The moment Aeron stepped into the rune circle, the world began to spin—faster and faster, until everything became a blur of light and shadow. His breath caught. The air twisted around him like a cyclone, and then—
Silence.
When Aeron opened his eyes, the Library of the Forgotten stretched out before him—ancient, alive, and whole. But something was different. Everything had shifted. This wasn't his time.
He was in the past.
And there, standing amidst countless floating tomes, was a woman he knew only from stories and visions.
Elira Velorian.
His mother.
Her hands trembled as she clutched a black-bound book filled with runes that pulsed with raw power—truths not meant for mortals to know. Her eyes widened, reflecting a terrible realization. She had found it: the forbidden knowledge of the Runeborn, the secret lineage hidden even from the gods themselves. The truth of the Old Gods, and the tyrannical rise of the New.
Suddenly, the Library quaked—books tumbled, columns cracked. Elira's gaze snapped to the entrance.
No... it couldn't be.
A familiar figure stood at the threshold. The man she once loved.
Malik.
But he had changed. No longer the scholar who whispered dreams beneath starlit skies—he now wore the black-and-gold robes of the High Priest of Ozrath, the Sleepless Tyrant. The god of chains, judgment, and forced submission.
Elira staggered back. The book slipped from her fingers, landing with a hollow thud. Her knowledge—everything she had learned, believed in—began to unravel like threads of a broken tapestry.
She screamed, voice cracking with betrayal:
"WHY HAVE YOU DONE THIS TO THE RUNEBORN?!"
Then the sky split apart.
The Library's divine barrier had been disabled—by Malik's hand. And from that rupture descended gods—Old and New alike—raining judgment upon the city. They tore through reality itself, and in the space between their presence stood one figure above all:
Ozrath.
God of Chains. God of Judgment. God of Obedience.
The other gods watched—but none intervened. They dared not oppose Ozrath's will.
Elira's only thought now was to protect the last hope: her younger brother, Segirus.
She charged through the crumbling halls, weaving through panicked mages and fading spirits. The screams of her kin were unbearable. Family and friends—erased one by one, their names stolen from time.
She finally found him—young Segirus, his eyes blazing with raw magical fury.
"We have to go!" she cried. "You're the last hope of the Runeborn bloodline!"
Segirus clenched his fists. "No! I'll fight. I'll die protecting you—protecting everyone! We're Runeborn—we don't surrender!"
Elira shook her head, tears forming in her eyes. "You don't understand… this isn't a battle we can win. Not against all the gods."
A distant scream tore through the air. Their parents.
"RUN, ELIRA! SEGIRUS! YOU'RE OUR LAST HOPE!"
The voices of their mother and father echoed through the collapsing Library.
Desperate, Elira forced Segirus into the heart chamber and sealed the door behind them.
"What are you doing?! Let me out!" Segirus pounded on the walls. "They need us!"
Elira placed her hand on his shoulder, her voice trembling. "Segirus… can you promise me one thing? Survive. Live through this. Carry the Runeborn legacy… and make us proud."
Segirus blinked, overwhelmed. "Y-Yes. I promise, sister."
Elira gave a faint smile, then whispered:
"I'm sorry."
The pain came swiftly.
Segirus screamed as his body convulsed—his soul was being carved with a rune not written in any codex. The Immortal Rune. It burned through his bones, his nerves, his essence. Flesh was torn and rebuilt, muscles twisted, every inch of him reborn through torment.
Elira poured the last of her magic into the rune—knowing full well the cost.
Her knowledge vanished. Her power drained. Her life span shortened to twenty years. Her identity as a scholar—erased.
As Segirus collapsed, unconscious from the pain, Elira summoned her last magic to send him away—teleporting him to a forbidden village, one untouched by divine influence. A place that neither worshipped nor feared the gods.
"That's all I can do for you… as your sister."
The doors burst open.
Malik stormed in, flanked by priests. He seized Elira and dragged her before Ozrath, who descended in radiant chains of divine metal.
All around her, nothing remained but empty robes, broken amulets, faded symbols. Her father's necklace. Her mother's ring. The floating fragments of her friends' runes still shimmered in the air—silent elegies to those now gone.
Ozrath looked down at Elira.
"She holds no knowledge. No power. A worthless mortal."
He turned to Malik. "You dare present her as a scholar of the Library of the Forgotten? This woman is nothing."
Malik stepped forward, kneeling. "My lord, I speak no lies. I once loved her. I know her blood holds strength—if you grant me the chance, I'll shape her into a weapon for your glory."
Ozrath's gaze burned through them. "Very well. She is yours. But mark this—fail me, and your soul shall suffer the same fate as the Runeborn you betrayed."
Malik bowed. "I will not fail you, my god."
Elira said nothing.
She couldn't.
Stripped of power, of knowledge, of pride—she now knelt before the very gods she had sworn to defy. Her once brilliant mind was silent. Her heart was broken.
---
Return to the Present
Aeron staggered backward as the vision ended.
His breath came in ragged bursts. Rage, sorrow, grief, and hatred swirled inside him like a storm.
His mother. His uncle. His bloodline.
All betrayed by the man who gave him life.
Malik.
His father.
The truth clawed at his soul. Malik had not only betrayed Elira. He had twisted her love, shattered her mind, and made her kneel before a god she despised. He had condemned Segirus to agony. And worse still—he had offered his own son as a vessel for Xal'zyrath, the Devourer.
Aeron's eyes glowed, runes etching themselves across his skin like divine fire.
He clenched his fists, teeth gritted.
"I am Aeron Velorian—son of Malik, son of Elira. I will not be your puppet. I will not kneel. I will make the gods bleed."
And the first god he would bring to ruin—
Ozrath.
God of Chains. God of Judgment.
God of Submission.
Would fall by his hand.
---