Gates of Divine

Within the compound, the old fortress roared to life. Guards scrambled up the wall-walks, the clangour of armor and the shout of commands echoing against the stone. Trumpets were blown from the watch towers that flanked the structure in the middle. While mages flew from the right and the left wing toward the wall, the central wing remained calm and isolated. 

There was another gigantic sculpture that hung over its door - A Red Cross.

The sky, though once bright, now taken a dark hue now. A tiny flame darted across the wall at inhuman pace, lighting up all the torches. It danced like a will-o'-the-wisp, and vanished.

Two soldiers rushed past Reid—one still fixing the straps of his armor.

"—What manner of nightmare is this?" the younger whispered, wide-eyed.

"Keep your tongue in your teeth! Just move—" the other barked, but his voice drowned in the mounting storm as ominous shadow beasts flew out of the raging tornado of the dark mist outside the wall.

They seemed like a murders of crows but there were no beady eyes or glossy feathers. All that stared was a swirling smoke. There must be hundreds and thousands of them that rained upon the Arena in a silence so profound it chilled the spine.

Sentries braced with their spears; Mages stood like statues, hands raised and spells drawn taut—but the wave broke not on them. It struck the invisible dome surrounding the compound.

There, it faltered. The foul mass shriveled and hissed into a mucous smear against the veil of protection—an elegant, faintly shimmering dome of pale blue light.

But the darkness was not yet spent.

This time, the creatures flared with something hotter—hungrier. They smashed against the dome with such force that the shimmer flickered, and a fine, spidering crack split across the surface.

It spread like frost on glass.

A tremor rippled through the defenders as death opened its maw again to spew out more dark bile.

Then, the sculpture groaned loudly and turned. The rune-carved key—long silent—clicked loudly into place. Whether the sound marked a lock or an opening, no one could say.

But the reaction was immediate.

The soldiers scurried away from the giant Rune, their eyes darting around - wide and uncertain. The Mages froze mid-cast, posture rigid, awaiting some unknown command.

Then a clarion sounded—clear and shrill—from the deep stone halls.

Another set of doors had been thrown open behind them. The door beneath the Red Cross.

In a blur someone flew above him. The soldier lengthened their spine, with their hand to their chest, eyes staring straight. Another figure followed and the Mages bowed in silence. 

The two figures landed on either side of the key, proud and unmoving, their presence alone a declaration. They said nothing. Did nothing. They merely waited—as if anticipating an arrival yet unseen.

Then it came.

From the very foundation of the fortress wall, a light stirred—golden and warm. It bled upward, slow and certain, until it crowned the very apex of the gate.

There he stood.

A figure of sunlight wrought in man's shape. Gold-plated armor across his chest; boots laced to his shins; deep brown curls swept back from a face too still to be mortal. He shimmered like a mirage—like a memory—against the chaos that writhed below.

A hush fell.

The two leaders bowed, then the guards and the Mages followed. Heads lowered, breath held.

Only Reid remained unmoved.

He could not. His limbs would not obey. Something deeper than reverence held him. He was afraid that if he looked away, he would miss something really important to him in this world.

But soon the world itself faded away as it had in the alley the night before.

He remained and so did the god in gold.

The radiant figure turned, slowly, and his gaze fell upon him.

Pale eyes. Kind and strange and sorrowful. A smile—brief, but full of recognition.

"You took your time, friend," the god said gently, voice like wind through wheat. "Come home… before the door closes forever."

Then the sky split.

The heavens tore open as light poured down in molten lines—golden, jagged, divine. It struck the cyclone of shadow like divine wrath. The creatures screamed—not with voice, but with the wail of things unmade.

Smoke burned. Mist turned to ash. The shadow shrieked as if being unwritten by the brilliance of the sun.

And then, the darkness fell apart.

Gone, as if it had never been. So did the Brilliance.