The Fall Begins

The blackened sky above Thruans cracked open wider, as if the heavens themselves recoiled in terror. From the jagged tear spilled an onyx storm—bolts of negative lightning, winds of screaming souls, and a downpour of shadowfire that scorched without heat. The clouds pulsed red, black, and violet, a wound upon the world.

Lord Zidion stood amidst the chaos, obsidian armor glowing from overuse, his body battered and cracked. Blood leaked beneath the seams, but still he stood, a golden spear clenched in his scorched hand. Around him, the palace grounds had become a cratered battlefield. Statues of gods were shattered. The banner of Thruans lay burning in the blood-soaked soil. The Council of Chiefs, mighty protectors of the realm, were nearly gone.

High Chief Boral, the Behemoth of Earth, had fallen first—his granite shield shattered by Veth's first swing, his massive body crumbling beneath a storm of dark blades. Chief Myra had summoned a storm, wind and lightning to match her name, but when Veth uttered a word older than time, her wings melted to smoke, and she dropped like a stone.

One by one, the legends of Thruans were erased.

Zidion fell to one knee. Through blurred vision, he saw Chief Kale engulfed in his own fire spell, his magic turned against him by Veth's curse. Chief Domun was impaled on spikes of black crystal that had erupted from the ground. Their deaths carved themselves into Zidion's soul.

"You were never meant to walk this world," Zidion hissed, fury filling his lungs.

Above him descended Veth, the Devourer, the Void Incarnate. He hovered without wings, the air bending around his godlike form. His armor was black bone and blood iron, and his massive sword dragged behind him like the fang of a dead titan. Shadows clung to him, whispered around him. Even light retreated.

"I was made for this world," Veth said calmly, his voice like thunder wrapped in silk. "It's the world that wasn't made for me."

He raised his hand. With a flick, the outer palace detonated—towers turned to dust, watchtowers evaporated, stone turned to ash. The sky howled with every death.

And then came the sphere.

In Veth's palm, the air collapsed inward. A pulsing orb of nothingness formed, a devouring void that swallowed light, air, heat—even sound. The Devourer. Forbidden magic. The end of things.

Zidion stared at it, knowing what it meant.

He slammed his spear into the ground.

From his body burst a sun. Flame roared out in all directions, a tidal wave of golden fire, purifying everything it touched. The ground ignited. Shadows recoiled. Even the Devourer flickered for a breath.

Then Zidion stood, reborn in fire.

His skin glowed, cracked with magma. His eyes bled flame. The Rite of Incineration—a god-binding act that exchanged his soul for divine fire.

"You may be a god," he roared, voice booming like a volcano, "but I will make you bleed!"

Zidion charged.

His spear became a comet. He slammed into Veth, striking the cursed armor with a flash that blinded the sky. Veth screamed as the spear drove him through the palace wall and into the mountain beyond, vaporizing stone and earth.

The smoke hung in silence.

Zidion dropped to his knees, body failing, steam rising from his armor.

But then, from the ruins of the mountain, Veth emerged.

His armor cracked. Shadows seethed. But he stood.

"Impressive," he said. "You almost reminded me what fear felt like."

Zidion smiled, barely able to breathe. "Then it was worth it."

Veth raised his sword.

Then came the guards.

Dozens of elite Flame Wardens poured into the court. Red cloaks, burning sabers, fire glyphs circling their arms. Behind them came the twin dragonkin brothers, Siroth and Varn, scales shimmering with molten runes.

"Protect the Flame!" they cried.

The dragonkin leapt first, spewing twin torrents of flame. Veth waved his hand, and their fire turned into icy chains that wrapped them mid-air and slammed them into the dirt.

The Flame Wardens circled him. Blades enchanted with phoenix fire clashed against Veth's armor. One sliced through the side of his face. Another pierced his thigh. He bled black smoke.

But then Veth whispered.

The glyphs on the Wardens' arms reversed, turning inward. Their magic collapsed. Their bodies ignited from within. One by one, they fell, their screams echoing into ash.

Zidion crawled forward, burning hands gripping his spear.

"No..." he breathed.

Veth stepped toward him slowly, dragging his sword.

"You fight well. You die better," Veth said.

He raised his blade—

But paused.

"No," he muttered. "Not yet."

Zidion looked up, confused.

Veth lowered the blade.

"You are not the target, Flame of Valor." He leaned down, eyes burning. "The so-called Arcadian is."

Then he whispered a word.

And the world exploded.

When the smoke cleared, a crater the size of a temple remained where Lord Zidion had stood. No body. No flame. Only scorched silence.

The Kingdom of Thruans had lost its flame.

And Veth turned toward the horizon, where Viles waited.

"Next," he whispered.

---

Meanwhile, in Viles...

The air had turned sharp. Not from the chill, but from the silence—the eerie calm that had replaced the buzz of preparation across the capital. Above it all, on the highest spire of the western watchtower, stood Kalamari. His cloak billowed in the rising wind, the sun hidden behind grey clouds that no longer seemed natural.

His eyes were closed, brows furrowed. He could feel it in his bones—in the scarred marks across his back, in the pulse of his soul.

A kingdom had fallen.

The mana signature that once blazed like a bonfire in the south had gone silent. Snuffed out.

Behind him, quiet footsteps broke the stillness.

"Thruans?" Tozi's voice was low, the usual cheer gone. His arms were folded, but his fingers drummed anxiously against his biceps.

Kalamari gave a stiff nod, his jaw tight. "It's gone. The fire… extinguished."

Tozi let out a slow breath. "Damn. Zidion..."

Lakrima arrived next, her steps more hesitant. The apprentice of Viles looked far older than her years in that moment. She studied Kalamari, then glanced out across the horizon. "We're running out of time."

The air shimmered slightly as Unomi appeared by the tower's edge, her arms crossed, her silver-and-purple cloak sweeping back in the wind. She didn't speak right away. Her sharp eyes looked southward, toward where Thruans once stood tall.

Then, with a voice colder than the mountain winds, she said, "No. We're out of time."

Kalamari's golden eyes opened slowly. They glowed faintly, as if a star had sparked behind his irises.

He didn't respond right away. The weight of what had happened—what was coming—seemed to press against his chest like iron.

"Then we make our move," he said.

Lakrima stepped closer, her voice wary. "Move where? You said Veth isn't just attacking kingdoms. He's consuming them. What if he's not done with Thruans?"

Kalamari looked at her, his voice steady. "He's never done. But he's not one to linger. He feeds, then moves to the next. He'll want Viles soon."

Unomi's brow twitched. "Then we take the fight to him? Are we ready for that?"

Tozi grunted. "We're barely ready to hold Viles together. The people believe in you, Kalamari, but fear's stronger than belief right now. You felt it. When you told them about Veth, about the soul. Half of them wanted to follow you. The other half wanted to hide."

Kalamari nodded slowly. "I know. But I wasn't meant to wait."

He turned and looked at them all. One by one.

"Zidion gave everything to protect his people. He died standing. We can't sit and wait for our turn to fall. We make our move. We gather what allies remain—send word to the surviving warriors, the Wayfarers, the Bandits, the Guardians of Old. We strike while Veth still thinks we're divided."

Lakrima looked up at him. "And if he knows we're coming?"

Kalamari's eyes burned brighter. "Then he'll know what happens when Arcadians stop running."

Unomi smirked faintly. "Finally. A plan I can get behind."

Tozi exhaled. "Guess I better sharpen my knives. Not just for cooking this time."

Kalamari turned back to the horizon. The golden glow in his eyes shimmered like a flame against storm clouds.

War had come.

But this time, so had the Overlord.