Cold wind whispered through the shattered pillars of Starhold Ruins, carrying with it the taste of old dust and forgotten magic. Night still clung to the sky—but light, a strange and unnatural light, pulsed from the center of the ruins like a heartbeat fighting to return to life.
The boy lay at the heart of it.
His breath came in sharp, uneven gasps. Ash coated his clothes. Broken stone lay scattered around him as though some great force had torn the earth apart. And from his half-open eyes—eyes glowing with pale, white-blue fire—threads of energy curled upward like smoke.
He didn't know where he was.
He didn't know why he was here.
He didn't even remember collapsing.
All he remembered… was the voice.
Deep. Metallic. Ancient.
"Rise."
And as if summoned by that single word, the air behind him trembled.
A shadow stretched over him—vast, towering, wrong in its immensity. The ground vibrated. Ash swirled. Heat washed over his skin, warm enough to sting. The boy forced his head up, heart pounding in his throat.
The figure that loomed above him was no man.
It was a giant of living metal—armor sculpted like the muscles of a forgotten god, runes carved into every plate, and wings of molten light unfurling behind it like the birth of a star. Blue fire burned inside its helm where eyes should have been.
A Titan.
One of the ancient constructs spoken of in myths.
And it was awake.
The Titan lowered its head, and the boy felt its gaze pierce through him—measuring, weighing, recognizing. Power hummed between them, pulling at something deep within his chest… something he didn't know he had.
The Titan's voice rumbled again, shaking dust from the ruins.
"Bearer."
The word vibrated through his bones.
"I… I don't understand," the boy managed, throat tight. "I'm nobody. I'm not—"
"You are my Bearer."
The Titan extended one enormous hand.
Light burst from the boy's palms.
A shockwave rolled through the ruins, sending stones tumbling and lightning-like cracks racing across the ground. The boy gasped, staring at his hands—not at the glow, but at the ease of the power flowing through him. Power he had never felt before. Power no human should have.
"What… what am I?"
The Titan's wings flared open, flooding the ruins with golden fire.
"The last Ember of Erindale," it said.
"The one foretold to reawaken the Titans."
Before the boy could respond, the air behind them ripped open with a sound like tearing cloth. A jagged black rift widened, bleeding shadow into the world. Figures stepped out—masked warriors clad in dark armor, their movements precise and predatory.
One pointed at the boy.
"There. The Ember-Bearer. Capture him."
Another raised a hook-shaped staff toward the Titan.
"Destroy the construct."
The Titan's body ignited, runes blazing like living stars.
"Behind me, Bearer."
The boy stumbled back, but the energy inside him roared again—raw, volatile, demanding release. The shadows closed in from all sides. The Titan's wings swept outward, carving a half-circle of molten light across the ground.
"Do I… fight?" the boy whispered.
The Titan paused.
Then, in a voice that sounded almost like pride:
"You already are."