The Sanctuary of Torvas had never known such chaos.
Smoke drifted low through the courtyard, curling around shattered pillars and broken stone. Knights struggled to hold the line against the four demons that remained after the first had fallen to Kaelar's blade. Their monstrous forms flickered with shadow-fire, each movement carving scars into the ground.
Even the air felt wrong too hot, too heavy like the entire world was holding its breath.
Kaelar stepped into the open.
Fresh from the inner halls, the Blade of Torvas emerged with his sword alight. White fire licked the blade, braided through with deep crimson, each flare bending the air with divine heat. His armor was cracked, his shoulder bruised, but his step was steady.
The demons noticed him at once.
The largest of them their leader now stared at Kaelar with burning hatred. Its elongated shadow form writhed, jagged white eyes fixed on the smoldering head of its fallen brother lying near the gate.
"You," it growled, voice scraping the courtyard like broken metal. "You killed him."
Kaelar didn't bother to answer.
A second figure ran to his side.
Ilaron, worshipper of Aelus, held the sword his god had given him its blade shimmering with a soft azure aura, calm and steadfast like the warmth of a hearth. Though fear flickered in his eyes, he stood beside Kaelar without hesitation.
Kaelar glanced at him. "You still able to fight?"
Ilaron swallowed, tightened both hands on the hilt, and nodded. "Aelus didn't bless me to sit back and pray while others die."
Kaelar allowed a brief, grim smile. "Then we stand together."
The demon leader bellowed.
Its charge shook dust from the walls.
It struck like lightning, crossing the courtyard in a blur of inhuman speed. Kaelar barely brought his sword up before the demon's claws smashed into his guard.
The force sent him skidding backward across the stone, slamming him into a fallen pillar.
Before he even drew a full breath, the demon spun and backhanded Ilaron.
The worshipper was lifted off his feet, thrown across the courtyard, his azure blade bouncing loudly across the stones.
The demon threw its head back in cruel laughter.
"This is Torvas's champion? And this" it gestured toward the dazed worshipper "is what Aelus sends? How disappointing."
But Kaelar rose.
Slowly. Painfully. But he rose.
He planted his feet, lifted his sword, and placed one hand over the fiery blade.
He began to chant.
The language was older than Vvralis, older than the Sanctuary itself. A prayer passed down to Blades of Torvas for generations one reserved only for the direst moments.
The demon's expression flickered.
"What are you doing?" it snarled.
It darted toward him.
But the knights reached Kaelar first.
"Form a wall!" a captain commanded.
Shields locked. Swords raised. A barrier of steel and courage surrounded the Blade as he continued chanting. The flames around his weapon swelled, streaks of pure white heat curling into ribbons of crimson, heat rippling outward in waves.
"Kill him!" the demon roared.
Its brothers charged.
The first slammed into the shield wall, sending knights flying. Several fell. Others held on, spear thrusting into the demon's shadow-flesh, slowing it just long enough for a second line of defenders to push forward.
The second demon leapt over the shields, landing atop a trainee
but Kaelar's chant grew louder, and the demon jerked its head toward him, sensing divine energy building like a furnace.
The defenders tightened their formation.
"Protect the Blade!" a knight screamed.
Kaelar never looked up.
He walked deeper into the prayer, each word rising from his soul to the flame. His sword glowed brighter with every breath, white and crimson fire weaving together into a spiraling inferno.
Behind the shield wall, Ilaron stirred.
He coughed, rolled onto his knees, reached for his sword and froze.
"I'm not… enough," he whispered.
The battle blurred in front of him.
Demons roared. Knights shouted. Kaelar's chant thundered across the courtyard.
But Ilaron wasn't looking at any of that.
He was looking upward.
"Aelus… Hearth-Father… if ever there was a time to hear your servant" he whispered, voice shaking, "let it be now."
His sword pulsed faintly.
Then again.
And again.
A soft azure glow gentle yet powerful wrapped around the blade.
It surged into his hands.
His breath hitched.
His eyes rolled closed.
And he collapsed.
But his body didn't stay down.
The azure glow spread from the sword, flowing over Ilaron's sleeping form like a blanket of calm fire. His limbs lifted, guided by a will beyond mortal understanding.
He rose.
Eyes closed.Mind asleep.Body moving.
"Aelus…" whispered a knight nearby, startled. "He's… he's taken hold of him."
The demon leader snarled. "Tricks will not save you."
Ilaron vanished.
