Chapter 2: P0.1 - Echoes of Destiny
Gravesyn and another member, Declan, stood in the dimly lit hall of the base, enveloped in darkness. The oppressive atmosphere matched their somber mood. Declan, his voice filled with resentment, poured out his hatred for the Knights to Gravesyn. He seethed with anger at the destruction of their recently overtaken Sanctuary, which now posed even greater danger to their comrades. "If they care so much about it," he spat, his words dripping with bitterness, "then why did they destroy the damned Sanctuary?!"
Gravesyn, her eyes reflecting the shadows around her, echoed Declan's exclamation, expressing her own frustration. A sense of relief filled her as she spoke, "At least we haven't lost as many soldiers this time. In fact, I don't think we've held onto this many injured soldiers instead of fallens."
"That is true, but without these Sanctuaries, we can't keep on relying on Artifacts alone. I was hoping we could station ourselves here for a good while before we'd eventually pass onto the next Sanctuary…"
"Don't worry," a third voice interjected. Amid their conversation, Lunar entered the darkened hall, his presence casting elongated shadows. "Luminia is about to start the ritual, I wouldn't want to miss this one if I were you. We won't be able to recuperate ourselves as quickly after this anymore. Best to grab whatever you can," his voice carrying a glint of hope and apprehension. The mention of Luminia and her possession of the Artifact, allowing her to invocate the sacred ritual of the Rite of Luminous Solace wherever and whenever she pleased, ignited a flicker of hope within Gravesyn and Declan. Their eyes met briefly, sharing a mix of anticipation and concern.
The three individuals had already made their way back to the vast open space of the building. A sense of solemnity and reverence hung in the air. The once grand hall, now overtaken by the Fallen Ones, retained traces of its former magnificence, though now tainted by darkness and decay.
Tall, towering pillars reached towards the ceiling, their surfaces eroded with time. Once pristine and intricately carved, the stonework now bore cracks and weathered patterns that spoke of the forgotten glory. Dim, flickering torches lined the walls, casting dancing shadows that seemed to echo the inner turmoil of those gathered within.
The space was shrouded in an oppressive gloom, with patches of oblivion embracing the corners and alcoves, refusing to yield to any illumination. The absence of natural light only served to heighten the desolate atmosphere, emphasizing the fallen state of the once sacred place.
In the center of this grandiose yet desolate expanse, a makeshift altar had been arranged. It stood as a stark contrast to the decaying surroundings, adorned with symbols of The Light, albeit tarnished and worn. The altar, crafted from rough-hewn stone, bore the weight of Luminia's Devotion, her faith resonating through the very fabric of the room.
As she chanted her praises, her voice reverberated off the cavernous walls, filling the space with a haunting melody. Rays of silver light, filtered through the long faded stained glass windows, cascaded onto the altar, casting ethereal hues upon the worn stone floor. The interplay of light and shadow created a surreal tableau, as if the remnants of the divine still sought to manifest their presence amidst the darkness.
The wounded soldiers, as well as Gravesyn, Declan, and Lunar, their figures draped in tattered armor and worn expressions, gathered around the altar. They stood sentry in silence, their soft breaths mingling with the hallowed air, as they waited for the touch of the Light's Blessing upon their fractured bodies.
Meanwhile, Imbra, the enigmatic leader of the Fallen Ones, stood atop a balcony alongside Zynphina. The one who dealt the last blow, murdering the last remnants of the Knights that infiltrated the building. They both overlooked the vast expanse of their domain as the building enveloped them in a suffocating darkness, its towering arches and crumbling stone walls serving as a haunting testament to the desolation that consumed the world of Aradon.
Silence hung heavy between them, broken only by the distant echoes of Luminia's melancholic chants. Zynphina's voice, tingled with a quiet resolve, broke through the stillness. "I do wonder how our soldiers must feel. Being embraced by the contradiction of our existence. The concept central to those that sought to end us."
"I have little worries on that front. As long as it serves to recuperate, and strengthen them, I have nothing to complain about," Imbra responded. He stepped away from the balcony, his gaze fixed on the grey-coated sky. The faint rays of moonlight highlighted the oblivion that encapsulated them, casting an ethereal glow on his features. Zynphina followed him, and stood next to him, sharing the silent acknowledgment of the encroaching dusk.
"Our time to retrieve the Sword of Desolation grows even more finite, my Lord."
Imbra remained wordless. In which Zynphina added, "Do you not have any concerns regarding the esteemed fifth Watcher, Alik? He will be your most challenging battle…"
"I do not fear his power, for within the depths of our darkness lies a strength he cannot comprehend, as well as all of our adversaries."
