Mid-Sky Ring."
He looked around.
Dozens of floating platforms. Bridges made of cloudlight.Temples. Pillars. Massive birds flying in silence.The air itself shimmered with pressure.
Too clean. Too quiet. Too perfect.
"Where's the Sky King?" Tarn asked.
"Not here. This is a neutral ring. No war. No law. Just balance."
"Then tell him—" he stepped forward— "I'm coming for him."
"You'll die again."
"Good."
Later.
Alone. Sitting on the edge of a cloud bridge.
Tarn stared down at the world far below.
His island was gone. His people, burned or broken.
And now?
He was cursed to live among the ones who did it.
But deep inside him—something pulsed.
Not Lifefire.
Not yet.
A new flame. Quiet. Waiting.
He'd master it.
He'd burn brighter.
And one day—He'd bring fire to the heavens.