The air changed.
Aren was out by the river at dawn, sharpening a long wooden staff with the edge of a broken rock. Tio, still asleep inside the cabin, had begun to hum in his dreams—something he always did when he felt safe.
But the sky had a different story to tell.
Dark clouds pressed low over the treetops, and the birds had vanished. Even the wind refused to move. A stillness that wasn't natural... one that watched.
Aren stood and turned toward the sky, sensing it before he saw it.
A ripple in the air.
Then—impact.
A crater exploded not far from the cabin. Trees bent outward, roots ripped from the earth. Tio jolted awake, screaming as the cabin shook. Aren was already running.
From the dust, a figure stepped out.
Tall. Glorious. Terrifying.
He wore a crown of stardust, and each step cracked the earth with light.
The God of Creation had arrived.
"You," the god said, voice like a thousand hammers. "You were meant to vanish. A shadow, a whisper, not a threat."
Aren stood in front of the shattered trees, fists clenched. "And yet, here I am."
"You do not belong in this realm. The position of King is not yours to claim."
"I didn't claim it," Aren growled. "You forced it on me when you started this war."
The god lifted his hand.
A beam of pure creation magic roared forward—white, blinding, all-consuming.
Aren didn't flinch. His own hand lifted, and for the first time, he chose to use it.
Black fire exploded from his palm, swallowing the light.
The two magics collided with a deafening scream. Light and shadow pushed, clashed, tore the sky in two.
The blast sent Aren flying back, crashing into a boulder. His body burned, but he stood up—breathing hard, eyes glowing.
From the trees, Tio ran toward him. "Aren!"
"No!" Aren shouted. "Stay back!"
But the god had already seen the boy.
"That child... that's your tether, isn't he?" Creation whispered. "Let's see how well you fight without it."
He pointed a single finger toward Tio.
Lightning crackled.
Aren moved without thinking. In a blink, he was there—arms around the boy, back arched.
The blast hit.
The world shattered.
---
When Aren woke up, his vision swam. Blood pooled around him. He turned—Tio lay still, too still, his small chest rising only faintly.
"No…" Aren whispered. "No, no—Tio—"
The god of Creation stood above them, unbothered. "You're too soft to rule. Your love will be your undoing."
From behind him, another voice spoke—ancient, female, echoing in the wind.
"He is not finished."
The Beggar stepped from the trees. Her cloak fluttered like pages in a divine book. Her eyes burned with golden fire.
"You still believe he's not ready?" she said coldly to the god. "Then let him decide."
She turned to Aren.
"Do you wish to save the boy?" she asked, voice softer now. "Do you wish to end this war?"
Aren stared at Tio's bleeding body. "I'll do anything."
"Then accept your fate," she said. "Become what you were born to be."
The world paused.
And the crown appeared.