GLIMPSES OF A FORGOTTON WORLD, PART 1.

Lightning, one of the most devastating and destructive elemental affinities a human could ever inherit. Not merely rare, but legendary. It was an affinity so powerful, so wildly uncontainable, that even amongst the myth-etched annals of Verdun's history, its emergence was whispered in awe and fear.

A gift from mana itself. A curse to all who stood against it. The last known wielder of this godlike affinity? The man was standing right in front of Lucius.

Emperor Zero Dawn.

"...Sorry about that," Zero Dawn muttered casually, dusting off his shoulder like he hadn't just been brought to his knees moments ago by an unseen force. Lucius, now back on his feet, said nothing—his eyes still fixed on the man, the myth, the living legend before him.

What had gripped Zero Dawn's throat wasn't physical. It had emerged in a thin, near-invisible linear pattern—faintly glowing, similar to the aura currently wrapped around Lucius's body. But while Lucius's glow shimmered in a soft, holy white, this one carried a darker undertone. Its shade was twisted, wrong—almost corrupted. The markings of something unnatural. Something evil.

"Eh... how long are you planning to keep that shiny-shiny appearance?" Zero Dawn asked, squinting playfully as he pointed at Lucius's radiant frame. "It's starting to hurt my eyes, you know?"

Lucius blinked in confusion, then glanced down at himself. His body still shimmered—his form wrapped in a cocoon of pure white light. The same light he'd subconsciously conjured when they first entered this realm. He looked back up.

"...How do I turn it off?"

Zero Dawn raised a brow, amused by the innocence in Lucius's tone.

"Just think about your usual outfit. The clothes you're most comfortable wearing. That should do the trick… probably."

Lucius nodded slightly. Then, closing his eyes, he focused—not on robes or civilian attire, but on the one outfit he had always felt most like himself in. The blacked-out battle armour. The one he had worn in the Rim. The one the Chimaera had crushed and burned to cinders.

And just like that, his light vanished, replaced by dark, plated armour and a half-tattered cloak.

"...Much better," Zero Dawn commented, his eyes scanning the summoned armour with a glint of intrigue. A quiet approval rested beneath his words.

Lucius muttered a soft thank-you, still looking around. His mind spun with unspoken questions. Where was he supposed to begin? What was he supposed to ask? And most importantly… what now?

A quiet pause settled between them.

"Honestly," Lucius said, voice low, almost hesitant, "I felt more comfortable with that light around me..."

Zero Dawn tilted his head slightly, confused.

"You mean... You want to glow like a street lamp? Like one of those illuminating mana orbs?"

His tone dripped with sarcasm.

Lucius flinched. "No—no! That's not what I—!" He waved his hands, flustered, stumbling over his own words in a rush to explain.

Zero Dawn chuckled under his breath, thoroughly amused by the boy's reaction. It was oddly refreshing.

For all the chaos, trauma, and uncertainty surrounding them, Lucius was still, in some corner of his soul, a young man, perhaps a child. A stubborn, noble, earnest one... but a child nonetheless.

And in this fleeting moment of lighthearted banter, the weight of Velar's ruins, of death, of destiny—if only briefly—felt just a little lighter.

"You felt safer when you were surrounded by that light," Zero Dawn said, calmly but firmly. "Because in that moment, you finally felt strong, like you could handle things on your own. Like you could stand against something... or someone dark. Something you didn't understand. An enemy without a name or face."

Lucius tensed. That word came back to him immediately. The Wraiths.

The moment Zero Dawn said "dark and mysterious," that name resurfaced, dragging with it a painful memory. One that cost him an eye. One that nearly killed him.

He kept his voice steady. "The Wraiths… What do you know about them?"

It wasn't a careful question. Lucius had never been curious about Wraiths, not in a traditional or any sane sense... Not like he was about other things. Their name didn't inspire interest—it triggered dread. The kind that tightens your chest and makes everything feel wrong. He'd never heard anyone talk about them without fear or uncertainty in their voice.

Zero Dawn paused for a moment, thinking.

The illusion around them changed. The burning city of Velar—the once-impenetrable fortress—faded. Now, only ruins and ash remained. A graveyard lit by dying flames.

"That's the living definition of 'absolute destruction,'" Zero Dawn muttered.

Then the view shifted again, rising high above the world, past the clouds, into the upper atmosphere. Seven massive landmasses came into view, each one separated by endless oceans.

"A thousand years ago," he continued, "this world was home to six sentient species. Each had their own continent. Their own culture. Their own ways with mana. They thrived without needing each other."

Lucius watched closely.

"Those seven landmasses you see?" Zero Dawn pointed. "They were once seven great empires. All of them except Verdun had existed for over 10,000 years. They grew powerful in different ways—through mana, through knowledge, through biology. The dominant species back then were humans, elves, dwarves, and demons."

As he spoke, the illusion adjusted again, displaying old fragments of history. Visuals came to life: ancient cities, towers glowing with mana, armies moving in formation, magical beasts soaring above their capitals. Lucius could see how advanced they were. How untouchable they must've seemed.

They weren't myths, no, they were real and strong... For once.

"The Elves," Zero Dawn began, "were created by Mother Nature, the Goddess of Life. Their role was clear—to protect. To guard the lesser lifeforms. Trees. Plants. Beasts. They weren't rulers, they were caretakers."

The illusion shifted again—tall forests, glowing with natural mana. Elven figures moved silently through the woods, watching over creatures and nurturing wild growth.

"The Dwarves? Crafted by the God of Earth himself. Every part of their being was designed for one thing—reverence for the ground beneath them. To dig, build, shape, and protect the materials gifted by the land. Not just miners or builders. They were worshippers of the earth itself."

The vision turned subterranean—grand caverns lit by molten rivers and glowing crystals. Cities carved into stone with geometric perfection. Proud dwarves working their forges.

"And the Demons…" Zero Dawn's voice lowered. "Any god or goddess didn't create them." The skies darkened. A blood-red moon rose over a jagged continent—Arrbas.

"They're like us. Human in some ways. But descended from something far more ancient… the Fallen Angels. Or what most now call 'Devils.' Beings of rage, power, and hate. Not myths. Not stories. Real. Violent. And powerful."

A new image took over. A throne of obsidian. A figure seated atop it, massive and cloaked in shadow. Horned, armoured, with golden fire burning behind his eyes.

"That's Acronis," Zero Dawn said. "The last Demon King, and the first Demi-god." He didn't elaborate further. He didn't need to.

Then, the landscape shifted once more.

The warm tones faded. The magic in the air vanished. What replaced it was darker, colder. The entire realm tilted toward dread. A place that didn't just look dead—it felt wrong.

Zero Dawn turned toward Lucius.

"Now," he asked, "which of those species I mentioned… doesn't quite belong?"

Lucius didn't flinch, "Wraiths."

Zero Dawn gave a slow nod. He turned away as if remembering something he didn't want to see.

"Every known species has a creator. A god. A source. Even demons, twisted as they are, came from somewhere. But Wraiths?" He looked back at Lucius. "In all my years, all my battles, all the ancient records I've read, I've never found a single mention of them, or whoever made them. Not one. And I was Emperor, Lucius. I had access to everything."

"Wraiths are like the elves or dwarves—created with a purpose. But unlike them, their purpose is absolute. Clear. To plunge this world into eternal darkness. To consume it. Not to rule it. Not to protect it. Just… to erase it."