The aftermath of the God's subtle stirrings still lingered like a living fog around Arlen. Even after the tremors and the unnatural distortions of space and mana had faded, a residual hum persisted, almost imperceptible yet undeniably present. It was a hum that resonated deep inside his chest, vibrating along the veins of power that coursed through him — veins that glowed faintly even in the darkness of the ruined courtyard.
Arlen staggered forward, each step sending shivers through the ground as the fragments within him continued to stir. It was no longer subtle; the fragments had begun sensing each other. A resonance, delicate and fleeting, rippled through the core of his being. It was not strength — not yet — but an awareness, an echo of unity that the fragments had long forgotten.
He paused mid-step, feeling it as clearly as the pulse of his own heartbeat: this was not his power alone. He was borrowing existence, channeling authority older than memory itself.
Lira, sensing the shift, stopped beside him. Her hand instinctively found his shoulder again, a grounding touch in the storm of latent power. "Arlen," she said softly, almost reverently, "the fragments… they're communicating. Can you feel it?"
Arlen nodded slowly, a chill running down his spine. "I… yes. I can feel them… not fully… but… something is happening. They're aligning… remembering… something."
The air shimmered around them, bending subtly as the fragments' resonance threaded through the environment. Leaves swirled in unnatural patterns, frost crept across stone, and faint arcs of electricity danced lazily along the ruined battlements. Even the wind seemed to carry the fragments' whispers — broken words, fragmented memories of battles and dominions long past.
This isn't my power. I'm borrowing existence.
The realization struck Arlen harder than any physical blow. This wasn't mere magic or skill — it was authority itself, passed down, fractured, and now slowly piecing together. Each fragment resonated with the others, feeding into one another like threads weaving into a tapestry too vast to comprehend.
Suddenly, a sharp pain erupted behind his eyes, and he doubled over, clutching his head. The visions came fast and unbidden — flashes of past lives, battlefields drenched in blood, cities he did not know yet remembered in haunting detail. Each fragment projected a memory, a sliver of authority, and a trace of emotion that Arlen could feel but not fully understand. Rage, sorrow, triumph, and regret all poured into him at once, threatening to overwhelm his senses.
Lira knelt beside him, concern etched across her face. "Arlen! Hold on! Focus! Anchor yourself to me!"
He gritted his teeth, forcing himself upright. He could feel the fragments straining against each other, each one a tiny, incomplete god struggling to communicate and align. He realized that this chaotic resonance was necessary — the fragments had to reconnect before they could empower him fully.
And then it happened.
A subtle shift occurred within his chest, almost imperceptible. The fragments paused their chaotic tugging, as if listening. The hum of authority grew louder, steadier. Arlen's veins flared with faint blue and silver light, the frost and electricity within him weaving intricate, fractal patterns that pulsed in rhythm with the fragments' resonance.
"This… this is it," he whispered, awe and fear mingling in his voice. "They're remembering… each other."
The first fragment, still partially anchored, released a burst of energy, sending ripples through his body. Pain shot through him like lightning, yet it carried clarity this time — not chaos. The second fragment responded almost immediately, a softer, melodic vibration that threaded into the first. Arlen felt the two fragments synchronize, a harmony forming within the storm of his being.
Lira's eyes widened. "They're… harmonizing! Arlen, you can feel it!"
He nodded, sweat mingling with frost on his brow. "Yes… I can… they're… connected."
The third fragment, previously dormant, stirred violently, shattering the fragile balance momentarily. The ground beneath them quaked, and frost spiraled into intricate patterns, reflecting the fragments' emotional resonance. Pain surged again, this time sharper, like shards of glass in his chest. Yet, through the pain, he felt a thread of understanding: the fragments were aware of one another, reacting not just to him but to each other's presence.
We remember. We connect. We exist.
The fragments' resonance echoed in his mind like a chorus of voices long silenced. Flashes of authority — cities ruled, armies commanded, laws enacted — flickered behind his eyelids. Arlen's vision blurred as he struggled to contain the power that was now brushing against the edges of his consciousness. It was not strength yet, but potential — raw, terrifying, and divine.
Suddenly, a faint, foreign voice whispered in his mind, indistinct yet commanding:
"You are not alone. You were never alone."
Arlen staggered backward, clutching his head. "Who… who is that? The God?"
Lira placed both hands on his shoulders, grounding him. "I don't know… but it's part of the fragments. It's giving you… guidance, maybe? Be careful, Arlen."
He nodded, struggling to breathe steadily. Each fragment now seemed aware of his presence, each one aware of the others, creating a network of authority that pulsed through his veins. The ice and lightning within him responded instinctively, dancing along his arms in elaborate, chaotic patterns. The environment reacted as well: frost crept across stone surfaces, wind twisted unnaturally, and mana ripples distorted reality around them.
We remember. We are not fragments alone. We are connected.
Arlen's mind raced, processing the flood of sensations, visions, and whispers. This wasn't just growth — it was a reawakening of something ancient. The fragments were piecing together not just memories, but authority, dominion, and existence itself.
And then, almost imperceptibly, he felt a surge of control. The chaos didn't cease, but he could guide it, direct it, mold it without fully understanding why. Frost spiraled deliberately around him, lightning arced with intention, and the fragments pulsed in sync, as if acknowledging a single point of focus: him.
"I… I can feel it. I can… direct it."
Lira's eyes widened with awe. "You're… controlling it?"
Arlen nodded, still overwhelmed, sweat mixing with frost on his skin. "Not fully… not raw strength… but… potential. The fragments… they're lending me their memory… their authority… their existence."
A deep rumble resonated through the ruins, faint yet omnipresent. The fragments seemed to respond, pulsing stronger, their whispers growing clearer. They were no longer isolated shards of memory — they were interacting, communicating, harmonizing.
We remember each other. We are one. We are fragments of a sleeping God.
The realization hit Arlen with awe and terror. He was not just a vessel; he was the bridge between fragments, the anchor that allowed their existence to resonate. The weight of this responsibility pressed down on him, heavier than any physical burden.
Lira grasped his hand tightly. "Arlen… you're… extraordinary."
He gave a faint, strained smile. "I… I'm not… fully me… yet. This… this is just fragments… not the full power… not the God. But…" His voice trembled. "…we're beginning to remember. And that… terrifies me."
The night stretched around them, frost forming elaborate patterns along the ruins, electricity crackling faintly in the air. The fragments pulsed, resonated, and remembered. Arlen could feel their connection, their collective awareness growing stronger by the second. He realized that the path ahead would be perilous, each fragment a force of authority and memory capable of overwhelming him if he faltered.
But for the first time, he understood that he was not alone.
Seven fragments were aligning… and I am the vessel.
The wind howled softly, carrying echoes of battles past, whispers of authority, and the faint, imperceptible stirrings of a god still slumbering beyond the fabric of reality.
Arlen closed his eyes, feeling the fragments like a symphony within his veins. He was not yet fully awake, not yet fully powerful, but he was beginning to grasp the weight of existence itself. And as the echoes of the fragments resonated in harmony, he knew that the next step — the final alignment — was within reach.
We remember each other. We are fragments. We are one. And we will awaken.