"You have been chosen."
Klarineht's voice reverberated through the grand hall, capturing Dia'Tia's full attention. The giantess couldn't tear her eyes away from the glowing mark on her palm, her mind swirling with confusion. Before Dia'Tia could voice her questions, the paladixtus gestured gracefully upward, drawing her gaze to the cathedral's vaulted ceiling.
Encircling the entire hall were magnificent stained glass windows.
The mural from the outer gates—the man and woman gazing over a newborn world—was merely the beginning of the story.
Starting from the right, the first window depicted the man resting his head on the woman's lap, looking deeply into her eyes. The subsequent columns of glass chronicled a vibrant, joyous journey, reflecting the profound love that all mortals strive to experience.
This sequence of windows was ingeniously aligned with the sun's zenith, allowing brilliant light to flood through, illuminating the right side of the hall with dazzling radiance.
Dia'Tia turned her head to the left, where the glass languished in shadow, casting rows of chairs and tables into darkness. Her eyes moved upward; the windows revealed the tragic end of love. The man was shown turning away from the woman, leaving behind the grandeur of a celestial palace.
Once a god among men, he now roamed the universe—a lone wanderer traversing the vastness of the cosmos, hopping from one world to the next in search of fresh beginnings and untamed life. Each planet held the promise of adventure, yet every bond he formed was destined to crumble into despair.
Time and again, the murals chronicled his sorrowful journey, depicting him holding lifeless bodies, his tears so profound they could drown entire worlds in their sorrow. The weight of his grief was palpable, a stark contrast to the mask of indifference he wore as he departed each shattered realm. Drifting back into the stars, he never cast a glance over his shoulder, seemingly untouched by the torment that had just consumed him.
Did he fracture his own mind to cope? Did he erase his memories to escape the pain? Dia'Tia mused over the enigma.
No. The ultimate revelation was far more profound. As the final scene unfolded, the towering figure of the man began to dissolve, shrinking down until he was no larger than a newborn. A radiant light from the heavens heralded his rebirth, descending into the arms of a mortal in a distant land.
Regression, Dia'Tia understood, the realization dawning on her. He begins anew, each cycle a chance for rebirth and renewal, a quest for power and growth that knows no end.Even as she discerned the profound sadness etched in the glass before her, the searing pain in her palm demanded immediate answers.
"What is this brand?" Dia'Tia demanded, her voice steady yet curious. "And whose voice called out to me in the shadows?"
Klarineht, instead of replying directly, directed her gaze to the distant wall. There, a captivating mural hung behind the altar, its imagery resonating with a profound, soul-stirring energy. Painted was a divine figure parting the heavens, her hands extending three sacred gifts to the world below:
A golden altar.
A stone tablet.
And lastly, a towering spire that caused Elinea to gasp in awe. "Could that be... the Tower of Ascension?!"
Klarineht raised her hand, palm facing the ceiling. The air above her shimmered with intense energy, and soon, a heavy stone tablet materialized—a perfect likeness of the depicted relic.
"Before humanity learned to draw the celestial essence to achieve immortality, the ultimate truths of ascension lay sealed within this stone."
"So this is what you meant by the origins of our world," Dia'Tia mused softly.
Klarineht nodded with grave acknowledgment, lifting her right hand to reveal a vivid red mark matching Dia'Tia's. "When the first Patriarch of our Order stumbled upon this forsaken sanctuary amid a barren wasteland, he too felt the overwhelming burden you just experienced. It is the mark of the chosen."
"What have I been chosen for?" Dia'Tia demanded, her voice sharp with a mix of curiosity and defiance.
"To stop the complete destruction of our world," came the grave reply.
"What?!" Elinea exclaimed, stepping forward, her eyes wide with disbelief.
Klarineht glanced between them, a knowing look in her eyes. "Do you truly understand what the heavens are?"
