The wind howled like a whispering spirit as dawn stretched its fingers over the distant horizon. The forest near the sanctum was still, save for the distant caws of ravens echoing through the trees. Amid the mist and fallen leaves, two cloaked figures stood—one tall and draped in worn violet robes, the other bearing the insignia of an emissary, their presence concealed beneath a deep hood.
Elder Kaelrin exhaled slowly, the breath visible in the morning chill. "So," he murmured, eyes fixed on the direction of the sanctum, "you felt it too?"
The emissary nodded. "Yes… The aura that pulsed last night—unnatural. Familiar, yet fragmented. Like a memory buried beneath centuries of dust."
Kaelrin's fingers tightened around his staff. "It couldn't be him… not like this. That boy—Zerathis—he lacks the bearing, the presence. Azradris' very existence bent space. The world listened when he breathed."
"But the flame in the chamber answered him," the emissary countered, voice calm but deliberate. "No ordinary soul could've walked out of there untouched. And yet he did."
Kaelrin's brows furrowed. "He's mortal. His attributes are sealed. That… energy, it wasn't draconic. Not divine either. Elemental—yes—but corrupted. Like it didn't belong to this plane."
"I suspect," the emissary said after a pause, "that the chamber didn't awaken him. It recognized him. Or something within him."
Kaelrin turned sharply. "You think he is Azradris?"
"No," the emissary shook his head. "Not yet. He may carry his spark, perhaps even his soul. But right now? He's a shadow of what was."
A long silence followed. Then Kaelrin added, "If the other sects catch wind of this…"
"They won't," the emissary interrupted. "We'll watch him. Quietly. If this truly is the beginning of his return, then fate just took a sharp turn."
Kaelrin's gaze darkened. "And if he becomes what he once was—will we welcome him? Or seal him once more?"
The emissary did not answer.
The cold stone beneath Zerathis' back was the first sensation that registered. His eyes fluttered open, the dawn light breaking through the tall trees and cascading across the entrance of the now-quiet chamber. He blinked against the sharp ache behind his eyes, heart thundering as fragments of the night before clawed back into memory—heat, energy, whispers that were both ancient and familiar.
He wasn't in his quarters.
He was lying right outside the sealed entrance of the secret chamber, its doorway closed as if it had never opened.
"What… happened?" he muttered, rising unsteadily to his feet. His limbs felt heavy, as if weighed down by something beyond fatigue. His fingers tingled with the faint trace of… something. An energy that felt alien, elemental, and yet—faintly comforting. He flexed his hands and sparks of silver and deep violet crackled between his fingertips before fading into nothingness.
A sudden wave of nausea hit him, and he staggered back, gripping a tree for support. It wasn't just exhaustion—it was like something inside him had shifted. Something fundamental.
He touched his chest, half expecting his heart to beat differently.
It did.
He knew his body better than anyone. This wasn't normal. His breathing slowed as he sat against the bark, eyes scanning the still woods. Nothing stirred. But something had changed.
That chamber had done something to him.
No… he thought. It recognized me. That fire…
But how? He was just a boy from the orphanage. He was—
A sudden memory flashed: an unfamiliar throne room cloaked in red banners. The air thick with incense and blood. Disciples knelt before him, their eyes filled with reverence and fear. He raised a hand, and the heavens themselves dimmed in response.
His heart pounded.
"Why am I seeing this… again?" he whispered. "Why do I remember things I've never lived?"
He closed his eyes, hoping to shake the vision, but it lingered like smoke—thick, cloying, refusing to dissipate. A name echoed through his mind like a distant scream.
Azradris.
The name struck him like a blade through mist. Who was that? Why did it feel… intimate?
He stood up slowly, the forest no longer feeling as familiar. Even the breeze seemed to hum differently.
As he made his way back to the monastery, the whispers returned. Faint. Almost curious.
Not malicious.
But watching.
Zerathis jolted upright in his cot, sweat soaking through his robes as he struggled to breathe. The dream—that infernal dream—lingered like smoke in his lungs. Golden embers dancing in a pitch-black void… a name echoing in his soul…
Azradris.
It had returned again. That same name. That same overwhelming presence. The fire within the chamber had spoken to him—not in words, but in will. And now, he felt it.
It wasn't just a dream.
The pulse of unfamiliar energy thrummed just beneath his skin. His breaths no longer felt entirely his own, like he shared this body with something else… something older. Elemental energy, unlike anything he had read about, now curled in his core like a resting beast.
He stared at his palms—calloused from training, unremarkable at a glance—until the faint glimmer of indigo fire danced across them.
It vanished just as quickly.
"What the hell is happening to me…?"
Later, in the southern gardens—
High above the monastery, hidden among the ridges of the sacred cliffs, two figures stood beneath the weeping flame-trees. Their cloaks, dark and adorned with worn-out sect sigils, billowed quietly in the wind.