A soft, haunting smile coated Zynphina's face, her gaze still fixated on the desolate sky. "So it is written."
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Amidst the heart of the Holy Church, a sense of unease filled the air as news of the Fallen Ones' success reached the Knights. Vaelen, the formidable leader of the Holy Church, listened intently to the account his messenger brought to him, his expression betraying a mixture of silent anger and determination. He gazed out a grand window, observing the flickering candles in the vast cathedral. The room, filled with an oppressive silence, broken by only the soft whispers of his subordinates.
With an air of confidence, Vaelen turned to his messenger, his eyes ablaze with unwavering conviction. He declared, "The Flow of Luminosity flows in our favor, as that is what the prophecy tells. It might foretell a path paved with challenges and tribulations, but we shall not falter in the long run. The time has come to unleash the full might of the Holy Church upon these heretics."
His voice hang heavy as the room filled with a renewed sense of purpose. The Knights present exchanged determined glances, their loyalty to Vaelen unyielding, as Vaelen's second-in-command, Viktor, strode into the chamber, his armor clanking with each confident step. His tall frame, black hair cascading over his broad shoulders, his unearthly blood-red eyes locked onto Vaelen's penetrating golden hazel eyes.
Vaelen, lean and tall, stood with an ethereal presence amidst the grandeur of the chamber. His snow-white hair, styled in loose waves, cascaded down his back, enhancing his angelic appearance. His gleaming silver armor, adorned with intricate filigree and gem inlays, reflected the flickering candlelight.
"Master Vaelen," Viktor's voice echoed with deference, "I come bearing the weight of our recent defeat. Their escape has stained our honor…however, I cannot help but wonder about our plans of obtaining the Sword of Desolation."
Vaelen's gaze remained fixed on Viktor, "Speak, Viktor. Share your concerns regarding the Sword."
Viktor's voice, filled with unwavering loyalty, carried a tinge of caution. "We must not underestimate the potential threat that the Child of Darkness poses if he were to lay his hand on the Sword. His twisted power combined with the ancient relic could unleash an everlasting abyss upon our world. Moreover, the presence of Alik, the fifth Watcher guarding the Great Western Cathedral, presents an additional challenge that will not be an easy task to overcome."
A flicker of darkness danced in Vaelen's golden hazel eyes, intertwining with the majestic aura that surrounded him. "I appreciate your insights, Viktor, but these challenges will not deter us. The Flow of Luminosity shall guide us toward victory. Do not waver in your faith, or have you forgotten the consequences of doing so?"
"No, Master. My faith remains undeviating. I am merely pondering the storm of adversary that awaits us."
"…be dismissed, the both of you," Vaelen ordered, his demeanor turned solemn. They both bowed their heads and wordlessly filed out the room, leaving Vaelen alone in the vast space.
As the heavy doors closed behind them, Vaelen's gaze shifted to the imposing portrait of his fallen father that adorned the chamber wall. The grand painting depicted a figure of authority, his father's noble visage captured in vivid detail.
Approaching the portrait, Vaelen's hand traced the delicate brushstrokes that brought his father's image to life. The strokes were imbued with both reverence and sorrow, a bittersweet reminder of the man who once led the Second Division of the Holy Church, the Holy Crusaders.
In the quiet solitude of the chamber, Vaelen allowed himself a moment of reflection. His father's absence cast a long shadow, and the burden of carrying his legacy rested heavily on his shoulders. Determination sparked within him, fueling his resolve to secure the Sword of Desolation.
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Amidst the depths of an unknown forest, ventured an enigmatic figure. Dressed in a black flowing coat that billowed around him with each silent step, he exuded an aura of melancholy and solitude. A wide-brimmed had cast a shadow on his face, concealing his features from prying eyes. A mask, intricately designed and unnerving, completed his enigmatic ensemble.
Moving with deadly grace and precision, he traversed the forest, his footsteps making no sounds as he weaved through the dense undergrowth. He seemed to meld seamlessly with the shadows, leaving no trace of his presence behind. The weight of his silence was palpable, as if the forest itself held its breath in anticipation of his next move.
At the climax of his solitary journey, as the wind whispered through the trees and the air grew heavy with anticipation, he paused, his masked face turning upward. His eyes, hidden behind the mask, glinted with an intensity that mirrored the hidden depths of his purpose.
And with a voice that resonated with an otherwordly wisdom, he uttered, "In the dance of darkness and the echo of forgotten whispers, destiny weaves its tapestry. The threads converge, and the time of reckoning draws nigh. This time, it draws… the unborn, has finally been born."
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