The dust had not yet settled.
Leonhart stood still, his golden cloak torn by wind and flame. Behind him, the ruined plateau of the Silent Cliffs smoldered. In front of him, a path carved by chaos led into the dark basin known only as "The Unknown." It was where the remnants of the last battle faded into whispers—where Satan had vanished.
His hand tightened around the hilt of his blade. Not from fear—but from resolve.
"Gone again..." Leonhart muttered. "But not for long."
He could still hear the echo of Satan's last words—distorted, venomous, and laced with a truth too dangerous to ignore:
"The throne does not await you, Leonhart. It was never yours."
A gust of black wind swept through the edges of the ravine, and with it, came a strange voice.
"You chased a shadow and survived. Not many do."
Leonhart turned sharply. A figure emerged from the edge of a shattered rock—half-burned, cloaked in twilight armor. His eyes gleamed with a glint of knowledge, not power.
"Who are you?" Leonhart demanded.
The figure bowed slightly. "Call me Vyren. I know who you seek... and what lies beneath that path."
Leonhart studied him carefully. Vyren did not seem hostile, but trust was a currency long lost in his world.
"If you know where Satan went, speak now," Leonhart said. "I don't have time for riddles."
Vyren gave a faint smile. "He's not hiding. He's preparing."
The sky grumbled. Storm clouds crawled above them, their edges tinged with red and violet light. Vyren continued.
"You wounded him. That's why he retreated. But there's more to this war than just you and him. Forces stir beneath this land—powers that even Satan fears. And they know you now."
Leonhart stepped closer. "Why tell me this?"
"Because I once followed one of them." Vyren looked into the distance. "And I chose wrong. You still have a choice."
Before Leonhart could respond, a tremor shook the basin.
A roar rose from below.
From the depths of The Unknown, a creature burst forth—wreathed in molten bone and smoke, claws like obsidian blades, and eyes that bled fire. A Sentinel of the Depths. A guardian of the forgotten powers that Vyren had warned of.
Vyren drew a curved dagger from his cloak. "Guess you'll need proof."
Leonhart didn't hesitate. In one swift motion, he dashed toward the monster, blade aglow with inner fire. Vyren followed, leaping through jagged rocks, chanting in a tongue that stirred the wind.
The battle that followed was chaos incarnate.
The creature lashed out with limbs that could tear stone. Leonhart ducked, spun, and countered—his movements precise, his fury unrelenting. Vyren danced along its blind spots, marking symbols in the air that ignited when touched by the beast's breath.
But even with their combined strength, the Sentinel was relentless. One strike sent Leonhart crashing into a ridge. Blood trickled down his lip, but his grip did not falter.
"I've faced worse," he growled, rising again.
Summoning the pulse within, he let the golden energy surge. Flames curled around him like a mantle, and with a defiant cry, he lunged once more.
This time, the blade struck true.
The Sentinel howled as cracks split its form, the golden fire seeping in and shattering it from within. In moments, it crumbled—defeated not by power alone, but by unbreakable resolve.
Breathing heavily, Leonhart looked at Vyren.
"You didn't have to help."
"I didn't do it for you," Vyren replied. "I did it to prove the path ahead isn't a straight one."
Leonhart sheathed his blade. "Tell me what I need to know."
Vyren turned toward the abyss. "The world you see is only the surface. Below it lies the Core. And within the Core... the remnants of the true war. Satan isn't just after power. He's after control of something ancient. Something buried. And you, Leonhart, are part of it—whether you like it or not."
Leonhart's gaze darkened.
"So I dive deeper."
Vyren nodded. "And when you do, you'll need allies who don't fear the dark."
As they descended into the basin, the light above them faded. Only the embers from Leonhart's cloak and the glint in Vyren's eyes remained.
The unknown awaited.
But Leonhart was no longer the man who feared it.