"To walk the path of gods, one must first abandon the weakness of men."
The sky wept red.
Beneath it, a kingdom burned.
Flames consumed the great spires of the royal palace, their golden domes now little more than blackened husks. The once-proud banners of the empire lay torn and trampled in the streets, soaked in the blood of soldiers and civilians alike.
And at the heart of the carnage, a boy stood.
His face was streaked with soot and ash, his once-white robes now tattered, barely clinging to his frail frame. Blood—none of it his own—dripped from his fingers, pooling beneath him.
His crimson eyes stared down at the man kneeling before him.
A king.
No, a beggar.
The once-mighty ruler, whose very word had shaped the fate of nations, now trembled at the feet of a child. His crown lay discarded in the dirt, his body wracked with silent sobs.
"Aedric…" the king whispered. His voice, once filled with command, was hoarse. Weak. "Please… whatever madness has taken you, it is not too late. You were—"
Aedric tilted his head.
"Madness?" he echoed.
The word tasted strange on his tongue.
Was this madness?
He thought of the cold, empty nights. The hunger that clawed at his ribs. The prayers whispered into the void, unanswered. He thought of the blade in his hands, the blood on his skin, the temple where he had offered his first sacrifice.
The gods had not come for him then.
But now, he stood here, and they still did not come.
"I was nothing," Aedric murmured.
He stepped forward. The king flinched.
Aedric did not smile.
"You made me nothing."
He raised his hand. Magic crackled through the air, dark tendrils weaving around his fingers like serpents. The weight of power—terrible, absolute—pressed upon the world.
"Please," the king whispered, tears falling freely now. "You can still turn back."
Turn back?
Aedric looked around.
At the bodies.
At the ruin.
At the heavens above, silent as ever.
No.
There was no turning back.
Not now.
Not ever.
He raised his hand.
And the last king of a dying kingdom screamed.
The light swallowed him whole.
And when it faded, there was nothing left but dust.
Aedric lowered his hand. The fires roared around him, a storm of red and gold.
Somewhere in the distance, he heard the sound of marching. The world had taken notice. Armies would come. Saviors, kings, heroes.
Let them.
He would burn them all.
For Aedric was no longer a child. No longer a victim of fate's cruelty.
He was something greater.
And this was only the beginning.