Elder Kaelrin stood stoically, arms folded, his eyes narrowed as he looked toward the monastery's training yard.
The emissary beside him adjusted his mask slightly. "So… that's the child you're betting on?"
Kaelrin gave a quiet hum. "I'm not betting on him. I'm watching him."
"Hmph. His aura… it's tainted with something else. It doesn't belong."
"It's not taint," Kaelrin replied. "It's unfamiliar. A kind of elemental pressure that shouldn't even exist in this world anymore."
The emissary turned sharply. "You think it came from the sealed chamber?"
"I know it did," Kaelrin said, his voice cold. "The old records said the chamber was sealed after the Great Purge. No one has survived stepping inside since then."
"And yet… this boy," the emissary murmured. "Not only did he survive—he came back… changed."
Kaelrin's gaze darkened. "More than that. He hasn't awakened any natural attribute. His spiritual veins still haven't shown signs of elemental alignment. And yet, he displays signs of raw affinity."
The emissary shook his head. "That's not possible. He shouldn't exist."
Kaelrin's eyes flickered with something deeper—remorse, perhaps… or fear. "You and I both know there are beings that shouldn't exist. And when they do, they bring change."
The emissary went silent for a moment. Then, "The aura… I've felt it before."
Kaelrin turned sharply.
"Not recently," the emissary continued. "But long ago. During the war between the Sovereign's disciples and the Heavenly Demon's sect. That pressure—it was felt across the continents. The same weight. The same flame."
Kaelrin's expression turned grim. "Are you saying the Heavenly Demon has returned?"
"I'm saying… his shadow has."
The wind rustled louder, carrying with it the ghost of memories long buried.
Kaelrin's eyes narrowed. "The shadow of Azradris… You were there, weren't you? During the battle."
The emissary's silence spoke louder than any admission.
"…I was," he finally said, voice strained, distant. "Back then, I was but a lower disciple stationed in the southern provinces. But when the Heavenly Demon clashed with the Wind Sovereign's disciple… even we, thousands of leagues away, felt the earth tremble."
Kaelrin's expression hardened. "That was the day the skies split open."
The emissary gave a slow nod. "Indeed. The heavens raged with thunder, and the winds turned black. The clash was an unnatural one born of ideals, not just power. The Wind Sovereign's disciple, Arkais… he believed the world needed to be kept in balance. And Azradris… he challenged what that balance meant."
Kaelrin turned his back, folding his arms behind him. "Because Azradris didn't want domination. He wanted unity… forged through strength. That was his twisted harmony."
"You speak of him as if you knew him," the emissary remarked.
Kaelrin didn't respond at first. Then he whispered, "He once saved my life."
A moment of stunned silence passed between them.
"You're saying…?" the emissary began.
"I was gravely wounded. I expected death… but he didn't kill me. He only said, 'You are not yet my enemy.' Then he left."
The emissary clenched his fists. "That sounds like him. Ruthless, yet strange in his mercy."
Kaelrin turned his gaze skyward, remembering. "Arkais was known to command the very storms. He was elegance incarnate wind blades so sharp they could split mountains. But even he was driven to desperation in that battle."
"Azradris…" the emissary murmured, "he didn't just fight. He commanded the battlefield. They say he used his own blood to fuel an art forbidden even to the Sovereigns themselves."
"Void Incantation," Kaelrin whispered. "He nearly erased Arkais from existence. Had it not been for the timely arrival of the Sovereign himself…"
"That battle ended with a sky wound that hasn't healed to this day," the emissary said grimly. "The scar of that battle still bleeds elemental distortion. Even sovereign beasts avoid it."
Kaelrin's voice dropped to a whisper. "And now… that same presence is faintly flickering inside that boy."
The emissary looked at him sharply. "You're saying he is Azradris?"
"No," Kaelrin said firmly. "That… I cannot say. The boy's body is too young, too raw. There's no demonic essence… yet. But the aura from the sealed chamber, it recognized him. Something passed onto him."
The emissary took a step forward. "What if it's not Azradris, but his fragment? A shard of will? A cursed inheritance?"
Kaelrin didn't respond.
Instead, he asked, "What would the Sovereigns do if they knew?"
"Kill him," the emissary said instantly. "Without hesitation. They'd erase the soul before it fully awakens."
Kaelrin's gaze sharpened. "Then we say nothing. Not yet. We watch. If he is just a boy… he deserves to live. If he is more...."
"Then we pray," the emissary said quietly, "that he does not walk the same path."
The flame trees above them danced once again in the wind, but this time the rustling carried a quiet warning.
Far below, in the chambers of silence, Zerathis sat cross-legged, unaware that two of the world's most enigmatic powers had just begun to suspect the storm quietly awakening within him