Forsaken by Fate

Soren lay on the ground, golden strands of hair falling over his eyes. The air was warm, but a sharp wind howled through the space, cutting through the heat like a blade. It felt like standing atop a grand open terrace, where the vast sky stretched endlessly above. Slowly, his senses returned. His body felt heavy, as though waking from a dream too vivid to be false. He exhaled, his breath barely audible against the wind.

"What a cruel trial..." he muttered under his breath.

Cold metal pressed against his body as he shifted, and the unmistakable clang of armor echoed through the air. His golden hair swayed as if the wind itself toyed with him, but his focus remained on his body.

As he moved, he finally took in what he was wearing—a suit of armor, plated from his shoulders down to his feet. The polished silver metal gleamed under the golden light, its craftsmanship flawless, not a single dent or scratch marring its surface. The weight was foreign yet balanced, as if it had been crafted to fit him perfectly.

Then, his eyes landed on something beside him.

A sword.

It lay there, motionless, yet its presence called to him like a whisper at the edge of his mind. The blade was obsidian black, absorbing the light rather than reflecting it. But what truly caught his attention was the hilt—a round, hollow opening the size of a clenched fist, where a small, flickering flame burned inside.

An ember.

His fingers twitched involuntarily, drawn to it. But before he could reach for it, his surroundings fully came into view.

He was not in some ruined, long-forgotten place.

This cathedral was alive. Majestic. Thriving.

Towering marble pillars stretched high above, their pristine surfaces untouched by time. The ceiling arched beautifully, its golden engravings shimmering under the evening sun. Stained glass murals, unbroken and radiant, cast vibrant colors across the polished stone floors. Intricate banners of deep crimson and royal blue lined the walls, each embroidered with symbols of power, their threads woven with actual essence that pulsed faintly under his gaze.

And ahead of him, a grand altar stood atop a raised platform, open to a vast balcony that overlooked the distant mountain range. The sky was ablaze with the setting sun, its golden rays bathing everything in an almost ethereal glow.

It should have been breathtaking.

But Soren's attention was drawn elsewhere.

Because atop the altar, something rested.

Something ancient. Something overwhelming. Something that reeked of power.

His breath hitched.

The culprit of the illusion.

A beast.

Its massive body was lined with glistening scales, each reflecting the sun's final light like polished gemstones. Its tail curled around the altar, the tip razor-sharp like a sword's edge. Its wings, vast and almost translucent, stretched slightly, the essence within them shimmering like woven glass.

It was slumbering.

Yet, even in its dormant state, the sheer weight of its presence pressed against Soren's soul.

A dragon.

His body reacted before his mind could process it. A step backward—then another. His foot caught against something solid, and he stumbled, crashing onto his back.

But the impact never came.

Instead, a chorus of metal rang through the air, the sound of countless plates crashing into each other. He blinked, his breath sharp as he turned his head.

Beneath him, not marble—bodies.

Rows of armored figures lay motionless behind him, their once-pristine silver plating duller than his own.

And even without seeing their faces, Soren could see them.

Their souls.

Unlike his own, their souls were crumbling—fracturing, breaking apart piece by piece. Wisps of light, faint but unmistakable, floated upward.

But they weren't simply fading.

They were being drawn somewhere.

Soren's gaze followed the slow, steady pull.

And then he saw it.

The souls were flowing into the dragon.

The realization struck him like a blade to the chest.

Transcendents.

These warriors—they were Transcendent beings.

And they were being devoured.

First, I had to destroy the illusion of my family.

And now...

I suppose I have to destroy this abomination.

Soren sat among the fallen 'comrades', staring at the massive beast before him. His mind reeled, but his body remained still. A presence called to him—luring, insistent.

The obsidian black sword rested beside him, the ember in its hilt breathing, almost as if it were alive.

It wanted him to take it.

Soren hesitated.

Then, as if compelled, he reached out. The moment his fingers wrapped around the hilt, everything changed.

A cold weight descended upon him—not just physically, but mentally.

A force wrapped around his mind, sinking into his bones, gripping him like a puppet on strings. His body stood up on its own, his limbs moving without his command.

Soren's eyes widened. What…?

Then—his mouth opened.

"If you cannot stand, I will be your cane."

Soren's soul left his body.

What did I just say?

His legs carried him forward, step by step, toward the dragon. His mouth moved again, the words spilling out like rehearsed poetry.

