Dark clouds loomed ominously over the city, casting a shadow that made it difficult for sunlight to penetrate the thick, smoky air. Above Bira'lifa, plumes of black smoke twisted and curled, rising like dark spirits from the charred remains of what was once a thriving metropolis. The entire city lay in ruins, reduced to ash and corpses, a haunting testament to the ferocity of battle.

The ground was littered with bodies, forming grotesque mountains, while rivers of red blood flowed sluggishly, mingling with the remnants of destruction.The battle to protect the city had raged for seven long days, a relentless struggle against the encroaching darkness.

Desperate for help, the defenders had called for reinforcements from neighboring cities, but their cries had gone unanswered. Demons flooded the streets, their grotesque forms casting shadows that danced menacingly across the debris. The sky was a chaotic tapestry of flying creatures, leaving the weary soldiers with no chance to fight back. It was a one-sided slaughter, a massacre that echoed with the cries of the fallen.

Crows and ravens, dark harbingers of death, feasted on the dead, their beady eyes glinting with a sinister satisfaction. They seemed to revel in the aftermath of violence, their cawing creating a macabre symphony against the backdrop of destruction.

At the entrance of the broken gate of the city, a silhouette emerged—a rider on a white horse, an ethereal figure amidst the desolation. He wore a wide-brimmed hat that obscured half of his face, leaving only a long white beard visible, flowing like a banner of purity against the grime of war. Clad in a long white robe that billowed gently in the wind, he appeared almost otherworldly. As he entered the city, the soft neigh of his horse was a stark contrast to the grim silence around them.

The stench of rotten corpses filled the air, a nauseating reminder of the horrors that had unfolded, making it unbearable to breathe. The crows, sensing the presence of the man, abandoned their feast, retreating into the shadows.The man rode closer to a fallen soldier, his heart heavy with sorrow. The soldier lay sprawled on the ground, his body marred by a deep cut on his chest that exposed his rib cage, a gruesome testament to the brutality of battle. Around his neck hung a diamond pendant that glowed dimly under the waning light of the evening sun, its brilliance a stark contrast to the surrounding devastation.

Dismounting, the old man approached the corpse, his gaze fixed on the pendant. The air around him felt thick with the weight of loss and memories long buried. He knelt beside the soldier, his weathered hands trembling as he reached out to touch the pendant. The soldier's uniform was tattered, each frayed edge telling a story of battles fought and sacrifices made. The pendant, shimmering softly, seemed to be a glimmer of beauty amidst the brutality of war.

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This was no ordinary diamond pendant; it was the Pendant of Light. Legends spoke of its power—that by wearing it, the God of Light would guide the bearer even after death. The old man held the pendant in his hand and closed his eyes, his lips moving as if reciting a sacred prayer. At first, his voice was a whisper, but as he continued, it grew steady and resonant. The air around him began to shimmer, and the pendant pulsed with radiant light, casting a warm, ethereal glow that illuminated the somber landscape.

It felt as if the very essence of hope and guidance was manifesting before him.With each word he spoke, the pendant responded, its brilliance intensifying, casting flickering shadows that danced across the ground. The horse, uneasy with the sudden surge of energy, shifted nervously beneath him, its ears perked and eyes wide with apprehension. The old man sensed the creature's distress but remained focused on the pendant, feeling a connection to something far greater than himself.Then suddenly, he stopped.

His eyes opened abruptly, glowing with an otherworldly light, and the old man was plunged into a vision. He saw a young man leaving his home, his family waving goodbye with expressions filled with a mix of pride and sorrow. The young man’s face was etched with determination and fear, a poignant reminder of the sacrifices made in the name of duty.

As the scene unfolded, the old man felt a pang in his heart, witnessing the bittersweet farewell that would lead to the soldier’s fate. The mother’s tear-streaked face, the father’s strong but trembling hand, and the siblings’ hopeful smiles resonated deeply within him, each image a reminder of love left behind.

The vision shifted, showing the young man marching into the distance, the landscape transforming from familiar fields to the chaos of war. The sounds of roars, clashing metal, and distant cries filled the air, drowning out the warmth of home. The old man watched helplessly as the soldier faced battle after battle, his courage shining through the fear that gripped him.

Suddenly, the scene shifted again. The young man, now clad in armor, carried a young child in his arms as he raced through the chaos, desperately trying to avoid the demons despite the injury in his chest. Just as hope seemed within reach, a flying creature lunged at him, and everything went black; he could only hear the piercing shriek of the child.

The vision changed once more. The young soldier lay on the ground, surrounded by chaos, the weight of despair pressing down on the old man as he recognized the moment of sacrifice. The pendant in his hand pulsed, resonating with the soldier’s final thoughts—a yearning for home, for the love he had left behind. Tears streamed down the old man's cheeks as he opened his mouth and let out a heart-wrenching cry, "Aethon! Have you forsaken your people?"

Just then the sky rumbled sending flash of lightening through out the land, the horse terrified let out a loud neighing cry and raced into the distance, deserting his master.

The earth quake, gravels and stones were elevated into the air, making the scene look unworldly. Lightening curled into a ball and appear before the old man.

The pendant in his hands shattered, indeed he has summon the spirit of the Aethon the God of light. The old man opened his eyes and atmosphere became calm almost instantly, but the ball of lightening still stood there.

The ball of lightning crackled with energy, illuminating the desolate landscape with a blinding brilliance. The old man stood transfixed, feeling the weight of the moment settle around him like a cloak.

Suddenly the ball began to vibrate and with a powerful surge of energy dashed into the distance, onto the far East. The whole city grew dark for it was night already.

The old man stood up, his old weathered and dry lips curled up in a smile, 'Indeed light has given us hope' he thought.