The world vanished in brilliance.
The bridge, the water beneath it, even the Guardian's towering figure—gone.
Only the blinding white remained, swallowing every shape and sound until Sora felt like he was drifting in nothingness.
The last words of the Guardian echoed, layered over themselves like an ancient chant:
> "To protect… you must remember."
He tried to speak, but his voice dissolved before it could form. The whiteness was not just light—it was pressure, a weight on his chest, in his skull, pushing him somewhere unseen.
Then—a flicker.
A memory?
His reflection, not as the boy he knew now, but older, wearing black armor with crimson etchings. His hands, coated in blood—not all of it his enemies'.
A battlefield of ash stretched behind him.
And in that broken wasteland… a woman's voice. Soft. Trembling.
> "Sora… don't become like them."
The vision cracked like glass, shards of light scattering into the void.
---
He opened his eyes.
Cold grass brushed his cheek. The scent of damp earth filled his lungs. Night had fallen again, but the stars here were far brighter, scattered like silver dust across an indigo sky.
He pushed himself up slowly, his heartbeat still uneven. The trial… it felt both like a dream and something painfully real.
His companions were nowhere in sight.
A rustle drew his attention.
Five figures emerged from the tree line ahead—strangers, but their presence carried the unmistakable weight of power. They moved with intent, as though they had been waiting for him.
Two men stood at the front. One was tall, with silver hair and eyes like molten gold, wearing a mantle of white fur. The other was lean, sharp-eyed, with dark red hair and an aura that felt almost predatory.
Behind them walked three women—each striking in a different way.
One wore priestess robes embroidered with constellations, her pale blue eyes calm but unreadable.
Another carried twin short blades at her hips, her brown hair tied back tightly, her stance constantly shifting like she was ready to strike at any moment.
The last had raven-black hair spilling to her waist, her black and gold dress elegant, but the faint hum of magic around her suggested she was anything but fragile.
The silver-haired man stepped forward first. His voice was low, carrying a strange authority.
> "You passed the trial of the First Guardian. That makes you… different. Worth speaking to."
Sora's instincts sharpened. "Who are you?"
The red-haired man smirked faintly.
> "Potential allies… or potential enemies. That depends on your answer to a single question."
He glanced at the others before stepping closer, eyes glinting.
> "When the time comes… whose side will you stand on, Sora of the Afterlight?"
Terms of Allegiance
The question hung in the air like a blade suspended by a single thread.
Sora kept his stance loose, but his muscles coiled beneath his skin. He didn't know these people—didn't trust them—but the way they watched him… they already knew more about him than he was comfortable with.
"I don't choose sides without knowing the fight," Sora said slowly, eyes darting between each of them. "So maybe start by telling me what exactly I've been dropped into."
The silver-haired man inclined his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
"Fair enough. My name is Kael. I command the Northern Territories—one of the last domains free from the influence of the other Lords. This," he gestured toward the red-haired man, "is Ryn, my… more direct counterpart."
Ryn's smirk widened. "Direct is one way to put it."
Kael continued, introducing the three women in turn.
"The priestess is Liora—she sees further than any of us." Liora bowed faintly, her expression unreadable.
"The bladeswoman is Valea, my shield when diplomacy fails." Valea gave a curt nod, her hands resting lightly on her hilts.
"And lastly… the sorceress Arienna. She's saved my life more times than I care to count."
Arienna's dark eyes lingered on Sora a moment longer than the others. "And I know what you are," she said softly. "Or rather, what you were."
Sora stiffened. "And what's that supposed to mean?"
Kael's expression hardened. "The Lords are moving. The balance in the Afterlight is shifting, and with it comes war. You've been touched by the First Guardian—marked, whether you realize it or not. That means every other Lord will see you as either a weapon… or a threat."
Ryn took a step closer, his tone sharper.
"We're offering you a place before someone else claims you. Join us, and we can protect your life and—" he smirked faintly, "—whatever's left of your soul."