"If all around you is darkness, I will be your ember."

Soren's brain short-circuited.

Please stop. No, seriously. Stop. I do not talk like this. I do not say things like this.

His feet marched on, unstoppable. His internal screaming was getting louder.

And then—

Oh gods no—

"I, forged by gods, shall see to it that you stand undefeated!"

Soren wanted to die.

Is this thing possessed by a theater troupe?!

His own voice rang with unshakable resolve, but his actual thoughts were filled with sheer mortification.

I sound like a wannabe hero in a second-rate play! What kind of dramatic, over-the-top nonsense is this?!

And yet, despite the crippling embarrassment, his body refused to stop.

He was now standing in front of the slumbering dragon.

His instincts screamed at him to turn and run. To flee from this overwhelming presence.

But no.

His traitorous hands raised the sword.

And then—his voice delivered the final, devastating blow.

"If you wish to live in a dream, let me be the nightmare."

Soren wanted the floor to swallow him whole.

No. Nope. No way.

And then—before he could mentally combust—the sword thrust forward.

The obsidian blade sank deep into the dragon's soul.

And then—

"ABLAZE!"

Soren's entire body lit up with fire. The sword's ember roared to life, the flame expanding into a furious inferno. The air around him distorted from the heat, the sheer force pressing against his skin like molten iron.

A white spark ignited from within the dragon's core. The ember within the hilt flared, the heat rising to unbearable levels. The dragon's scales cracked—like molten glass shattering under pressure. For one breath, silence. Then—its form collapsed, consumed in a raging inferno, reduced to nothing but ash.

A shockwave blasted outward, sending a torrent of heat, dust, and embers spiraling through the cathedral. The impact nearly sent Soren stumbling, but the sword held him steady.

And then—it was over.

Nothing remained.

Only ashes.

And a voice—low, absolute—whispered into his ear.

"You have slain a Tier 1 Godsent, Sovereign of Nightmares. Your soul strengthens."

Soren, still processing, blinked.

The voice continued.

"The trial has ended. Calculating rewards."

A blinding light engulfed his vision, swallowing everything in its glow. The world tilted, reality folding inward like a collapsing dream.

And then—he was in the silent abyss once more.

A floating screen hovered before him, its faint glow the only presence in the void.

"Calculating rewards..."

Soren exhaled deeply. The weight of everything—the illusion, the dragon, the sword—finally settled in.

And as the last traces of adrenaline faded, only one thought remained in his mind:

I am never letting that thing speak again.

Before he could dwell on the humiliating theatrics of the obsidian sword, the abyss shifted, drawing his attention. A new text appeared.

"Rewards received."

The display in front of him shifted, reorganizing itself.

Name: Soren

Title: Forsaken by Fate

Soren froze.

Wait, wait, wait. Only Transcendents receive titles. Why do I have one?

His gaze sharpened, and as if responding to his thoughts, the text flickered—revealing a description beneath the title.

"When you have lost control of your emotions, your soul shall follow, becoming untameable."

His stomach twisted.

What? What the hell does "untameable" mean?

Before he could question it further, the text vanished, replaced by new ones.

Rank: Awakened

His fingers curled slightly.

So I awakened. The old man… maybe he helped me. But why?

His eyes flicked to the next entry.

Mastery: Jack of All - Master of None

Soren gritted his teeth. 

Again!? I've never heard of this mastery! What even is this? Everyone else gets a clear path—Master of Fire, Master of essence—but this?

Frustration bubbled in his chest, but his attention snapped to the next entry.

Soul: [50/1000]

His mind blanked for a second.

Ummm... 50...?

That abomination was a Tier 1 Godsent. And I got only fifty!?

His fists clenched, irritation simmering beneath his skin. Wasn't it supposed to be worth more?

His eyes slowly lowered to the last line.

Inheritance: Aeternis

Type: Weapon

Tier: Awakened

Frowning, Soren focused on the text, and a description unfolded before him: "Forged by gods to bring judgment upon the forsaken. The sword grows stronger, inheriting a will of its own—forever evolving alongside its wielder."

A chill crawled down his spine. "Forever evolving…"

He exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. "Sounds good… but that personality is a pain in the ass."

Soren exhaled, shutting his eyes for a brief moment. The weight of the trial, the blade, and the unknown that lay ahead pressed against him.