Chapter 1: The Prophecy’s Lie

The sky was burning.

Flames devoured the city's great spires, turning once-proud banners to ash. Screams rippled through the streets, desperate and futile, as the people of Sol Veritas, the Holy Kingdom, fell before the abyss they had once sought to contain. The air stank of charred flesh and molten gold. A thousand years of prosperity—undone in a single night.

At the center of it all, seated upon the ruined throne, was the man they once called their savior.

Caelum Virian.

His once-golden hair now burned a brilliant white, as if kissed by the very light he had forsaken. His robes, once the pure ivory of a divine heir, were now stained with blood. Their blood.

He did not revel in their destruction. There was no satisfaction in this genocide. There was only silence. And that silence was peace.

A lone figure remained standing before him. A woman, her silver armor cracked, her breath ragged.

Seraphine Lysara.

She had once whispered his name like a prayer. Now, she spat it like a curse.

"Caelum…" Her voice trembled, not with fear, but with rage. "You were meant to be our salvation."

His cold, golden eyes met hers. "Your salvation was a lie."

She lunged. The shattered remnants of her divine sword, Aetheris, gleamed in the firelight. The very blade forged to stand at the side of the Chosen One. The blade meant for him.

He raised a single hand. The air tore apart at his command.

Seraphine was thrown back, her body crashing into the rubble of their former kingdom. The ground cracked beneath her impact, and for a moment, she did not rise.

Caelum did not move from his throne. He merely exhaled, watching as the embers danced in the dying light.

"This was always meant to happen," he said softly. "You just refused to see it."

And with a whisper of power, the flames surged higher.

Years Ago – The Birth of the Chosen One

Caelum had never wanted to be a god.

His birth was marked by an eclipse—a celestial anomaly that had not occurred in a thousand years. The moment he took his first breath, the High Priests declared him the Chosen One, the divine child prophesied to bring eternal peace.

From the moment he could walk, he was trained to be the perfect savior. Holy texts, celestial magic, divine swordsmanship—all forced upon him. Every word, every action dictated by the prophecy's decree.

"You are the hope of Sol Veritas," the priests told him. "You are the light in the coming darkness."

But what if he did not wish to be light? What if, in the deepest part of his heart, he knew the prophecy was wrong?

As a child, he dreamt of running away. Of being free.

And then he met her.

The First Betrayal

Seraphine Lysara was the daughter of a war hero, chosen by fate to be his betrothed. She was everything he was not—wild, untamed, unburdened by destiny.

The first time they met, she punched him.

"You look like a stuck-up prince," she had said, standing over him with a grin. "Doesn't the Chosen One ever loosen up?"

He should have hated her. Instead, he found himself drawn to her.

She was the only one who spoke to him as Caelum, not as the Savior of Sol Veritas.

She was the only one who made him laugh.

For the first time in his life, he thought: Maybe I can be happy.

But happiness was fleeting.

The war against the Abyssal Legions raged on, and Caelum was called to the battlefield. The priests told him that his power was absolute. That he could not lose. That he could not die.

But they were wrong.

He bled. He suffered. He saw his men die screaming. And when the war was at its bleakest—when hope had all but crumbled—they sacrificed him.

The High Priests, the kingdom he had sworn to protect, cast him into the Abyss.

"The prophecy must be purified."

"You must return as something greater."

"You must become our perfect god."

So they threw him into the Rift.

And he did not return as their god.

He returned as their executioner.

The Return

Caelum emerged from the Abyss five years later.

He was no longer the Chosen One. The prophecy's chains had been shattered.

The power he wielded was not divine. It was not holy. It was something else—something beyond the comprehension of mortals.

He walked into the great halls of Sol Veritas alone, and the High Priests fell to their knees in horror.

He did not speak. He simply raised a hand.

And everything burned.

The streets drowned in fire. The skies turned black. The Holy Kingdom—the kingdom that had created him—fell to ruin.

And as the people screamed, as the prophecy turned to ash, Seraphine stood before him, her blade shaking in her hands.

"You're a monster," she whispered.

His gaze did not waver. "No," he said. "I am free."

And for the first time in his life, he smiled.

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Final Scene: The Ruin of Prophecy

The flames had begun to die, leaving only embers in their wake.

Caelum looked down at Seraphine, still collapsed amidst the rubble, blood painting her silver armor. She had fought to her last breath.

But even she could not stand against him.

Still, he felt no joy in her defeat.

He turned his gaze to the heavens—the same heavens that had cursed him with prophecy. The same gods who had whispered his fate into existence.

His voice, once filled with reverence, now rang with quiet defiance.

"There was never a Chosen One."

"There was only me."

And as the last star of Sol Veritas faded into the abyss, the world trembled beneath the reign of its new god.