The sanctuary was quiet, save for the faint echoes of Illyana’s voice, trembling as it carried through the sacred chamber. The air was heavy with the sweet smell of burning incense, the golden smoke curling upward to the high, vaulted ceiling where faint murals of light and renewal adorned every surface. The soft hum of mantras, spoken in a language as old as the stars, filled the emptiness.
Illyana knelt on the polished stone floor, her hands clasped tightly in prayer formation. Her crystalline staff lay beside her, its radiant glow dimmed, as though it too mourned. Her lips moved, trying to recite the mantras, but the words caught in her throat, sticking like thorns. Her voice cracked, faltering over phrases that once brought her peace.
"Peace be the light, everlasting and whole.
Peace be the heart, unbroken and pure.
Peace be the voice, echoing in clarity.
Peace be the bonds, unyielding and true."
She repeated them over and over, her voice growing quieter until it was barely audible. Her eyes were shut tightly, but tears pressed against them, threatening to spill. She bit her lip, her breathing uneven as she forced herself to focus.
"You can't cry," she whispered to herself, her voice trembling. "Not here. Not now. Peace... tranquility. You are the one who brings it to others. You can't let this break you."
Her hands tightened into fists, her knuckles white as she pressed them to her chest. Her body shook as the weight of her emotions crushed down on her like a tidal wave. For so long, she had been the calm one. The serene one. The one who carried light in even the darkest of places. But now, alone in this sanctuary, she felt like a fraud.
"How can I keep peace in the group,"she whispered, her voice breaking, "when I can’t even keep it within myself?"
The tears finally spilled over, rolling down her cheeks as she clenched her hands tighter, her nails digging into her palms. Her breathing grew shallow, her chest heaving as she tried to suppress the sobs that threatened to escape. “How can I bring tranquility when I’m falling apart like this? How can I ask them to trust me, to look to me for guidance, when I don’t even know if I can trust myself?"
She lowered her head, her forehead touching the cold stone floor. "What if I’m the one who breaks the Tyrants apart?" The thought clawed at her, a sharp, unrelenting pain that made her stomach twist. She had never considered her own emotions when she joined Yuuna, or the Tyrants, or even when she left the clerics behind. Her role had always been to serve, to bring harmony, to heal. But now, the weight of everything—Xyenn’s pain, the fractures in the group, her own inability to hold herself together—was too much to bear.
Her tears dripped onto the stone, glinting faintly in the dim light of the sanctuary. "I’ve spent so long carrying their pain," she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible. “I never thought about my own."
At the entrance of the sanctuary, Faera and Vektor stood in silence, their robes faintly glowing in the golden light of the chamber. Faera’s arms were crossed, her expression unreadable as she stared at the closed doors. Vektor stood beside her, his arms folded, his piercing eyes fixed on the faint glow of the sanctuary beyond.
“She’s been in here…she found it so easily..,” Faera murmured, breaking the silence. Her voice was soft, but there was an edge to it—concern, perhaps, or something heavier.
Vektor sighed, his voice low and contemplative. “It’s not just prayer keeping her there. Something deeper weighs on her.”
Faera glanced at him, her golden eyebrows furrowed. “You wouldn’t have believed it before, would you? Illyana used to… I don’t know. She never really cared about people before. Not like this.” She leaned against the doorway, her gaze distant as she spoke. “Do you remember what she was like before she joined Yuuna’s side? Before she became... whatever she is now?”
Vektor nodded, his expression thoughtful. “I remember. She was cold. Detached. People’s feelings were... irrelevant to her. She thought emotions were a weakness. It’s what led her to nearly being sacrificed to Lancelot, the Dragon God of Light. She didn’t understand the weight of bonds, or the lengths people would go to protect one another.”
Faera’s lips pressed into a thin line. “And now?”
“Now,” Vektor said, his tone softening, “she cares too much. She feels the weight of every choice, every word. She sees the fractures in others and blames herself for not mending them fast enough. She’s trying to find balance, to keep peace, but it’s tearing her apart.”
