The night sky over Zyrex burned a deep, bloody red.
Screams echoed across the capital city, merging with the crackle of fire and the clash of steel. Once-proud spires crumbled to dust, and walls soaked in ancient enchantments now bled smoke and ash. The Zyrex Clan— the wielders of ethereal light—was being torn apart.
And sixteen-year-old Zion watched it all.
His heart pounded in his chest, not with fear, but with a storm of disbelief and helplessness. The ground shook beneath him as another explosion rocked the castle's foundation. His knees buckled, and his vision blurred. He could hear the cries of his people, of friends he'd grown up with, being silenced one after another.
"Zion! Come on!"
His mother's voice cut through the chaos, and he barely had time to react before her bloodied hand clasped his. She was limping, her once regal crimson robes torn and stained. Her left arm hung limp at her side, blood trailing down from a gash on her shoulder. And yet, her grip on him was firm, unyielding.
They ran.
Through the shattered halls of their ancestral castle, past corpses of fallen guards and nobles. Tapestries burned, paintings of past kings torn asunder. The legacy of the Zyrex Clan was unravelling before Zion's eyes.
As they turned a corner into the grand corridor leading to the throne chamber, two figures blocked their path.
They wore the uniforms of the Lucariaus High Order—enforcers of their King. Their eyes were cold, unfeeling. No hesitation, no mercy. Just duty. Murderers draped in righteousness.
"End of the line," one of them sneered.
The man raised his hand, and from the ceiling, a massive stone pillar shot downward, aimed directly at Zion's mother.
Crack!
A flash of light.
The pillar split cleanly in two before it could even fall. Zion blinked in shock. His mother now held him in one arm—and in the other, a large white scythe, glowing with radiant energy. The air shimmered around it.
She didn't wait.
The second attacker moved, but he was too slow. Letting go of Zion, she vanished in a blur. A heartbeat later, the first man's head hit the floor. The second barely raised his arm before her scythe cleaved through his chest, silencing him with a gurgle.
"Zion, come!"
"Mom, I can fight! I want to fight!" he shouted, tears threatening his vision.
But she wasn't listening.
They entered the throne chamber—a vast room of silver and obsidian marble. At the far end, she approached a bare stretch of wall. Blood dripping from her fingers, she placed her hand on the stone.
The wall responded.
A glowing crimson circle lit up where her hand rested, ancient runes shifting in patterns Zion didn't recognise. The air grew heavy. Then, with a low rumble, a secret passageway slid open.
She turned to him.
Crimson eyes locked with his. Her eyes—a mirror of his own.
She knelt, placing one hand gently behind his head and touching her forehead to his.
"Mom, please... I can help. I'm not a child."
Her voice trembled, but only for a second. "I know, sweetheart. But this isn't your battle to fight. Not yet."
"But—"
She silenced him with a look.
"Zion," she said, a tear slipping down her cheek. "As I have always believed in you, I still do. Your time will come. The legacy of the Zyrex Clan... it will live on through you."
He clenched his fists. He wanted to protest, scream, and demand she let him stay. But deep down, he knew.
She wasn't going to change her mind.
"Got it?" she whispered
The door outside groaned—heavy footsteps approaching.
He nodded.
She kissed his forehead and hugged him one last time, then pushed him gently into the secret corridor. Before he could say anything else, her hand pressed the runes again, and the stone door sealed shut.
"Mom—!"
SLAM
Zion stood frozen in the narrow passage, his breath shallow, leaning against the cold wall. On the other side, he heard muffled clashes. Then a scream. Then silence.
He pressed his back against the wall, sliding down. His hands trembled. His breath came in ragged gasps.
Tears fell now. Hot and relentless.
"Why…?" he choked. "Why again…? Why do I always lose the people I care for…? Am I only supposed to watch…?"
His knees buckled, but he forced himself to stand.
His feet started to move.
He ran.
Through the damp, winding tunnel beneath the castle. Tears streamed down his face. Each step forward felt like a betrayal, like cowardice.
He fell once. Then again. But each time, he rose, forcing his legs to move, his heart to endure. He reached the end of the passage, emerging into the cold woods outside the capital.
He turned back.
Above the tree line, smoke curled into the night sky. Flames licked the air. Even from here, he could feel it—despair, death, the final breath of his clan.
His steps slowed. His chest ached. He fell to his knees, fists clenched in the dirt.
He couldn't hear the screams… but he could feel them.
His heart beat like a war drum. His vision blurred.
And then—darkness.
--
When Zion awoke, the forest was drenched in moonlight. Twin moons of Nytherra hung high in the sky, glowing faintly.
Reality returned like a blade to the gut.
He scrambled to his feet and ran, ran back to the city that no longer stood.
The gates of Zyrex were shattered. Buildings lay in ruin. Bodies littered the streets—friends, mentors, children. Men in cloaks and armour moved through the debris, searching, perhaps confirming the deaths of the last survivors.
Zion crept among the wreckage.
Then he saw it.
A hand. Slender. Pale. Bloodied. Wearing a red ring.
The hand that had held him. Protected him. Hugged him.
And now, it lay cold… lifeless.
His heart broke.
He staggered back, the tears he thought had dried now streaming anew. He screamed, but no sound left his mouth.
His feet moved on their own, taking him to the heart of the castle. To the throne room.
There, slumped beside the broken throne, was the king.
His father.
A gaping hole was where his chest once was, blood pooling beneath him. His once-mighty presence is now just a lifeless husk.
Zion's face was blank.
No rage. No sorrow. Just emptiness.
He stepped forward.
A white blade formed in his hand, glowing with the same ethereal light as his mother's scythe.
"You failed them," he whispered, his voice cold.
He raised the sword.
"But it wasn't only you who was wrong... It's this world. This filthy, rotten world."
Slash!
The king's head fell to the base of the throne.
Zion turned.
A child no longer.
Only vengeance remained.
And from the ashes of Zyrex, a villain was born.