Make A Choice

The battlefield still reeked of blood and scorched earth. Aaron's breath was ragged, his body battered from the relentless fight against the Crimson Saint. His golden-black aura flickered, unstable yet still defiant, as he stood before the cloaked stranger. The weight of the figure's presence pressed against him, more suffocating than any divine warrior he had faced before.

The stranger's voice was calm, patient. "You have proven yourself, Aaron Vale."

Aaron clenched his fists. He hated how the man spoke his name like he knew everything about him. Like he had been watching from the very beginning.

"Who are you?" Aaron demanded.

The stranger didn't answer right away. Instead, he stepped forward, his movements impossibly smooth, as if he wasn't bound by the same physical laws as everyone else. The air around him shimmered, the space bending in unnatural ways.

"I have been called many names," he said finally. "But the one most fitting for this moment is… The Forgotten One."

Aaron narrowed his eyes. The name felt familiar. Whispers of it had surfaced before, buried in old legends, lost in the echoes of divine history. But those stories never explained who or what the Forgotten One actually was.

"What do you want from me?" Aaron asked, his voice edged with suspicion.

The Forgotten One's hidden face remained unreadable beneath his hood. "You stand at the precipice of something greater than you can imagine," he said. "You have defied gods, broken the chains of fate, and proven that you are more than a mere mortal. But even now, you do not understand the true scale of the war you fight."

Aaron scoffed. "I don't care about fate. I don't care about destiny. I fight for myself."

The Forgotten One chuckled. "Do you truly believe that?"

Aaron's jaw tightened. He wanted to believe it. He had always told himself that every step he took was his own choice. That his power, his victories, all belonged to him. But the Crimson Saint's words still lingered in his mind.

You were chosen.

The Forgotten One raised a hand, and in an instant, the world around them shifted. The broken battlefield melted away, replaced by an endless void of stars and floating ruins. Aaron staggered slightly as reality itself seemed to fold around him.

"This is the truth of the world you fight in," the Forgotten One said. "A place built on lies, where even the gods themselves are merely pieces on a board they do not control."

Aaron looked around, his senses overwhelmed by the sheer vastness of the space surrounding him. Floating islands, shattered celestial structures, and remnants of what looked like ancient civilizations drifted in the void.

"What is this place?" Aaron muttered.

The Forgotten One spread his arms. "This is what remains of those who refused to play by the rules."

Aaron felt a cold weight settle in his gut. The ruins weren't just random debris. They were graves. The remnants of beings—powerful beings—who had tried to defy whatever force controlled the universe.

The Forgotten One turned back to him. "You think your battle is over because you defeated the Crimson Saint? That was merely the first step. There are forces at play far beyond what you have seen. And if you do not stand against them, you will be crushed like the rest."

Aaron exhaled sharply. "And let me guess—you have the answers?"

A quiet laugh. "I have the truth. What you do with it is up to you."

Aaron didn't respond immediately. His mind raced through everything he had been through since arriving in this world. Every battle, every impossible foe, every time he had pushed himself beyond his limits. And now he was being told that it still wasn't enough.

He hated the idea of being someone's pawn. But if what the Forgotten One was saying was true, then refusing to listen wouldn't make him free—it would make him blind.

Aaron crossed his arms. "Tell me, then. What am I really fighting against?"

The Forgotten One tilted his head slightly, as if pleased by the question. "You are fighting against the very thing that keeps this world in balance. The force that decides who rises and who falls. The one who chose you."

Aaron's heart pounded.

A name surfaced in his mind, one that he had heard only in whispers, hidden in the depths of forbidden knowledge.

"The Weaver," he said.

The Forgotten One nodded. "Yes. The being who shapes destiny itself. The one who writes the fates of gods and mortals alike." He took a step closer. "You were given power not to win, but to play your role. To fulfill the cycle that has repeated for eons."

Aaron's fingers twitched. He had always suspected that something about his journey felt too convenient. That his growth, his victories, all seemed too perfectly aligned.

"So, what?" Aaron asked, voice low. "You want me to kill a god that controls fate?"

The Forgotten One smiled beneath his hood. "I want you to do what you do best."

Aaron exhaled slowly. He didn't know if he trusted this man, but deep down, he knew one thing for certain. If there really was something out there controlling his life, pulling the strings behind every battle and every victory—

Then he was going to burn it to the ground.

The Forgotten One extended his hand once more. "Join me, Aaron Vale. And I will show you how to break the cycle."

Aaron looked at the hand, his thoughts a whirlwind of doubt, anger, and something else—something he hadn't felt in a long time.

Purpose.

His golden-black aura flared around him, crackling like the storm inside his soul.

And this time, he made his choice.