Faera exhaled slowly, her gaze dropping to the floor. “She’s more open now. More… human. But I wonder if it’s too much for her. She’s trying to keep the Tyrants together, and those who feel distraught around her. but I don’t think she realizes she’s becoming what she’s trying to prevent.” She clenched her fists softly, her nails pressing into her palms. “What if she’s the one who breaks?”
Before Vektor could respond, a soft voice came from within the sanctuary.
“I can hear you both,” Illyana said, her voice steady but strained.
Faera and Vektor froze as the doors creaked open. Illyana stood in the dim light, her face tear-streaked but composed. Her eyes locked onto them, and for a moment, the weight of her presence was overwhelming.
Faera bowed slightly. “Apologies, Priestess Illyana,” she said, her voice low and respectful.
Illyana didn’t respond immediately. She wiped her tear-streaked face with the edge of her sleeve and stepped forward.
Faera hesitated, then began to chant softly, her voice carrying a gentle melody through the air.
"Light eternal, heal the wounds unseen.
Light eternal, calm the storm within.
Light eternal, bind the fractured and restore the whole."
The chant seemed to settle the air, its melody like a soft embrace. Illyana closed her eyes, letting the words wash over her, though the pain in her chest didn’t entirely subside.
Vektor unfolded his arms, his voice quiet but firm. “It was destined for you to come back to us, Illyana. Even if just for a moment. It pains me to see you like this, to see a sister in such distress. Every day, I fight to keep the darkness at bay—to keep everyone intact. And yet, here you are, the strongest of us, breaking before my eyes.”
Faera glanced at him, her expression softening as she looked down, her hands trembling faintly. She clenched her fists again, tighter this time, but said nothing.
Illyana opened her eyes, her gaze sharp as she looked at Vektor. “I’m not here to stay,” she said firmly. “I came to see the state of the Clerics of the Holy Branch. And now I know.”
Before Vektor could respond, a cleric priest burst into the sanctuary, his face pale and his voice frantic. “The boy—Xyenn! He’s in his right mind now!”
Illyana’s breath hitched, her eyes widening. For a moment, she looked as though she was about to run out of the sanctuary, but she stopped herself, her grip tightening on her staff. “I… I did this to him,” she whispered, her voice trembling with guilt.
Vektor stepped forward, his voice firm but gentle. “You didn’t force him to do anything, Illyana. He chose this. He wanted it. You can’t blame yourself for his decisions.”
But Illyana shook her head, her gaze dropping to the floor. “It doesn’t matter. It’s still my fault.”
Faera opened her mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. She looked at Illyana, at the way her shoulders slumped under the weight of guilt, and for the first time, she felt a pang of hopelessness. Illyana was the one she had always looked up to, even when she joined Yuuna. She had always been a pillar of strength, of serenity. But seeing her like this—broken, weeping—made Faera wonder if there was any hope left at all.
Before the silence could stretch further, the doors to the sanctuary opened again. Xyenn walked in, bloodied and bandaged, his steps slow but steady. Draeven was behind him, his usual nervous demeanor replaced with a quiet resolve as he stayed close to Xyenn’s side.
Illyana froze, her eyes locking onto Xyenn. She opened her mouth to apologize, but before she could speak, Xyenn approached her. His dark eyes met hers, and for a moment, the room was silent.
“Thank you,” Xyenn said, his voice soft but firm.
Illyana stared at him, her lips trembling as tears welled in her eyes again.
The air in the sanctuary was heavy with unspoken tension as Illyana watched Xyenn with wide, questioning eyes. Her tears had stopped, but the weight of her emotions lingered in her chest like a stone. He had thanked her—thanked her—and it left her more confused than ever. Her lips trembled for a moment before she found her voice, soft and uncertain.
“Why?” she asked quietly, her eyes searching his bloodied face. “Why are you thanking me, Xyenn? After everything, after what you went through… why?”
