A stone slab sits in the middle of a dark room. The only light in the room is a small hole above the slab where a man is chained to it. His long face, broad nose, teal eyes, short, messy red hair, and narrow ears drop to the ground, trying to pierce the twilight-like dusk in the world. His broad shoulders and muscular chest have seen better days with cuts and sores. A pair of bright, silver steel cuffs secured his long arms to the slab. Another pair of bright, silver steel cuffs secured his tone legs.
The room's door opens. In Walk Seven, figures that are shrouded in light, and their faces are covered with masks. They are the twilight wardens, guardians of the world, and preservers of balance. Each warden represents an element of Light, Shadow, Earth, Water, Fire, Wind, and Time. They circle the prisoner, and the Light warden stands before him.
In a firm tone, he speaks. “Jasher, you stand accused of trying to plunge Rythoria into eternal twilight and trying to free the imprisoned god Rixeyar from the core of the world. Are you his agent? Or do you have anything to say?”
The moment was only interrupted by the cell door slamming shut with a loud thud. Jasher's eyes began to adjust to the new light source. As for the questions, everyone knew the answer to the first; it was just asked to get a rise out of him. A slight smirk began as he answered, “My deeds speak for themselves, but the twilight is not my doing.”
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Silence filled the room at the end of his sentence. The shadow warden stepped forward, “Then of who's doing? And you expect us to believe you had no hand in this?”
There was no response.
The shadow warden continues, but his voice is full of disgust toward him this time: “The goddess has already judged you.”
“Then so be it.” Was Jasher's only response.
The warden's voice almost sounded gleeful in the next part: “Your god's gloom can’t enter her sacred temple; there is no one to help you.”
He had figured that he was in the dungeon of the Arbiters Temple, a place only a select few knew existed.
The light warden took back command. “You will be sealed, and there will be no reincarnation this time.”
He motioned his hand, and a white blade with a dark blue hilt, a sun, and an eagle flying toward the sun engraved on the hilt appeared in front of him.
“Do you know what this sword is?” he asked.
Jasher quickly looked at the sword, and despair fell on his face. He gave no response, a defiant reply. The sword took a horizontal position and pointed at him.
“How ironic the first king's sacred power you sought that forced him to seal himself in this sword. Will now be your jailer, farewell.”
With a point of the warden’s finger, the sword raced toward him. He winced in pain as the sword plunged into the middle of his chest and let out a scream. He could feel his power being consumed by the sword. After a few minutes, the sword fell to the floor with a loud clang. His body and spirit had been consumed, and the seal was set.