War gripped the continent like a festering wound.
The Corruption King—Velgrath, the Tyrant of Mutation—had spread his dominion like a virus, reshaping land and flesh alike. His armies were not merely soldiers. They were changes made flesh—twisted, blooming with mutation and corruption. But humanity refused to die.
Though not victorious, the human forces held fast. And the name Kael Valtor still meant something—enough to rally men in broken armor and bruised pride, enough to remind them that blood was not shed in vain.
Inside a spartan war tent lined with enchanted runes and protective wards, Grand Commander Kael Valtor stood before a worn map. His eyes scanned the symbols indicating troop formations, enemy movements, and lost territories.
Major Torrin leaned over the table. "Enemy attempted another push through the eastern gorge. We managed to choke them off using fire traps."
Kael grunted. "How many casualties?"
Torrin hesitated. "Eighty-three. Forty-two confirmed dead. The rest… infected. We had to burn them too."
Captain Leen cursed under her breath. "Even dying, they drag others with them. Monsters."
Lieutenant Rhell adjusted his coat. "They believe the Corruption King's touch is salvation. They walk willingly into the decay."
Kael turned, his face shadowed by the dim lantern light. "Fanatics always make the most dangerous soldiers."
Leen muttered, "Even demons make more sense. At least they kill for gain. These… things worship the very thing that destroys them."
Kael didn't answer. He placed a heavy hand on the edge of the map and stared at a crimson-stained mark: Velgrath's domain. Forests had turned into bone thickets. Rivers ran with greenish oil. People once born of flesh now returned as creatures of mold, scale, and nightmare.
"And yet," Rhell said slowly, "we hold."
"Yes," Kael said. "But for how long?"
Beyond the battlefield – In the divine realm
The gods stirred uneasily in the vast astral plane. They watched the mortal world below—a place now distant from their reach.
Something ancient had returned. They could feel it: the pulse of something vast, buried in the shape of a newborn. But they were powerless to act.
"This world," murmured the Goddess of Moonlight, "has slipped from our dominion."
"It lies under his rule now," said the God of Chains. "The one who rewrote the laws of existence."
"He used the last of his essence to sever the old ways," added another god bitterly. "He made the world unreachable… even to us."
Then came a voice, gentle yet commanding—the Sun God.
"We owe him everything," he said, eyes gleaming with solemn reverence. "And most of you forget that."
His divine form pulsed with solar light, steady and noble.
"He was betrayed by those closest," the Goddess of Life spoke next, her tone calm but sharp. "You did nothing when he fell. And now you fear him."
The Goddess of Spirits smiled faintly. "But he remembers who never turned away."
Though most gods could only watch, tremble, or plot in silence—these three remained steadfast in loyalty.
Back at the Valtor estate
The world was quiet.
The child—unmoving, unnamed—rested within his cradle, but his presence radiated a strange gravity. Even in slumber, reality shifted around him.
Lady Seraphina watched over him, hands clasped.
She didn't know what her son truly was. She only knew that the world felt… different now. Ever since his birth, shadows avoided his room. No insects crossed the floor. Even dying plants seemed to flourish when placed near his crib.
The twin maids—silent and ethereal—guarded the child like sentinels. Their origin remained a mystery, even to Seraphina.
And the child? He didn't cry. He rarely moved. But his eyes—those deep, silent eyes—held more than any newborn's ever should.
Deep within his mind – his thoughts stirred
The boy dreamed.
Or perhaps… remembered.
There had once been a throne of stars. A name carried by lightning. He had walked with gods, spoken words that shaped reality. But time had buried it all.
He had used his final breath—not to destroy—but to rewrite the laws of the world. To break the bonds gods held over mortals. It had taken everything he had. And in doing so, he shattered himself.
Three hundred years.
That was how long it took for his soul to return. Not through reincarnation, but through rebirth.
He had forgotten much. But not everything.
Some faces remained.
Some betrayals still burned.
The Sun God. The Goddess of Life. The Spirit Lady—they had stayed true. The rest… no longer mattered.
What would Kael think if he knew the truth?
His father—now mortal, unaware—cursed the god who had altered the world. But what if he discovered the boy he held in his arms was that very god? The very being he now blamed?
The child turned his face toward the window.
He didn't want to know the answer.
Not yet.
Meanwhile – in the war tent again
Kael stood silently outside, watching the horizon.
Rhell joined him. "The wind's changing."
Kael said nothing for a long moment. "We've held our line for months. We've adapted. Hardened."
"But we're tired," Rhell finished.
Kael's face hardened. "Tired means nothing if we don't break."
There was a pause, then Rhell added, "New cults have emerged. Across the sea. Some call themselves speakers of lost truth. Others claim they follow gods the world forgot."
Kael's jaw tightened. "More madness."
"One of them claims the world changed 300 years ago. They say it was shaped by a single will."
Kael didn't flinch, but his hands curled into fists.
"It was."
"You… believe them?"
"I don't know what I believe anymore," Kael said. "Only that we were ordinary once. Then something—someone—rewrote everything. And we accepted it."
"Would you want to meet that being? Confront them?"
Kael shook his head. "No. I don't want to know what I'd do if I found out the one responsible was close to me."
A new threat looms
Reports continued to arrive—messages scrawled with trembling hands. Not just of Velgrath's horrors, but of new enemies emerging from the chaos:
False prophets. Blood cults. Self-proclaimed gods.
And worse—entities that didn't belong to any known reality.
One name repeated: Velgrath the Corruption King—a former man, now a demonic force bound by ambition and hatred. But he wasn't alone.
From the far north came word of an ancient sealed entity stirring in the frost. From the east, sky-rending screams broke through lightning storms with no source.
The war wasn't humanity's only battle anymore.
The entire world had become a crucible.
And the child—sleeping under starlit canopy—was at its center.
And in the quiet… he stirred
The child opened his eyes.
He felt them. All of them. The Tyrant's ambitions. The gods' distant judgments. The mortals' prayers whispered into the void.
He could hear the world's heartbeat.
It was trembling.
And deep inside, something within him smiled—not in arrogance, but in understanding.
He had forgotten. But not completely.
His power was no longer what it had once been—but it would return.
This time, he would not be a god above.
He would walk among them.
And if the gods wished to watch…
Let them.