Xyenn, still standing tall despite the bandages that wrapped his torso and arms, looked at her with a steady, almost calm expression. His eyes, once clouded with fear and doubt, now carried a glimmer of something deeper—resolve.
“Because now I know,” Xyenn began, his voice low but firm, “how much larger the stakes are. And instead of feeling hopeless about it, I’ll endure it. I’ll fight it.” He paused, his gaze drifting to the faint light filtering through the sanctuary windows. “Everything seems against us. Hell itself is against us. But I was created for this. I was created to conquer beings bigger than the dragon gods, to fight battles no one else can fight. And though I have a long way to go, each fight… every single one… teaches me how much I have to grow in order to live. Or something like that, I’m not really good at this.”
Illyana’s lips parted, but she said nothing, her hands tightening around her staff as she listened.
“I’ve made goals before,” Xyenn continued, his tone quieter now, reflective. “Goals to conquer my fear. My anxiety. To bury all the things that make me weak. And I’ve failed. Over and over again, I’ve failed.” His voice wavered for a moment, but he steadied it, his grip tightening on the **Dark Sun Sword** strapped to his back. “But that’s natural. That’s what it means to be human. Or… somewhat human, I think.” He smirked faintly at the thought, shaking his head. “The point is, those failures don’t define me. What defines me is that I keep going. Fear and doubt don’t mean I’ve lost. They mean I’m still alive.”
Illyana lowered her gaze, his words sinking into her heart. She felt a pang of guilt as she thought to herself, ‘If these fearful and anxious emotions are what’s making him stronger… what am I doing trying to keep him from feeling these all the time?’ The realization struck her like a blow. She had spent so much time trying to shield Xyenn from his fears, from his doubts, thinking it would make him stronger. But now, as she looked at him—bloodied, battered, but unbroken—she realized she had been wrong.
Her thoughts spiraled as she considered her own actions. ‘Am I too pushy? Am I stunting his growth? Everyone else’s?’
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Breaking her train of thought, Illyana spoke softly, her voice tinged with guilt. “Yuuna might be mad at us for this. I… I don’t even know how to answer her. I think I’ve failed her—”
“She won’t be mad,” Xyenn interrupted firmly, his voice cutting through her doubt. His dark eyes locked onto hers, and for a moment, the room seemed to still. “You didn’t fail her. You didn’t fail anyone.”
Illyana’s lips trembled, the weight of her emotions pressing against her chest. When Xyenn said, “Thank you,” again, she felt an internal battle raging within her. She wanted to brush it off, to tell him not to thank her, that she didn’t deserve it. But as she looked into his eyes, saw the strength he had found in himself, she knew that wasn’t what he needed.
Her fingers tightened around her own hand, and after a long, agonizing moment, she forced herself to smile—a small, tranquil smile that carried both sorrow and understanding. “You’re welcome,” she said softly, her voice steady despite the storm inside her.
Xyenn continued, “We’ll still need you and your gift, Illyana. If we ever start to really feel hopeless or depressed..we know we can count on you to fix us. Because I for one know those are the emotions that cause most of us to fall apart.”
Xyenn, his expression calm as he turned to Vektor, who had been watching in silence. “I know you want to ask questions,” Xyenn said, his tone sharp and direct. “Go ahead.”
Vektor unfolded his arms, his stern expression hardening further. “What did the demon say?” he asked, his voice low and serious. “Since you could understand him—what did he tell you?”
Xyenn exhaled deeply, his gaze growing distant as he recounted what Zerzoth had revealed. “He said I’m a Jotyin. That I came from the Ohnupilath Tree—the same tree that the First Dragon, Gabriel, used to create life itself. The tree was created by the Dragon God of Light, Lancelot, but apparently, it was the King of Sen who created Gabriel, the First Monarch of Hell… and the Jotyin, years after their birth. The King of Sen is dead now, apparently, but the Jotyin were taken to the Astral World to protect them. I think because the war with the primordial dragon deities happened early. Zerzoth and the demons think Yuuna’s human mother took them/us out of the Astral World, but they’re not sure.”