Sora's gaze swept over them. The faces in front of him were calm, but there was a tension just beneath the surface—alliances bound by necessity, not trust.
"And if I say no?"
Valea's hand drifted toward her blades. "Then you'll be on your own. Which, given what's coming, means you won't be breathing for long."
The wind stirred between them, carrying the distant sound of something—low, guttural, almost like the growl of an approaching storm.
Sora's pulse quickened.
Liora's voice broke the silence, her gaze fixed somewhere far away.
"They've found us."
The First Trial Together
The growl swelled into a chorus—deep, ragged, and wet, like something dragging itself across the edges of reality.
The shadows at the treeline writhed.
Kael's tone sharpened. "Form up."
Valea stepped forward in one fluid motion, twin blades glinting in the dim light. Arienna's hands lifted, fingers weaving intricate patterns that pulled motes of light from the air. Ryn rolled his shoulders, fire beginning to flicker between his knuckles.
Sora hesitated. He wasn't sure if this was the kind of fight where he should unleash everything or keep his cards close. He didn't know what "everything" even was anymore. But the snarling was getting closer—fast.
Then they came into view.
Figures, vaguely human, but half their flesh had been stripped away by some unseen rot. Their movements were jerky, as though their limbs had been assembled wrong.
Eyes—if you could call them that—burned with a sickly white glow.
"Wraithbound," Kael said under his breath. "Scouts. Which means—"
A thunderous crack split the air, and a massive figure stepped into the clearing. A twisted amalgamation of bone and molten shadow, it carried a jagged blade nearly as tall as itself.
Sora felt something stir in his chest. Not fear—something hotter, heavier. A pulse that thudded in time with the slow advance of the monster.
"Stay in formation!" Kael ordered.
But Ryn was already moving, fire exploding from his hands in a searing arc. It washed over the Wraithbound, burning away swathes of their decaying flesh—but more poured from the shadows to replace them.
Valea's blades became a blur, each strike clean and efficient, cutting down anything that slipped through.
Arienna's voice rose, her spell cresting into a blinding wave of force that scattered the nearest attackers.
Sora's instincts screamed. He stepped forward just as the hulking creature swung its jagged weapon toward Kael.
Without thinking, Sora caught the blow.
For a heartbeat, the world froze.
He should have been torn in two—but his grip held. Dark energy rippled along his arms, his fingers locking onto the blade like they'd been forged from iron.
The creature snarled. Sora snarled back.
With a sudden twist, he wrenched the weapon away and drove his palm into the monster's chest. Energy—not light, not darkness, but something older—exploded outward.
The creature was thrown back, crashing through the trees in a storm of splintered wood and shadow.
The clearing went silent, save for the ragged breathing of those left standing.
Kael was the first to speak, his voice low.
"…I think we've found our answer."
Arienna's gaze was locked on Sora, a flicker of fear and fascination in her eyes. "You're not just marked. You're changing."
Shadows Behind the Curtain
The stench of burnt flesh lingered, curling in the cool night air.
Kael crouched beside one of the fallen Wraithbound, prodding its twitching carcass with the tip of his blade. "These shouldn't be here. They're tethered to a master."
Arienna knelt opposite him, her palm hovering over the creature's chest. A faint thread of white light seeped from its body, spiraling upward before vanishing. "The tether's recent. Whoever sent them… wanted to watch."
Valea wiped her blades on the grass, scanning the treeline. "So, we just fought someone's scouting party?"
Kael nodded grimly. "And they'll know exactly how we fight now." His gaze flicked to Sora. "…And what you are."
Sora felt the weight of those words. The strange pulse in his chest still hadn't faded—it throbbed like an echo of the battle, like part of him didn't want to let go. "You think they sent them for me?"
"I don't think." Kael straightened, his tone sharp. "I know."
Ryn kicked at one of the corpses. "Then we send them a message back." The flames on his hands flared brighter, almost eager.