Every cultivator knew this fundamental lesson. The heavens were believed to be the ultimate realm, a divine sanctuary that beckoned those who could break free from their mortal chains. While no one had ever crossed this mythical boundary, the aspiration to ascend drove everyone on the continent.
But Klarineht was no ordinary being; as a Peak Immortal, her words carried hidden truths from ancient times.
"Tell me more," Dia'Tia insisted, her eyes narrowing with determination.
"The stone's scripture speaks of a cosmic heist," Klarineht revealed, her tone somber. "Contrary to popular belief, the spiritual essence of the heavens isn't an endless reservoir. In reality, its power was never intended for human hands."
"That seems contradictory," Elinea countered. "If we weren't meant to access it, why leave the artifact that taught us to harness it?"
"It's easy to preach restraint when you aren't starving," Klarineht replied, her gaze becoming distant. "If a deity commands a frail mortal not to eat from a tree that grants eternal life, how many would have the strength to simply perish?"
The weight of her words settled over them like a heavy fog. As martial artists, they understood the shadowy corners of the human heart all too well. Every one of them had shed blood in the depths of dungeons. To claim a single rare artifact or chance encounter, a cultivator had to trample over the bodies of innocents. If humanity could kill so easily for mere scraps of power, what devastation would they bring to become gods?
"Since humanity stumbled and failed that ancient trial," Dia'Tia remarked thoughtfully, "and the Paladixtus Order continues its path of cultivation, does this mean the Goddess has left us a way to redemption?"
"Indeed," Klarineht replied, her gaze unwavering on the towering mural of the ancient Tower. "The deepest mysteries of the universe are hidden within."
Suddenly, a chilling laugh reverberated through the cavernous cathedral, shattering the solemn atmosphere. This single sound evoked three distinct reactions. Elinea felt a surge of primal fear, her hand instinctively reaching for her sword. Dia'Tia's heart skipped a beat. But Klarineht's expression softened, as if recognizing an old, weary companion.
"Are you still telling the newcomers those ancient myths?" the mocking voice inquired.
The air beneath the vaulted ceiling distorted. A violent eruption of grey, chaotic energy tore through the space, depositing Raiking and Primnear into the hall. They descended slowly, their boots touching the carpet with an unnaturally silent grace, as though even the sacred ground feared the presence of the Demon King.
The sharp sound of a sword being drawn echoed as Elinea prepared to charge. She was immediately halted by Dia'Tia, who firmly blocked her path with an outstretched arm.
Before tension could escalate further, Klarineht spoke first.
"What brings you here, brother?"
Raiking paid her no mind, his attention fixated on the altar. He moved forward, unfazed by the powerful kinetic barriers meant to ward off trespassers, as if they were nothing more than a gentle breeze. "Sister. You know exactly what Arshara withheld from me."
Klarineht's eyes narrowed, and the temperature spiked as flames erupted around her, igniting her fiery magic. "Don't make me fight you."
"Let's skip the empty threats," he replied, his voice cold and detached as he walked past her. "You are no match for me."
"I won't let you bring our downfall!"
In a blur of motion, she lunged forward with a fearsome palm strike, her arm engulfed in searing flames, turning her into a blazing comet aimed at an indifferent star.
But her attack never landed.
From Raiking's shadow, Primnear emerged, wielding shadow magic to intercept the blow. The collision between the two Immortal-stage cultivators sent a shockwave ripping through the hall, violently splintering the wooden pews against the walls.
Primnear managed to block the strike, but the vast difference in their cultivation levels was evident. Being three realms lower, he was dragged backward, his body wracked with pain.
Unperturbed by the chaos behind him, Raiking approached the golden altar.
"Godsword," he murmured.
The artifact that appeared from the void wasn't a weapon of steel. It was a young girl. As she gently descended to the floor, her long silver hair cascaded down her back. She stood utterly still, her eyes hauntingly vacant, like a beautiful puppet without a soul.
"Ezmelral," Raiking commanded. "It's time for you to awaken."