The sword that defends heaven

The silence following Velkarion's demise was hell in its purest form. Elberath no longer screamed; it had become a festering wound on Asterin's face, a crater of devastation pulsating in a deafening hush. At its center, Rael lay at the bottom of the pit he had created, the pool of blood and tears dried on his ravaged face. His Velmorth regeneration was an unending torment. Every knitting muscle fiber, every bone fragment fusing with a wet, soft crack, sent jolts of fresh agony through his helpless body. The cheerful boy from Elberath was utterly gone, replaced by an empty shell filled only with one burning emotion: a pure, icy hatred.

News of the tragedy didn't spread through messengers or carrier pigeons. It rippled like a shockwave through the unseen Aether net, a tremor of horror first felt by those sensitive enough. In the capital of Valserion, Emperor Divinus IX rose from his golden throne, sensing a strange disturbance that made the wine in his goblet tremble. In the frozen north, Thorne Iceblood of the Frosk Clan lifted his head from his hunt, smelling a wild power on the southern wind he didn't recognize. And on the floating island of Kyreth, the Grand Sages of the seven temples simultaneously ceased their meditations, staring towards Asterin with a premonition so dark that the sky above them seemed to dim.

The first to arrive wasn't a hero, but a traveling merchant named Fendrel, whose route always passed through Elberath to buy the continent's best berry pies. His shrill scream hours later was the first human sound to break the village's graveyard silence. From there, the news spread like a plague.

When Cassien of Asterin and Kara Ironflame arrived, two suns were high in the sky, illuminating the horror with a cruel, unforgiving light. Thin smoke still rose from the smoldering ruins, and the sweet, sickening smell of burning flesh mingled with the pungent odor of blood.

"By the Eternal Light..." Cassien whispered, his usually calm face as pale as a shroud. As the Order of Protectors' leader, he had seen battlefields littered with corpses and cities shattered by demonic magic. But this was different. This wasn't the destruction of war. This was an intimate, personal annihilation, executed with the precision of a mad artist.

Kara Ironflame said nothing. The mountain of a woman strode through the debris, her warhammer slung on her back, her flint-hard eyes scanning every detail with a hunter's intensity. There were no signs of battle. No traces of demonic forces or monster hordes. Only the imprint of one overwhelming, absolute, undeniable power.

"Velkarion," Kara growled, her voice raspy as ground stone. It wasn't a question, but a verdict.

Cassien's heart plummeted. He wanted to deny it, to shout that this was a trap, a vile fabrication. Velkarion was his mentor, a great hero, a father figure. But the evidence before them was so stark, so brutal, that it felt like a personal insult to every oath he'd ever sworn.

Then, they found him. In the center of the square, lying at the bottom of a small crater, was Rael. They barely recognized him. His face was a mask of purple and red from dried blood and severe bruising. His body was shattered, but they could see it twitching—a small spasm as his bones knit back together with a soft, horrifying crackle.

Kara immediately assumed a defensive stance, her hand gripping her hammer's haft. "His son," she said, her tone cold and hard. "The only survivor. He must be involved. Blood is blood."

"Wait, Kara," Cassien said, stepping forward cautiously. He knelt at the crater's edge, gazing at the broken youth. A teacher's love and a protector's responsibility warred within him. "Look at him. He's not a henchman. He's the last victim."

That's when the first detachment of the Holy Aurelion Imperial Legion arrived, led by High Centurion Emerus. Emerus, a man with a square jaw and an uncompromising gaze, had been trained by Velkarion in his youth. Witnessing this devastation and knowing his mentor was the cause had transformed his respect into a cold, burning rage.

"In the name of Emperor Divinus IX, this place is secured!" he roared, his troops spreading with rigid discipline, swords drawn. His eyes immediately fell upon Rael. "Seize the little monster. He will answer for his father's crimes."

Two soldiers leaped into the crater, dull-glowing Aether-negative chains in their hands. As they tried to bind Rael, the youth's eyes snapped open. There was no recognition in them, no plea, no fear. Only a void so deep and cold that it made the two veteran soldiers hesitate for a moment.

"Stop!" Cassien commanded, standing between the soldiers and Rael. "He is under the protection of the Order of Protectors until we know what truly happened."

"Protection?" Emerus sneered, stepping forward arrogantly. "The Order of Protectors, whose spiritual leader turns out to be this butchering monster? An Order fractured from within? You have no jurisdiction here, Light Knight. This is Imperial soil, and this is a crime against the Empire."

The journey to Valserion was a long and agonizing parade of insults. Rael, his regeneration incomplete, was shackled with chains that not only restrained his body but also suppressed the power within him with a constant chill. He was dragged, half-walking, half-stumbling. News had spread faster than them. Crowds gathered along the way, not to greet a hero, but to curse a demon.

"There he is! The traitor's son!" a woman shrieked, her face contorted with hatred.

"Look at his eyes! Just like his father!" added an old man, who perhaps a week ago was still recounting Velkarion's heroic tales to his grandchildren.

Faces that would once have smiled at him as Velkarion's son now glared with hatred and fear. They threw mud, rotten vegetables, and small stones.

"Murderer!"

"Monster!"

"He must have known! He must have helped his father!"

"Look, he doesn't even cry!" a woman screamed shrilly. "A cold-blooded monster like his father!"

A stone struck his temple, reopening a newly closed wound. Warm blood flowed down his cheek, but Rael didn't react. He didn't see them. He didn't hear them. He walked like a dead man, his eyes fixed on the dusty ground. In his head, only one image replayed endlessly: his father's golden eyes, cold and wordless, hovering over Selie's lifeless body.

The chapter closed as the heavy, thick stone door slammed shut behind him. Total darkness and silence enveloped him. The roar of the crowd faded, replaced by the drip of water somewhere in the darkness and his own strangely alien heartbeat. He was alone. Betrayed by his father, hated by the world, and haunted by the faces of the dead.

In that prison, amidst his devastation, the promise he made to himself began to harden. He was no longer fragile. In the furnace of destruction, his grief had burned away, and his hatred was forged into a cold, steel pillar. He would survive. He would become stronger. And he would kill the god he once called father.