"Not yet." Arienna's voice cut through the tension, calm but firm. "Whoever's behind this will want us rattled. Charging in blind will only give them what they want."
The group fell into an uneasy silence. Above, the clouds drifted to reveal the pale arc of the Afterlight moon, its glow stretching across the clearing like a silver path.
Sora followed the light with his eyes, a strange sense of déjà vu prickling at the back of his mind. For a moment, he almost saw another sky—blue, endless, warm. But the image shattered when Kael spoke again.
"We need to assume another Demon Lord is moving against us." His jaw tightened. "And if it's who I think it is… they won't stop until they've claimed you, Sora."
A cold shiver ran down Sora's spine—not from fear, but from the realization that his role in this world was larger than anything he'd understood so far.
And that somewhere out there, someone was already planning his downfall.
The War Table
The council chamber was lit only by oil lamps and the flicker of the great firepit at its center. Shadows stretched long across the walls, dancing like restless spirits.
A massive round table dominated the space, its surface carved with a map of the After-World's fragmented realms. Small obsidian markers sat on the territories of known Demon Lords, their jagged shapes glinting in the dim light.
Kael stood at the head of the table, hands pressed to the wood. "We've had confirmation from the scouts—these Wraithbound came from the Shadow Rift. That means Lord Varaxis is moving."
Sora leaned forward, studying the map. "Varaxis… another Demon Lord?"
Valea crossed her arms. "Not just another. The oldest. The kind who doesn't make moves unless it's to end someone."
Arienna's voice was low, but her words carried weight. "Varaxis is a strategist. Every battle he wages is already won before it begins. If he's noticed you, Sora, it's because you're a piece he wants on his board—or off it entirely."
Ryn smirked, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. "So we hit him first."
Kael's gaze was sharp. "If we strike now, we fall right into his timing. We need to force him to react, not the other way around."
He moved one obsidian marker, placing it along a narrow pass between two territories. "Here. The Ashen Veil. If we control it, we choke his access to the northern routes. He'll have to either commit to a siege or expose his flanks."
Sora studied the marker, feeling a strange tug in his mind—like a thread connecting him to that place. "I've… seen this before," he murmured, the words slipping out before he could stop them.
The room went still. Arienna's eyes locked onto him. "Seen it where?"
Sora hesitated. The vision from earlier—the glimpse of another sky, the feeling of having been somewhere else entirely—it was clawing at the edges of his memory again. "I… don't know. But I think I've been there. Before I came here."
Kael straightened, his expression unreadable. "Then you may be the key to holding it. And Varaxis will know that too."
The fire popped, sending a small shower of sparks upward, like stars burning out in the dark.
And Sora realized this wasn't just preparation for battle—this was the start of a war where he was both the prize and the weapon.
Shadows Between Words
The war council dissolved slowly, each member lingering as if reluctant to leave the safety of the firelit chamber. Eventually, the sound of boots faded down the hall, and Sora found himself alone—almost.
Valea hadn't left. She stood by one of the narrow windows, arms folded, watching the cold, starlit void beyond the citadel walls.
"You held back," she said without turning.
Sora blinked. "What?"
"At the table. You didn't tell them everything about your… memory."
He exhaled slowly. "Because I'm not sure it's even real. I see flashes. Places I shouldn't know. People I've never met. And… there's this feeling like I left something behind, but I can't remember what."
Valea finally looked at him, her silver eyes catching the lamplight. "In this world, memory is a weapon. And if someone else knows your blade before you've learned how to wield it, you've already lost."
He stepped closer. "Is that what happened to you?"
Her gaze flickered, a shadow of something unspoken passing over her face. "Maybe. Or maybe I just learned the hard way that trust can kill faster than any sword."
Sora hesitated, the words feeling heavier than he expected. "You don't trust me."
"I don't trust anyone," she said, but her voice softened slightly. "Yet here I am, still standing in the same room with you. Maybe that means something."
They stood in silence for a moment, the air thick with unspoken things—war, loss, strange familiarity neither could explain.
