The sensation of falling through the portal was unlike anything Arius had ever felt. The wind howled around him, yet there was no sound. Light flared in every direction, yet he couldn't see. It was like being pulled through the veins of the universe itself—rushing forward, faster than thought, faster than dreams.
And then—
Silence.
Arius landed with a jolt, knees sinking into marble that pulsed beneath him like living stone. He gasped, sucking in air that shimmered like stardust.
He raised his head.
And every word, every thought, every whisper inside his mind vanished.
Before him stood the Arena of Gods.
It was not a coliseum of stone, not a battlefield carved by men. No—this place had been woven into existence, its spires twisting skyward like the bones of titans, carved in cosmic gold and etched with runes that shimmered and shifted like constellations. Walls of obsidian and crystal encircled the battleground, forming a circle that stretched wider than most cities.
Above, the sky bent in unnatural ways—a canvas of galaxies, flickering stars and rippling clouds made of pure energy. Moons and suns hovered in impossible alignment, orbiting the Arena like silent, watchful guardians.
Arius stumbled to his feet, awestruck. "This can't be real…"
But it was. Every heartbeat confirmed it. Every breath felt like it filled his lungs with lightning.
Behind him, the stranger—no, the envoy—watched silently.
"This is the cradle of divinity," he said, voice calm. "Where gods prove their strength. Where mortals become more."
Arius turned, his heart racing. "People… fight here?"
The envoy nodded. "They fight. They bleed. They ascend. Or they vanish, never to be remembered. This place does not honor weakness."
A chill ran down Arius's spine. But deeper still, something in his soul stirred—like a flame flickering against a long-awaited wind.
He took a few steps forward. The air grew heavier. It thrummed with the memories of ancient battles, of screams and chants and gods clashing with titans. He could almost hear them—echoes of warriors long gone. Mortals. Deities. Monsters.
And then… he looked up.
Rows upon rows of divine spectators lined the upper tiers of the Arena. Ethereal beings cloaked in fire, light, shadow, storm. Some with wings, some with halos of gold, others with skin made of stars or eyes like whirlpools. They stared down with curiosity… and judgment.
One of them—a goddess draped in serpentine robes, her hair made of floating stardust—smirked and whispered to the god beside her, "Another mortal heir. Let's see how long this one lasts."
Arius's hands clenched into fists. He wasn't here to entertain them.
He was here to fight.
Suddenly, a horn blasted through the sky—deep, ancient, bone-rattling. The ground vibrated beneath his feet. The arena lights dimmed as a single gate at the far end creaked open, its hinges screaming like tortured steel.
A shadow moved beyond it. Massive. Elemental.
His first trial had arrived.
The creature stepped into the light, and the world seemed to tilt.
He wasn't just a being—he was a force of nature. Ravoth, God of Storms, towered over the battlefield. His skin was made of obsidian cracked with molten veins. Clouds swirled around his form like a living thunderhead, and his voice… gods, his voice was thunder incarnate.
"I am Ravoth," he boomed. "Breaker of the Skies. Son of Tempest and Flame. Who dares enter this arena as my challenger?"
Arius froze.
The weight of it hit him all at once. He had no formal training. No divine armor. No followers chanting his name.
He was just a boy with a sword that barely held together, standing before a living god.
His heartbeat thudded in his ears.
But then—he remembered the portal. The stranger's words. The stories he had clung to for years. The dreams. The hunger to be seen. And deeper still, the fire in his blood that had never, not once, gone out.
He took a step forward.
"I do," he said. Voice low, steady.
The gods in the crowd stirred.
Ravoth's laughter rolled like thunder. "You? A mortal whelp? The gods have grown soft."
Arius gripped his sword tighter. The hilt pulsed. The blade shimmered, just barely.
"You'll remember me when I bring you to your knees."
A pause.
Then—
Lightning cracked across the sky.
Ravoth raised his arms and the heavens wept fire. The first bolt hurled toward Arius, splitting the air in a streak of light.
Arius moved, faster than he thought possible, the divine energy in his blood igniting.
And as he raised his blade, facing the storm god head-on, one truth settled in his heart:
This was no longer a dream.
This was war.