Chapter 45: Letters, Gods and Gunfire

Two months had passed since the fall of Veyruun.

Word spread fast.

Stories of a band of strangers who toppled a god rippled through the land like wildfire. In some regions, they were praised. In others, feared. But in every whisper, one name remained constant:

Jalen. The flame that stood against judgment. The God that walks among mortals.

The sun hung low in the sky as the group strolled a winding dirt path toward a distant village. The air was warm. Birds chirped. And for the first time in what felt like forever… things were quiet.

Lucio walked with his rifle slung across his back, lazily balancing a rock on the edge of his boot. Nathan lagged behind, adjusting the strap on his coat, while Kullen hummed something soft and tuneless beneath his breath.

Jalen?

He was aiming a rifle at Nathan's head.

"Hold still," Jalen said, tongue poking from the side of his mouth.

Nathan stared at him, expression blank. "You are not qualified to touch that weapon."

"I just wanna see if I can shoot the apple off your head."

"There is no apple."

Jalen's eyes glowed, and a nice red round apple appeared on his head.

"There wasn't, and now there is. Now hold still, dude."

Lucio groaned from a few feet away, burying his face in his hands. "Don't encourage him, Nathan."

"I'm not—"

CRACK!

The rifle fired. The shot missed entirely, zipping into a distant tree, spooking a flock of birds.

Lucio tackled Jalen to the ground. "That's it. Rifle privileges revoked!"

Jalen wheezed beneath him, laughing uncontrollably. "Come on! I was close!"

"You hit a squirrel!"

By sundown, they reached the town.

Small, quiet, and far from the chaos they were used to. Lanterns swung gently outside tavern windows, and the scent of firewood and baked bread lingered in the air.

The bar had no name. Just creaky steps and warm candlelight. Inside, it was rustic and cozy—soft music, quiet patrons, and a bartender with a scar across his eye and a permanent smirk.

They didn't blend in. But they weren't trying to.

Lucio ordered drinks. Nathan rewound a drop of sweat up and down the side of his glass for ten straight minutes. Kullen hovered over a map, circling areas marked in old ink.

Jalen kicked his boots up on the table.

"You ever think this is the calm before the next storm?" he asked casually.

"Always is," Lucio said, sliding a mug toward him. "Which is why you enjoy it."

Jalen sipped. "Might enjoy it more if people would stop carving statues of me."

Nathan snorted. "You saw another one?"

"Yeah. Passed it near the gate." He rolled his eyes. "They gave me wings this time. Wings, bro."

Kullen didn't laugh. He looked at Jalen for a long moment, then said quietly, "You're starting to make people believe."

"That's their mistake," Jalen muttered.

Later that night, the town square stirred.

A small line had formed outside their inn. People. Ordinary people—farmers, wanderers, parents—holding out offerings: coin, trinkets, or just pleas.

A man asked Jalen to bless a ring for his sick wife. A woman offered fresh bread and asked for protection for her child. A scarred warrior, trembling, knelt and said nothing—just bowed his head.

"Please go away... There is nothing for you here."

He turned his back and walked back inside.

Inside his room, a letter sat on his bed.

Kullen was already there, holding the seal in his hand. "This one came from Everlock."

Jalen's heart jumped slightly.

He unfolded the parchment.

Hey dummy.

Kuromi's making me write this. Said it might help to stay connected. I think she just wanted a break from hearing me ask about you.

I hope you're doing okay. You always act like you're fine, even when you're not. So if you're reading this and pretending nothing's wrong—stop it. You're allowed to be tired. But don't stop pushing, even Stix would've told you that.

I'm doing what you told me. Staying. Training. Kuromi's kinda scary, but in a good way. I think she wants to make me stronger… or kill me trying.

The castle still feels empty without you. But I know you'll come back. You better.

So don't go getting all weird and godly on us. I still need my annoying big brother.

– Rhea

P.S. If you write back, use my name more. I like seeing it in your handwriting.

Jalen read it three times before folding it neatly and slipping it into his coat pocket.

Lucio leaned against the door. "You think about her much?"

"Every day."

Lucio smirked. "You basically adopted her, man. She's yours. And you're hers."

"Yeah, it sucks being away," Jalen said, voice softer than usual. "But I know she's okay. She's strong after all."

Lucio didn't press further.

They walked together for a bit, the quiet of the night wrapping around them.

Until Jalen froze.

"Lucio."

"I see 'em."

Down the street, five figures were approaching in formation. Their robes were black, their hoods low. Each one carried a jagged weapon—crude, ceremonial, and glowing faintly red.

Nathan appeared beside them in an instant, time swirling faintly behind his shoulders. "They've been following us since we left the bar."

Kullen sighed, brushing hair from his eyes. "I was hoping we could avoid this tonight."

The figures stopped ten feet away.

The leader stepped forward. "We come in service of Kieros. The true god. The only god."

Jalen frowned. "You're a long way from Zereth Kai."

"We were sent to deliver a message."

Lucio unstrapped his rifle.

Nathan cracked his knuckles.

Kullen exhaled.

Jalen didn't move. "What's the message?"

The man lifted his blade. "Only gods may walk where gods belong. Yours will not survive what comes next."

Then he lunged.

CRACK!

Lucio's rifle fired in an instant, dropping one of the zealots with a shoulder shot.

Nathan blinked forward, catching a blade mid-swing and reversing time just long enough to disarm the attacker before tossing him into the nearest wall.

The third zealot swung at Kullen—and collapsed a second later, gripping his head and screaming as Kullen whispered something under his breath.

The final attacker charged at Jalen.

Jalen just stood there.

The man screamed and slashed down—his blade met Jalen's palm and shattered into embers.

Jalen's eyes glowed faintly. "Don't worship me. Don't threaten me. Just go."

He flicked his wrist. The man flew backward, slamming into a tree with a crunch.

Silence returned.

Lucio slung the rifle back over his shoulder. "So… that calm before the storm thing?"

Jalen nodded. "Yeah. I think it's over."

Far across the continent…

The sky was a deep, roiling red. Smoke choked the horizon, and the wind howled across desolate canyons like the breath of war itself.

At the edge of a jagged cliff, a massive figure watched the construction below.

Kieros.

The God of War and Conquest.

Lion-headed, crowned in ash and battle-scorched gold, his mane burned like wildfire. His eyes were molten iron. His muscles corded like coiled rope, etched with ancient marks from battles that had never ended.

Below him, war prisoners hauled steel beams and carved stone, their hands bleeding and bodies trembling. They weren't building homes.

They were building an arena.

A coliseum carved into the bones of a mountain, its center a battlefield blessed by conquest. Spires rose like jagged teeth. Chains hung from towers. And banners—crimson blades impaling crowns—snapped violently in the wind.

Kieros exhaled smoke.

"Let them drink. Let them laugh. Let them believe they are safe."

"The flame approaches… and flames were made to be extinguished."

He turned, his heavy footsteps shaking the stone.

Behind him, a soldier—barely standing—dropped to one knee.

"The arena is halfway complete, my lord."

Kieros didn't answer. He gazed toward the sky.

"Prepare it."

"When the god-walker arrives…"

He drew a massive blade from his back, the edge serrated with the teeth of fallen kings.

"…I want the world to watch him burn."