He paused, his voice growing darker. “And the First Monarch… he can puppeteer the souls of the dragon gods and draconic vessels who make contracts with Hell. There’s plenty of them. Too many.”
The room fell silent as Xyenn’s words sank in. Faera, who had been standing quietly near the doorway, suddenly spoke. “You said you’re a Jotyin… like King Samuel!”
Xyenn turned to her, his brow furrowing as the name struck a chord in his memory. “King Samuel?” he repeated. His voice was low, cautious. “Zerzoth mentioned him. He said he was the first draconic vessel of Lancelot, the Dragon God of Light.”
He hesitated, his dark eyes narrowing. “Is he dead?”
Faera and Vektor exchanged a glance, their expressions heavy with unspoken knowledge. Finally, Vektor spoke, his voice grim. “No. Samuel isn’t dead. He’s… sealed.”
Xyenn’s gaze darkened, his mind racing with the implications of what he had just learned. The weight of the revelations pressed down on him, but he didn’t falter. Instead, he stood taller, his resolve hardening.
The silence in the sanctuary was thick, but it wasn’t oppressive. It was a moment of reflection, of understanding, as each of them grappled with the truths that had been laid bare.
The sanctuary grew heavy with silence as Xyenn, his mind still turning over the weight of Zerzoth’s revelations, turned to Faera. His voice was low, calm, but carried an edge of curiosity that demanded answers. “This… King Samuel,” he began, his dark eyes narrowing. “Who is he really? How was he sealed, and why?”
Faera’s expression shifted, the soft glow of the sanctuary light catching the faint furrow of her brow. She crossed her arms, her gaze distant, as if recalling something from a half-forgotten memory. “King Samuel,” she began slowly, “was the first draconic vessel of Lancelot, the Dragon God of Light. In his time, he was revered… feared… unstoppable. But even he wasn’t invincible.”
She paused, her voice softening as she continued. “There was one demon. One that walked this world during the early days of Kyrrin’s creation. A being so powerful, so ancient, it nearly destroyed the world before it had even properly begun. Samuel fought that demon, but he… lost.”
Xyenn’s jaw tightened at the thought. “He lost?”
Faera nodded solemnly. “Before King Samuel could die, there was a cleric with him—a woman. Her name has been lost to time. She sealed his soul in a statue, preserving him so he wouldn’t fall into the hands of Hell.” She hesitated, glancing toward Vektor, who gave an affirming nod, before continuing. “That statue… it’s in the possession of the current vessel of Lancelot. It’s kept safe at the head sanctuary of the Holy Branch.”
The weight of her words sank into the room like a stone dropped into still water. Draeven, who had been standing nervously behind Xyenn, suddenly stuttered, his voice cracking under the tension. “Th-that woman… the cleric… could it have been… Yuuna’s mother?”
Faera and Vektor looked at each other, their expressions uncertain. Vektor finally spoke, his voice measured but unsure. “We don’t know,” he admitted, folding his arms across his chest. “There’s too much we don’t know.”
Before the conversation could go any further, Illyana stepped forward, her voice calm but commanding. “We shouldn’t speak any further about this tonight,” she said firmly, her pale blue eyes scanning the group. “Yuuna should be part of this discussion, as well as the other Tyrants. If we’re going to uncover the truth, we do it together.”
Faera immediately nodded, her respect for Illyana evident in the way she responded without hesitation. “You’re right, Priestess Illyana. We’ll wait.”
Vektor inclined his head slightly, his sharp features softening as he added, “Tomorrow, we’ll meet. We can discuss this alongside Klem. There’s much to take care of. The world is in danger again, and we’re closer to disaster than we’ve been in months.”
As the name left his lips, Illyana gasped softly. “Klem?”