He reappeared at the demon's flank, blade streaking a sharp line of azure flame across its ribs. Before the demon could react, Ilaron blinked out of existence again and slashed its shoulder.
Then its thigh.
Then its back.
Every strike was precise. Graceful. Flowing like a dream.
The demon howled.
"STOP MOVING!"
It swung wildly, tearing through stone and air, scattering knights, cracking pillars
but Ilaron glided past each blow, moving with fluid elegance, each motion as calm and steady as a heartbeat.
For the first time since the attack began, the demon felt something cold.
Not the cold of ice.
The cold of fear.
And behind it all, Kaelar's chant deepened.
The fire around his sword grew so intense the ground near his feet began to glow red. Cracks split across the stones as heat warped them.
The demon's eyes widened.
"STOP HIM!" it screamed at its brothers.
They charged
but the defenders threw themselves in the way.
A trainee tackled a demon's leg, buying a heartbeat.A knight thrust his broken spear into a demon's jaw.Another raised his shield and rammed a demon back, despite the claws tearing into his side.
They fought knowing they might die.
But if Kaelar finished his prayer
the tide would turn.
Kaelar opened his eyes.
The blade in his hand was no longer a blade.
It was a column of divine fire white and crimson spiraling violently, the heat shimmering like the breath of a god.
He stepped forward.
One step.Then another.
Until every knight and trainee stood behind him
and every demon stood ahead.
The demon leader spat shadow.
"You think your god will save you?" it growled.
Kaelar raised his sword.
"No," he said. "Torvas will judge you."
He pointed the blade at the demons.
The air vibrated.
Ash lifted off the ground.
Even the demons hesitated.
Kaelar shouted the final line:
"TORVAS!LET EVERYTHING BEFORE ME BE WEIGHED
AND BURNED!"
The world ignited.
White fire, streaked with deep crimson, surged from the sword in a wave that seemed to tear the sky apart. It tore across the courtyard, a storm of holy destruction swallowing the demons before they could scream.
The stones beneath their feet liquefied.Shadows evaporated.Roars choked into silence.
When the light faded
the courtyard was carved into a long scar of glassed stone and ash.
No demon remained.
Only the faint scent of charred shadow and heat lingering in the air.
The defenders stared.
Some trembled.Some dropped to their knees.Some shouted victory.
But all of them felt the same thing:
Awe.
Pure, overwhelming awe.
A trainee whispered, "Is… is it really over?"
Kaelar lowered his sword slowly. His shoulders trembled with exhaustion, but he stood tall.
"For now," he said.
And the Sanctuary exhaled.
From the balcony above, Erias had watched everything.
He gripped the railing tightly, shaking as the last embers of Kaelar's spell faded across the courtyard. The High Priest stood beside him, robes glowing faintly with the remnants of his divine healing. Varos Dream stood on Erias's other side, watching quietly.
"That power…" Erias whispered, eyes fixed on Kaelar. "He wasn't afraid. He didn't hesitate. He he stood against all of them."
"You witnessed what Torvas looks like through a mortal hand," the High Priest said softly. "Few ever see it."
Erias swallowed hard.
"I want to be like that someday," he whispered. "Strong enough to protect people. Strong enough to stand where others can't."
Dream's eyes lowered slightly.
He saw more in the boy than the boy saw in himself.
Perhaps destiny did too.
Far from the Sanctuary, the priest sent by the High Priest rode hard through the night. His cloak snapped behind him, the sigil of Torvas shining faintly in the moonlight. Dust clung to his boots and sleeves from hours of relentless travel.
By dawn, the royal capital rose before him tall spires gleaming pale gold, banners drifting in the wind, guards flanking the gates in ceremonial armor.
They saw the sigil on his cloak and nodded.
"Messenger of the High Priest," one guard announced. "Open the gates."
The heavy brass doors swung outward.
The priest entered the palace grounds.
Marble steps led him into the central hall, where servants moved briskly and nobles lingered in quiet conversation. None of them knew that Aramoor had fallen. None smelled the blood and smoke still clinging to his cloak.
He approached the steward a tall man draped in embroidered silks.
"I carry a letter from the High Priest of Torvas," the priest said. "It concerns the safety of the realm."
The steward extended both hands. "I will deliver it at once."
The priest hesitated, then surrendered the sealed parchment.
The steward bowed, turned, and walked deeper into the palace toward the throne room.
The seal of Torvas flickered in the torchlight.
And the kingdom's fate shifted.