Time froze, as though sealed by an ancient spell.
Moments ago, Saeraphen still stood among us—his words lingering in the air.
Yet now—his body was pierced by three black blades, cold as the very heart of darkness.
Three beings emerged from the void.
No sound.
No warning.
They wore long, floor-sweeping cloaks—darker than a dawnless night.
They had no human form.
Nor beastly shape.
No eyes. No mouth. No features to define.
For they were not meant to be understood...
…but to be feared.
They were the Keepers of the Law — neither merciful, nor wrathful.
They come when something is spoken — something forbidden, cursed, belonging to the Abyss.
Saeraphen had spoken that thing.
And like silent executioners of a wordless order, they delivered judgment — not through a sentence, but through the blade.
Each strike —
No scream.
Only gentle golden light — the blood of one who had once crossed the threshold between mortal and divine —
fell, drop by drop, soaking into their dark cloaks like an ancient rite.
None of us moved.
Ashen — wide-eyed, trembling hands, as if time itself pressed upon him.
Kai — fists clenched until blood dripped, lips pale with tension.
And I… I could only hear my own heart — heavy, disoriented, like a funeral drum for the soul.
We — who had survived beasts, endured the border of death itself —
now stood frozen.
Like ignorant pupils facing the final chapter of a world we were never taught to read.
Saeraphen did not scream.
He moaned — rough, like wind slipping through forgotten graves, the voice of a soul unraveling.
His body shook.
His ancient hands clutched at air — as if trying to say something… but it was too late.
The beings said nothing.
They lifted him — like a sacred ritual —
Then released.
His body fell like a cloak slipping from weary shoulders — weightless… and full of sorrow.
His golden blood soaked the earth.
Kai rushed forward first — rage blinding reason.
He threw a punch, lightning-fast…
But nothing remained.
The three figures had vanished — like mist into darkness.
Only we remained — three souls in a forest where time had died.
And Saeraphen — the prophet — lay fallen, because of one forbidden word.
I and Ashen rushed to his side.
His body lay across the cold stone, golden blood trickling from the wounds — fading like a dying flame.
He was still alive. Barely.
We tried to stop the bleeding, hands trembling beneath the sacred glow.
Ashen pressed his palm to the prophet's chest, voice tight with urgency:
"Hold on. I'll heal you—"
But Saeraphen placed his hand atop Ashen's — cold, brittle.
"…Too late," he rasped. "Save your strength… boy."
He coughed, blood spraying from his lips like molten light, sinking into the soil and vanishing in silence.
Then —
A sound.
Low. Rumbling. Approaching.
Kai turned.
"They've broken through the outer stone."
He glanced back, voice rough but calm:
"What now, Ashen?"
Ashen scanned the room.
"We have to find an exit…"
But all around us — walls. Stone. No door. No light.
Just rock… and despair.
Then — Saeraphen raised a trembling hand, pointing toward a pile of rubble.
He said nothing — only looked to Ashen with fierce, unspoken resolve.
Ashen understood immediately.
"Kai, help me!"
The two ran, pulling stone after stone. Urgent. Focused.
I stepped forward to help —
But Saeraphen caught my sleeve.
"I need you… to stay."
"What is it?" I asked, confused.
"Your hand," he whispered.
I gave it to him.
He placed his own bloodied hand upon mine.
A light burst — gentle, divine.
It streamed through my veins, marking my palm:
Two wings cradling a silver laurel — glowing softly.
I stared at it, lost.
Then — more light flowed from his hand.
It gathered into a pendant — silver chain, glowing jewel at its heart.
He gave it to me.
"This will help the three of you escape…"
I clutched it. "But what about you? Why me?"
He smiled faintly.
"I won't last. If I go… I die.
Among the three of you — you are the most attuned."
"Me?" I gasped. "But—"
Ashen called out behind me:
"It's done! Mira, let's go!"
I turned. The path was clear.
"But what about—"
Saeraphen placed a hand on my shoulder.
A push — soft, but resolute.
I looked back.
His eyes held no fear.
Just a final, quiet hope.
And I ran.
Tears falling.
Heart pounding.
Leaving behind a dying angel in golden light.
Alone now, Saeraphen stood.
He picked up his helm — the crown of a warrior long faded — and placed it upon his head.
He faced the petrified statues — ancient comrades, now stone.
Then he raised his voice:
"O you who once held the line amidst flame and storm,
O hearts encased in stone, who sealed the dark away—
Sleepers of shattered time and forgotten vows,
Whose names are carved not on tombs, but in the bones of the mountains—
I do not call you by name, for your names are beyond the wind.
I do not beg for mercy, for you never showed it.
Once more, I ask your flame.
One last time.
Let your fire rise —
So that the enemy shall know
You were not forgotten.
That death did not claim your oath.
Stand with me —
One last moment —
And let the stones remember."
The statues trembled.
Lights burst from within — blue, silver, white.
One by one, their spirits emerged — swirling around Saeraphen, silent, radiant.
His wings — once two — became six.
Light gathered in his hand — a spear, forged not of metal,
but loyalty, sorrow, and promise.
The beasts charged.
He did not run.
He stepped forward —
The earth cracked.
And he roared:
"AETHERION LANCE!!"
A beam of light erupted — pure, burning, endless.
It tore through the beasts.
They vanished.
Not a scream remained.
The light consumed them—
And him.
As he faded into that light, he whispered:
"Please… save this world."