A vision flashed in her mind—a memory of Klem, the strongest and most battle-hungry cleric she had ever encountered. She remembered his imposing figure: a towering white lion humanoid, his fur glowing faintly with golden light, as though he were a divine creature made flesh. His mane shimmered with streaks of silver and gold, and his eyes burned with fierce amber fire, glowing with an intensity that was both terrifying and awe-inspiring. He wielded a massive eight-sided ax, its surface engraved with intricate runes that pulsed with a radiant, healing light. Chains were attached to the ax, glowing with the same energy, and he used them with deadly precision, spinning the weapon like a whirlwind of destruction.
The memory shifted, and she saw Klem slaughtering through hordes of beasts and monsters, his sickly laughter echoing through the battlefield as the ax tore through flesh and bone alike. The chains lashed out like serpents, binding and crushing anything in their path. He was unstoppable, a force of nature that seemed to revel in the chaos of battle.
Illyana blinked, shaking off the memory as she nodded slowly. “I’ll consult Yuuna,” she said, her voice steady. “If a meeting is necessary, we’ll join you. But we have a lot to handle already—the cursed region, King Alaric, and summoning Kassius Velmire. Everything is piling up. And even with King Haldrek and Ezrael the dragon god of war about to battle…everything is happening fast. Whatever or whenever we do anything, must be done fast.” She paused, glancing at Faera. “Tomorrow. Noon. That’s when we’ll meet if Yuuna agrees.”
Faera gave a short bow, understanding the weight of Illyana’s words. “Understood,” she said softly.
The group began to disperse, each of them exchanging quiet farewells. The tension in the air gave way to a brief moment of camaraderie, though it was tinged with the heaviness of the revelations they had shared. Illyana, Faera, and Vektor lingered a moment longer, their gazes meeting briefly before they too parted ways.
Xyenn, walking beside Vektor, asked him silently, “How was that baby possessed by a demon?”
‘I need to know…’
Vektor replied, “Why do you care?”
Xyenn didn’t reply, he just stared at Vektor. A look that said, “Tell me.”
Vektor responded, “…A noble family brought the baby here at the orphanage door step, begging for us to save the baby from whatever demon was devouring its soul.”
“And? What else?”
“I know of that noble family, the Delleren Family. Thieves guilds and assassins all through Svarthelm are aware of them, but can’t seem to pick them apart due to their strength and numbers. They breed babies and sell them off to slave owners for money. That’s how they became rich in the first place. Using magic to manipulate the rate they can have children and other things. But one of the newborn babies became sick, and they couldn’t heal him so they used a dark ritual to try and cure the baby, not to really heal it, but to do whatever it took to keep the baby alive, but didn’t know it would cost him. They were fooled. And the demon took over the baby.”
“Tch..bastards. Where can I find them?”
“Huh? What do you even plan to do? Don’t you got enough to deal with already?”
“Where can I find them?”
“I’ll let you know when you meet with us.”
“Pfft. Holding this shit against me, aren’t you?”
“We need all the help we can get, brat. Meet us tomorrow with your Tyrants and dragon goddess of darkness. And I’ll keep this between me and you if you want to take revenge for the baby.”
“Fine. And about the babies soul..where is it?”
“It was devoured by a demon, so..”
“Don’t tell me, I don’t wanna hear anymore. Get ready to see us tomorrow. That’s horrible..”
Vektor thought, ‘This kid, he’s really gonna take revenge for that baby? A baby he didn’t even know? Seems Illyana has influenced him. Because we would do the same thing if we had the time. That feeling of being abandoned, being abandoned all his life if he was a Jotyin.’
Outside the sanctuary, the cool night air enveloped the group as they walked back toward the orphanage. The stars above were faint, their light dimmed by the lingering presence of the blood moon and its ominous glow. Xyenn walked at the front of the group, his mind swirling with everything he had learned. The weight of his newfound identity as a Jotyin pressed against him, but he pushed it aside. There was no room for doubt now.
As they passed the orphanage, Xyenn suddenly felt a strange sensation—a prickling on the back of his neck. He stopped, his boots scraping against the dirt path as he turned back toward the old building.
“What’s wrong?” Draeven asked nervously, clutching the edges of his cloak.
