The Chosen’s Mandate

The emerald aura raged like a storm trapped within flesh.

Kael's body arched backward as the green flame surged through him—not like fire, but like a living force that coiled and constricted, testing every nerve and tendon. His muscles spasmed. His breath caught in his throat. His skin shimmered under its glow, veins glowing like rivers of liquid jade. The weight of the power pressing on him felt biblical—like the hand of a god pinning him to the earth.

Above, the sky had gone silent.

No wind. No clouds. Just a dome of eerie stillness, as if the world itself held its breath.

Then it returned—the voice. Ageless. Impossible.

> "Kael Ardyn. Survivor of Trial. Bearer of Green Flame. One of the Chosen."

It didn't boom—it resonated, as if the words were carved into reality itself. Kael's heartbeat slowed, and time felt like it cracked in half just to make space for the message.

He looked up, squinting into the swirling emerald above him. His voice cracked. "What… What does it mean to be 'Chosen'?"

There was no warmth in the answer. Only divine indifference.

> "You are selected not for your strength... but for your suffering. Not for victory... but for the weight you can endure."

Kael's mouth parted slightly, trying to understand.

Then came the brand.

Without warning, the green flame concentrated over his heart, burning through cloth, flesh, and soul alike. He screamed, collapsing to his knees. The sigil seared into his chest—a circular glyph with thorns, constellations, and ancient runes spiraling around a singular, glowing eye.

> "This is your mandate.

Cleanse the corrupted.

Slay the fallen.

Restore the balance.

Fail... and you shall return—reborn into the same cursed path—again... and again... until you break it.**"

Kael's hands dug into the dirt. His jaw trembled—not from pain, but from understanding.

"Endless… rebirth?"

> "Immortality is not mercy.

It is a sentence."

The weight of it slammed into Kael. Every past failure. Every sin he had turned away from. Every survivor he hadn't saved. The divine system hadn't chosen him for glory. It had chosen him because he couldn't escape.

He looked up slowly, breathing hard. "So I'm just a pawn in some cosmic loop?"

There was a pause.

Then, softer—almost human:

> "No.

You are the sword.

Sharpened by loss. Tempered by fire. Forged to divide what must fall from what must stand."

A gust of emerald wind spiraled around him. The chaotic aura from before now flowed in unison—calm, obedient. It wrapped around him like armor—not as something he wore, but something that was part of him.

Kael rose. Taller. Steadier. His eyes glowed like molten emeralds—alive with purpose, scarred by destiny.

He whispered, "Then tell me… where to strike."

In answer, the clouds split open.

A single ray of divine light pierced the heavens and struck the ground, unfolding a projection of a ruined land—far beyond the Safe Zone's borders. A city drowned in thorns and rot. Buildings overtaken by vines and crawling embers. Towering over it all was a figure—half-man, half-beast—its eyes vacant, its aura blackened. A former tamer, now a vessel of decay.

Kael's mark pulsed.

> "He was once like you. He chose despair. He fed the beast. He is your mirror… and your lesson."

Kael's fists clenched. His heart was a drumbeat of war.

His next trial wasn't a battlefield.

It was a reckoning.

He turned toward the light, already stepping forward.

> "Then I'll break the cycle—one fallen soul at a time."