He stood alone in the training courtyard, the oppressive midday sun casting long shadows across the cracked stone. His muscles ached, drenched in sweat as he thrust his blade into the open air again and again. The rhythm of his movements was the only thing keeping his mind from unraveling. Each strike was precise, every motion deliberate, but even now, at the height of his training, he couldn’t shake the growing weight pressing on his shoulders.

“Artorious! Focus!” Carliah barked from behind him, her voice sharp, cutting through the haze of exhaustion.

Artorious gritted his teeth and swung the blade with renewed vigor, carving through the illusion of his enemy in front of him. It wasn’t enough. He had to be faster, stronger. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw them—the endless hordes of monsters unleashed by Gyko, the Archon of Decay, who ruled the world through a reign of terror that had lasted for decades. Her monsters, grown from her vile Darkseed, ravaged the lands, leaving nothing but ash and death in their wake.

Artorious couldn’t escape it. He had been chosen as a Lightborn for this purpose—to bring an end to Gyko’s tyranny. And yet, every lesson, every drill, felt like a drop in an ocean of despair. He was young, in his twenties, barely a man, but already the weight of the world seemed to bear down on him. The expectations of the Greycloaks, his comrades, his mentor…all of it was suffocating.

As he continued to train, he could hear the distant screams. The world outside the training grounds was crumbling, and he was supposed to be the one to save it.

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The Nerve Tower touched his mind, fumbling with his thoughts.

Within its grip, he knew he must resist. He knew what he was seeing was a lie plucked from his mind. Nothing but restless dreams that had tormented him since his youth.

He knew…and yet he could not close shut the fortress of his mind.

And the Nerve Tower’s piercing-white claws threaded themselves through its walls.

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The wind howled through the valley, carrying with it the stench of rot. Artorious stood at the forefront of the Greycloaks, their silver armor gleaming against the backdrop of Argwyll’s decaying landscape. He had grown into the role of Lightborn by now—his once uncertain heart now hardened, his eyes cold, devoid of the compassion they once held.

The monster army stretched out before them, grotesque creatures of all shapes and sizes. Some had grown limbs that shouldn’t exist, others slithered or scuttled with eerie precision. All of them bore the twisted mark of Gyko, their once-human forms corrupted by the Darkseed that she had planted within them.

“Lightborn, we’re ready on your command,” said Lydia, his second-in-command. Her voice was steady, but Artorious could hear the underlying tremor. She was one of the few who still had hope in their cause.

“Hold the line,” Artorious replied, his voice cold and detached.

He raised his Onixia blade, the edge shimmering with the light that had been infused into it during his training. Carliah had given him it as a present on his twenty-fifth birthday. ‘A present’ she said – the glint of righteous fury burning in her eyes – ‘that you will use to end this war. Let the last Archon fall to the blood of her Elder Brothers.’

The Greycloaks braced themselves, forming a defensive wall, shields raised. Artorious could sense the weight of every soul behind him—dozens of men and women, warriors who had followed him into battle countless times.

And yet, in front of them stood their enemies. A horde of hybrid demons had descended on the town of Blackreach, one of the last outposts in Westerweald not already overrun. They’d known this would be the army’s next stop. He’d known – with a strange certainty that even he couldn’t understand – that Gyko’s aim was to cut through the realm towards Caer Krea and deal with the old enemies of her kind.

But she didn’t know the Lightborn was back. None of them did.

Until now.

“Today we strike a blow for humanity, Greycloaks!” he bellowed. “Men and women of Argwyll, are you with me?!”

He charged. The Greycloaks followed.

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The battle was chaos. Artorious slashed and cleaved through the monstrosities with precision, his Onixia blade cutting through their thick, mutated flesh as though it were butter. The creatures screamed as they fell, their bodies writhing and convulsing as they died. The Greycloaks fought valiantly beside him, but the army was relentless, an unending tide of decay and corruption.

“Artorious!” Lydia shouted through the din. “Gyko’s not just planting seeds in the monsters. The humans, too… She’s...she's infecting them!”

Artorious faltered for a moment. His eyes darted to the nearby villagers, humans who had been cowering behind makeshift barricades, watching in terror. The Darkseed. It was within them. The monster tide had pushed through and already infected them. He could sense it—feel its vile presence writhing in their hearts, ready to burst forth. Gyko had hidden her seeds in the bodies of humans, waiting for the perfect moment to sprout her influence from within them.

His blood ran cold.