Xyenn squinted at the orphanage, his sharp eyes scanning the darkened windows. For a moment, there was nothing—just the faint glow of candlelight from inside. But then, in one of the upper windows, he saw it.
A child, no older than seven, was staring at him through the glass. The boy’s face was pale, his expression blank, but his eyes gleamed with an unsettling curiosity. Xyenn hesitated, raising a hand in a small, awkward wave.
The boy’s expression didn’t change. He stared at Xyenn for a long moment, his gaze unblinking. Then, without warning, the boy raised his hand—and flipped Xyenn off, his middle finger held high as a mischievous grin spread across his face.
The boy laughed and ran off, disappearing from the window.
Xyenn’s mouth fell open in disbelief. “HUHH?! I’LL KILL THAT LITTLE SHIT!” he bellowed, his voice echoing through the quiet night as he started toward the orphanage.
“W-wait, Xyenn!” Draeven stammered, grabbing his arm and pulling him back with surprising strength for someone so nervous. “Calm down! He’s just a kid!”
“A kid?!” Xyenn snarled, his dark eyes blazing with indignation. “That little punk just flipped me off!”
Draeven struggled to hold him back, his voice trembling as he tried to calm the enraged warrior. “It’s not worth it! Please, just let it go!”
“Didn’t you chase him across the entire city because he stole from you?! Have my back on this!”
“I mean, y-yeah, but I'm tired!”
Vektor and Faera turned back, their expressions a mix of confusion and amusement as they watched the scene unfold.
…
The training room in the orphanage was a sanctuary of light. The walls were a blinding, pristine white, glowing faintly as if imbued with divine energy. The floor held a crystalline sheen, etched with intricate runes that pulsed faintly whenever a step was taken—a reminder that even this room was alive with sacred magic. Vektor stood at the center, his broad shoulders squared, his sharp golden eyes fixed on the emptiness before him. His breath was steady, measured, but there was tension in his jaw, a weight pressing against his usually calm demeanor.
He closed his eyes for a moment, tilting his head downward as he brought his hands together in a prayer-like stance. His voice, deep and steady, began to resonate within the chamber as he chanted the mantras of light, words of his own design, drawn from years of devotion.
“Shine eternal, blade of stars,
Cut through shadow, mend the scars.
Light of gold, unbroken flame,
Cleanse the wicked, purge their name.”
As the words flowed from him, he began walking forward, his steps purposeful and deliberate. The hem of his priest’s robe, white with intricate gold embroidery, trailed behind him, glowing faintly with the power of his mantra. His voice didn’t falter, the cadence of his chant growing more powerful with every syllable.
“Be the shield, unyielding and strong,
Be the fist, righting every wrong.
Light eternal, guide my hand,
Banish dark from every land.”
With a fluid motion, Vektor reached to the clasp of his robe and removed it gently, letting the garment slip from his shoulders and fall to the floor in a soft heap. Underneath, his body was a marvel of both strength and devotion—his muscled frame marked with glowing golden crests that spiraled from his shoulders down to his fists. The crests were intricate and long, resembling radiant vines intertwined with runes, their light pulsating in sync with his heartbeat.
His fists clenched, the golden glow intensifying as he opened his eyes, now burning like twin suns. In his hand materialized his weapon: a golden blanket, shimmering and alive with divine energy. It was no ordinary blanket—it was a weapon of pure light, its edges sharp and fluid, its surface rippling with raw power. The fabric seemed to defy gravity, floating weightlessly, ready to obey his every command.
As he stepped further into the room, the training dummies began to assemble themselves. Steel humanoids, forged from magic and animated by runes, pulled themselves together from piles of parts scattered across the floor. Their movements were mechanical but precise, their glowing eyes locking onto Vektor as their forms solidified. They were designed to mimic the strength and speed of an enemy, but they were just that—imitations. Vektor would remind himself tonight that no matter how real the enemy, the light would stand resolute.
He exhaled sharply, gripping the edge of his golden blanket and flinging it forward.
