Chapter 15: The Five That Rose
Sunlight poured into the cracked stone plaza as the gates of the Depths opened, one by one.
Only five emerged.
Kaelira—burned but unbowed, fire still curling from her palms.
Serin—his alchemic gauntlet shattered, eyes wide with something he'd seen but would not speak of.
Davos—silent, shield splintered, dragging his leg behind him.
A rogue from the Isles of Tenebryn, grinning through blood.
And finally—Andrew.
No one cheered.
They just stared.
Because his shadow stretched behind him—longer than it should have. Ashren pulsed faintly at his side, cloaked in a quiet aura of authority.
A legend walked again.
The royal court watched from the high balconies. Whispers passed quickly through noble mouths:
"The Endblade returns…"
"He's still just a boy."
"Then why does he move like a king?"
But it wasn't the King who greeted him.
It was her.
A tall figure stood just beyond the stone archway—hood drawn low, a sigil burned into her shoulder armor: a winged serpent, wrapped in chains.
The mark of the Sealed Order—a forgotten sect that once bound ancient beings in the time before kingdoms.
Her voice was cold.
"You carry a sword that was never meant to rise again."
Andrew said nothing.
"Ashren is cursed. So were you. And yet here you are… walking freely under the sun."
Andrew's grip tightened. "Who are you?"
The woman pulled back her hood.
Ash-grey hair. Eyes like starlight. A faint scar down her lip.
"My name is Lysara. I was there when you ended the Age of Crowns. I sealed your corpse in stone. I watched the world heal."
"I'm here to decide if it's time to break that seal again… and finish what I couldn't."
Kaelira stepped forward, fire at her fingertips.
"Get in line."
Lysara didn't flinch. "I'm not here to fight. Not yet. But if he loses control, I will end him before the gods ever get the chance."
She turned back to Andrew.
"And you better pray they don't come first."
With that, she vanished into mist—leaving behind only a sigil burned into the ground.
It glowed once, then disappeared.
A warning.
A mark.
The five champions stood silent.
And above, the King finally stood from his throne.
"Enough games," he said. "Prepare the final trial."
But in the crowd, unseen by most, a child no older than ten stared at Andrew. And for a moment—just a moment—Andrew saw the boy's eyes flicker gold.
And he smiled.
Not with innocence.
But with recognition.
The gods were watching.
And they were no longer sleeping.