Beyond Worlds, Beneath the Star God

The air split with an unnatural screech as the first wave of cloaked assailants lunged from the mist.

Their robes billowed like torn shadows, and bone-white masks leered from beneath their hoods. Each moved unnaturally—too smooth, too fast, as though the forest bent to let them pass.

Nethershade Covenant.

"Fan out!" Elira barked, already charging forward, her longsword trailing arcs of enchanted silver.

Kun raised his arm just in time to catch a flurry of shadow-needles with a barrier of Starfire. The flames roared from his skin, instinctual now—more reflex than thought. The heat pushed back the cold of the forest, but the Covenant mages didn't flinch.

Behind him, Orlan planted his staff into the earth and shouted, "Nalur'ven ar'theil!"

A shockwave burst outward, blue glyphs spreading like ripples beneath the moss and ferns. Roots shot from the ground like spears, impaling two attackers before they could strike. One screamed, his mask shattering into a puff of black ash.

But there were more.

Dozens.

Too many.

One of the masked mages raised a crimson shard and slammed it into the ground. The earth cracked.

A foul energy spilled forth—black and violet, writhing like a mass of serpents. The trees recoiled. The very air thickened.

From the rupture, a new entity clawed its way out: a grotesque creature stitched together from bark, bone, and raw magic. A Rootborn Horror—an abomination crafted from corrupted forest spirits.

"Hold your ground!" Kun shouted, stepping between Elira and the monster. "Orlan, cover our flank!"

The creature roared. A spiral of spines launched toward Kun. He raised both hands, channeling the Starfire.

But something was different this time.

The flame didn't just burn—it sang.

A deep, resonant hum echoed in his bones. His eyes flared bright gold, and time seemed to slow. He could see the trajectory of every spine, the breath of his enemy, the subtle pulses of its magic.

And in that suspended moment, he moved.

Kun twisted midair, dodging three spines and blasting the fourth apart with a pulse of raw energy. He landed hard, slid on one knee, and raised his arm.

"Starbrand — Ignition Surge!"

Flames burst from the ground in a ring around the Rootborn Horror. It shrieked and stumbled, its wooden limbs charring, bark cracking.

Elira didn't hesitate. She leapt in with a flash, her blade cleaving through the creature's knee joint. It collapsed with a guttural roar.

"Nice of you to soften it up," she smirked.

Kun grinned through his exhaustion. "You're welcome."

But there was no time to rest.

Another group of cultists began chanting. Their voices rose in a dark hymn, warping the very air. Glyphs ignited beneath them—this was no mere summoning.

Orlan swore. "They're activating a root-channel! They're trying to awaken the deep wyrm!"

"The what?" Kun and Elira shouted together.

"Something buried beneath the forest," Orlan growled. "I thought it was a myth. We must stop the ritual!"

Kun ran forward, dodging hex bolts and shadow chains, until he reached the glowing sigils. The cultists were floating, eyes rolled back, bleeding from their noses. The crimson shard at the center of the ritual pulsed faster, louder, stronger.

And then—

He saw him.

Standing atop a branch above the ritual site, calmly watching.

A figure cloaked in dark armor. His face was hidden, but his voice—calm, measured, familiar—echoed in Kun's mind.

> "You're too late, brother."

Time froze.

"Brother...?" Kun whispered.

The figure raised a hand, revealing a shard of Starfire. Its color was wrong—twisted, dark, humming with violent potential.

"Your flame was never yours. It was stolen. And now, I will reclaim what should have burned this world clean."

With a snap of his fingers, the ritual climaxed.

The ground split open.

Roots tore upward like tentacles. From the chasm, a low rumble erupted, shaking the forest to its core. Birds scattered. Trees cracked. Even the mist recoiled.

From below, a golden eye opened—massive, serpentine, ancient.

The Wyrm of Ael'tharion had awakened.

Orlan screamed something in Elvish. Elira pulled Kun back as the ground gave way. But Kun didn't run. He couldn't.

Because the dark figure was still watching him, unmoving.

And Kun knew, without question, that this was no ordinary cultist.

This was the one who shared his flame.

The Dark Starborn.