Outside, a distant horn echoed across the night, low and mournful. Sora felt a shiver run down his spine. Somewhere in that sound was a promise, or perhaps a warning.
Valea broke the stillness first, turning away from the window. "Rest while you can. The Ashen Veil won't wait for your memories to return."
As she left, Sora remained by the window, watching the stars—wondering if somewhere, in a life he'd forgotten, they had once watched him back.
Dawn Like a Blade
The horn sounded again at first light—no longer mournful, but sharp and urgent. Sora woke before the sun rose fully, his sleep shallow, dreams fractured.
The corridors of the citadel bustled with muted urgency. Servants moved quickly, arms full of crates and leather satchels. Soldiers buckled armor in dim alcoves, their voices low, the metallic clink of gear echoing off cold stone.
Sora found Valea in the outer courtyard. She was already armored, her hair tied back, a faint frost glittering on the steel plates of her pauldrons. She glanced at him but said nothing, only handed him a wrapped bundle.
Inside, Sora found a cloak of dark, scaled fabric—light, yet warm. "It'll keep the Veil's ash from clinging to you," Valea explained, tightening the strap of her gauntlet. "And maybe… keep you hidden from things you don't want finding you."
He studied her for a moment. "You mean other Lords?"
Valea's eyes held his. "And worse."
They joined the others at the main gate. Rurik, the older of the two male newcomers introduced last night, was barking orders to a small squad, his deep voice steady despite the tension. Beside him stood Lysenne, her soft features at odds with the way she checked each soldier's weapon with brisk precision.
In the distance, a black line of forest marked the edge of the Ashen Veil. It seemed to breathe in the early light, shadows shifting unnaturally.
Sora felt the weight of it before they even took a step. The strange pull in his chest—the same one he'd felt during his trial—was back. Stronger now.
Valea noticed the stiffness in his stance. "When we cross that line," she said quietly, "everything you've seen so far will feel like the easy part."
The gates groaned open, and the cold wind from the Veil spilled in like a whisper from another world.
Into the Veil
The Ashen Veil loomed ahead like the mouth of something ancient and patient, waiting for them to enter. Its trees were bone-pale, their twisted limbs draped in a fog that seemed to pulse with its own heartbeat.
The squad halted just before the threshold. Rurik gave the order in a low growl, and each warrior dipped a hand into a pouch of fine silver ash, smearing it across their foreheads. Sora hesitated, watching them.
Valea noticed. "It's an old warding rite," she explained. "Doesn't stop the Veil from seeing you. Just… slows its hunger."
Sora complied, feeling the strange grit against his skin, as if the ash itself whispered faint syllables against his mind.
Then they stepped across.
The world changed instantly.
The air thickened, pressing against lungs and skin alike. Sound warped—the wind carried faint laughter one moment, and the hiss of something crawling the next. The light dimmed unnaturally, the pale morning replaced by a bruised twilight that made no sense.
A distant thud reverberated through the fog, like a giant's heartbeat.
They advanced in tight formation, boots crunching on ground that felt more like brittle bone than soil. Every step seemed to echo too far, as though unseen things were listening.
Sora caught movement at the edge of his vision—a figure, impossibly tall, standing among the pale trees. When he turned fully, it was gone.
Valea's hand brushed his arm briefly, a silent reassurance, before she spoke just loud enough for him to hear. "Don't look too long at anything here. Some things notice when you notice them."
The heartbeat thud came again. Closer.
Rurik signaled a halt, raising his fist. The fog shifted—and this time, everyone saw it. Shapes moving, slowly circling them. Too many shapes.
The cold in the air turned sharp, biting into their bones.
And then, from somewhere deeper in the Veil, a voice—low, almost gentle—rolled through the fog:
"A Guardian walks among you. How delightful."
Every soldier tightened their grip on their weapon. Valea's eyes met Sora's for a fraction of a second, as if to silently say: It begins.