The blanket unfurled, expanding mid-air as it wrapped around the first dummy, binding it tightly. The steel figure struggled against the radiant fabric, but Vektor didn’t hesitate. With a sharp pull, the blanket constricted, the golden energy searing through the steel, cutting the dummy apart in a burst of light. The pieces clattered to the ground, glowing faintly as they disintegrated into harmless dust.
“Light eternal, rise and smite,
Burn away their endless night!”
Vektor’s voice boomed as he spun, the golden blanket coiling in his hands like a whip. Another dummy charged him, its steel fists raised, but with a flick of his wrist, the blanket extended, slashing through the air like a radiant blade. It struck the dummy’s legs, severing them cleanly before Vektor lunged forward, wrapping the fabric around the figure’s torso and hurling it into the wall. The impact sent cracks rippling outward, golden light spilling from the dummy’s shattered form.
The dummies came faster now, their movements more coordinated, their strikes more precise. But Vektor was faster. His movements were fluid, almost dance-like, as he wielded the golden blanket with unmatched precision. He spun on his heel, the fabric arcing around him in a wide sweep that struck three dummies at once, the radiant energy burning through their steel bodies as if they were paper.
“Light unbroken, shield my soul,
Burn the dark, make it whole.
Guide the hand, lift the weak,
Grant me strength for what I seek.”
The room was filled with the sound of clashing steel and the hum of divine energy. Vektor’s blanket twisted and coiled, moving like a living thing as it lashed out at the dummies. He used it to block strikes, the glowing fabric hardening like a shield against their blows, before countering with devastating precision.
One dummy lunged at him, its arm transforming into a blade that slashed toward his neck. Vektor ducked low, sweeping the blanket upward and catching the blade in its folds. With a sharp tug, he disarmed the dummy, the weapon clattering to the ground. He followed up with a powerful punch, his crest-covered fist glowing brightly as it connected with the dummy’s chest, sending it flying backward in a shower of sparks.
Another dummy came from behind, but Vektor didn’t turn. Instead, he flung the blanket over his shoulder, the fabric extending like a spear that pierced through the dummy’s torso. With a flick of his wrist, the blanket spiraled, tearing the steel figure apart before retracting back into his hand.
The battles continued, each scenario more intense than the last. Vektor fought relentlessly, his movements growing faster and more destructive with each wave of dummies. He leapt into the air, using the blanket to swing himself around like a whip, slamming into the dummies with enough force to shatter their steel bodies. He wrapped the fabric around multiple enemies at once, using it to crush them in a brilliant burst of light.
Through it all, he kept chanting.
“Light eternal, burn the path,
Spare the kind, unleash the wrath.
Guide my blade, steady my aim,
Purge the dark in your holy name!”
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the last dummy fell. Its steel body crumbled to the ground, glowing faintly before disintegrating into dust. The room was silent once more, the only sound Vektor’s heavy breathing.
He stood in the midst of the destruction, the shattered remains of the dummies scattered around him, glowing faintly in the divine light that still radiated from his body. His golden blanket floated gently in the air beside him, its edges flickering softly as if catching its breath as well.
Vektor looked down at his hand, at the golden crest that spiraled across his arm and ended at his fist. Its intricate design glowed faintly, pulsating like a heartbeat. For a moment, his expression faltered, the weight of everything pressing down on him.
Xyenn’s words echoed in his mind. The dragon gods… already claimed by Hell. Puppeteered by the First Monarch if they were permanently killed. The thought of it made his chest tighten. He could see it in his mind—friends, allies, gods themselves, turned into twisted weapons of destruction.
He clenched his fist, the crest burning brighter as he exhaled sharply. “No,” he muttered to himself, his voice steady despite the storm inside him. “I won’t lose hope. The clerics won’t lose hope. Fighting reminds me of our strength. Of their strength.”
He raised his head, his golden eyes blazing with renewed determination. “If the light can endure, so can we.”
The golden blanket wrapped itself around his shoulders like a cloak, and Vektor stood tall in the center of the training room, the light of the crest on his arm illuminating the shattered remnants of his opponents.