“They’re compromised,” Artorious said, his voice empty. He had sensed this corruption in humans before, but it was becoming more frequent now. Gyko’s influence was spreading, reaching even the most innocent of souls. “We can’t leave them alive.”

“But—”

“No time for but,” Artorious snapped. “We have to kill them.”

Lydia hesitated, her face twisting with grief as she looked at the terrified humans. “We’re supposed to be protecting them…”

“We protect the world by stopping Gyko. If that means killing innocents, then so be it.” The words felt like ashes on his tongue, but he said them anyway. There was no place for mercy here. Not when the stakes were this high.

He could feel Lydia’s eyes on him as he raised his sword and plunged it into the nearest villager. The man screamed, his eyes wide with terror as the blade pierced his heart. Blood splattered across the stone ground. As the man fell, his body convulsed, and a small tendril of black vine erupted from his chest—proving that Artorious had been right.

The Darkseed was real.

One by one, the villagers fell. Men, women, children—none were spared. Artorious cut them down with the same cold efficiency he had used against the monsters. Every strike felt heavier, every scream louder, but he forced himself to ignore it. He had to. Gyko’s influence had to be eradicated, no matter the cost.

As he slashed through the final corrupted human, his blade gleaming with their blood, he realized that he had become numb. He had grown used to the sight of blood, to the cries for mercy.

And somewhere deep inside him, something broke.

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The mists of his memory parted once more, and he saw himself at the top of Caer Krea’s balcony, shoulders hunched and face tinged with bloodless shame.

And as usual, just when he thought he was at his lowest point, she came along.

“You did the right thing, you know.”

He didn't even need to turn around. He knew who was there - like a walking shadow she seemed stuck to his back. That'd been a recurring theme throughout his entire life. Carliah Argent had a way of...creeping up on him, like a wraith born from his own insecurities.

"Lydia is one of us," he told the uncaring, dead sky around the fortress. "She looked at me like I was...a monster."

"Silly girl. She's too weak to finish this fight," came the reply. "We do not abide weakness in our ranks, Lightborn. We can't afford to. I tell you again, Arty: you should boot that girl from your squadron."

He frowned. But he said nothing.

"The Darkseed is an insidious tool of our enemy," Carliah went on, her faith in her words totally unshakable. "Mercy is not a virtue we can afford in these dark days. Do not despair, however. The histories shall tell only of our bravery in these trying times."

He scowled at her. "You think the historians will overlook the massacre today? The deaths of that entire village - of human beings - under my watch?"

Carliah smiled. "You're still young, Artorious. Haven't you understood it yet? We are the vanguard of humanity's victory. The beacon of hope for a better future. We practically own the historians. Hell, we own this world."

He glanced at the change that had come over her. She looked out into the dark horizon at the gathering clouds of toxic dust with...a kind of feverish glee.

The smile of a fanatic was painted on her face.

"By right of divine mandate," she said in a hallowed whisper. "Every human being in this realm owes us their lives. Their lives, and those of their children, and their children's children. When this Archon dies, we shall collect our debt."

"What?" he stammered. It was all he could say. And, as usual, she looked down on him as the naive child he was when she'd first found him.

"You think our jobs will be over once this last war ends?" she asked him. "No, Arty. Our glory days are only just beginning. With the last Archon dead, all of monsterkind shall finally be vanquished. Soon, humanity will be bereft of purpose. They will need true, strong leadership to guide them towards the right path - under Kaedmon's eyes. Who better than we, their sacred guardians and stewards?"

"You're talking about domination," he said. And he said it without trembling at the power that lay behind her voice.

"I'm talking about guidance, Arty," she replied cooly, sweeping one gauntleted hand over the barren wastes of Westerweald. "When this filth is cleansed, and the demon-hybrids of Gyko put to the sword, the people will need good, strong leadership. The days of petty civil squabbles between Kings - border disputes, political infighting - it will all come to an end at Kaedmon's decree. Soon, humanity will have a new ruling class."

She stroked his hand with a thin, but firm finger. It was possible she couldn't see the abject horror in his eyes as he listened to and processed her words.

It was also entirely possible that she saw his reaction in its entirety. And she didn't care.

"All because of you, dear Arty," she said with a smirk. "I promise you this: your sacrifice shall not go to waste. Not this time. When the Archon falls, and your Lightborn spirit goes with it, I shall ensure this world is put on the right course."

She left him there after that, and he stared back out at the cold waste of the world he was supposed to 'save'.

Somehow, it had just gotten a lot darker.