The Last Prophecy
Beneath a crimson sky, the battlefield roared with the clash of steel and the guttural cries of war. The once-lush plains of Arcadia had become a desolate wasteland, scorched by dragon fire and stained with the blood of the valiant. At the heart of this chaos stood Cecilia, the Saint of Light, her radiant aura flickering against the encroaching tide of shadow.
Around her, the bodies of her fallen disciples—the four saints she had trained and cherished—lay motionless within glowing, crystalline sarcophagi. Their souls had been offered as the ultimate sacrifice, their purity bound to the sanctuaries that would hold the land’s corruption at bay. The weight of their loss hung heavy on Cecilia's heart, but there was no time for grief.
The sky above cracked with thunder as the dragonkin army descended. Massive, scaled beasts with leathery wings and smoldering eyes encircled her, their screeches blending with the howling winds. At their head loomed Drakyon, the Tyrant Wyrm, his black-scaled form towering like a mountain, his molten eyes burning with cruel purpose.
“You are finished, Saint,” Drakyon hissed, his voice a rumble of disdain. “Your sanctuaries will crumble, and Arcadia will kneel before me. No more sacrifices, no more saints. Only fire and shadow.”
Cecilia’s hands trembled as she tightened her grip on her staff, its light dimming as her strength waned. “You may strike me down, but you will never hold Arcadia,” she declared, her voice resolute despite the anguish in her heart.
With a roar, Drakyon lunged, his massive claws rending the earth as he closed the distance. Cecilia stood her ground, summoning the last remnants of her divine power into a blinding shield of light. The explosion of their clash sent shockwaves rippling across the battlefield, but even the heavens seemed to weep for the inevitable.
Cecilia faltered. Exhaustion and grief bore down upon her, and her shield shattered beneath Drakyon's relentless assault. The Tyrant Wyrm seized her, his maw gaping wide as he devoured her soul, its radiant essence dimming into oblivion.
But even as her life slipped away, Cecilia’s voice rang out, clear and unwavering. “You may consume my light, but you cannot escape your fate. Another will rise—a saint of unmatched power. Sylvia. She will end you, Drakyon. Your reign of terror will be undone by her hand.”
Drakyon froze, her prophecy a dagger in his mind. His roar of rage shook the earth, flames erupting from his jaws. “Sylvia? I will find her!” he bellowed. “I will destroy her and all who dare bear your cursed light!”
He turned to his dragonkin legions, their dark forms casting long shadows over the battlefield. “Scour the land! Find the saints—every last one of them! Burn their sanctuaries and bring me their power!”
As Drakyon’s army took to the skies, Cecilia’s lifeless body fell to the ground, her prophecy lingering in the air like an unyielding flame. And though her light had been extinguished, hope had not.
Far away, in the quiet corners of Arcadia, the winds stirred, carrying whispers of the name Sylvia. A name destined to change the course of the world.
The Shattered Vows
A-reum Marlowe clutched the hem of her evening gown as she hurried through the gilded hallways of the opulent event venue, her heels clicking against the polished floor. She was late—again. The engagement party, her engagement party, was already underway, and she could practically feel her mother’s disapproving glare piercing through the walls.
She paused briefly before the grand double doors leading to the ballroom, smoothing her dress and trying to catch her breath. With a practiced smile, she pushed them open and stepped inside.
The laughter and chatter came to an abrupt halt. Guests froze, their gazes darting toward her before quickly looking away. Whispers rippled through the crowd, but no one approached her. A-reum's smile faltered.
“Strange,” she thought, scanning the room for her fiancé, Min-jae. He should have been at the entrance waiting for her, ready to take her hand and reassure her as he always did when she felt out of place at events like this.
Instead, her eyes found her best friend, J-yeun, standing by the refreshment table. A-reum made her way over, a knot forming in her stomach.
“J-yeun, where’s Min-jae?” she asked, trying to keep her tone light despite the unease creeping into her voice.
J-yeun hesitated, her eyes darting toward the staircase on the far side of the room. “He… he went upstairs. With your sister.”
A-reum blinked, confusion overtaking her. “With... Se-yeon? Why?”
J-yeun bit her lip, lowering her voice to a whisper. “I don’t know. But, A-reum, no one’s gone up there. Se-yeon… she had this… aura about her. It was… unsettling.”
A-reum’s heart sank. The room seemed to blur around her as dread pooled in her chest. Without another word, she turned and made her way to the staircase, each step heavier than the last.
The hallway at the top of the stairs was eerily quiet, the soft hum of the party below fading into silence. She stopped in front of the door to the guest suite, her hand trembling as she reached for the handle.
She pushed the door open.
Inside, the dim light cast a golden hue over the scene she would never forget: Min-jae, her devoted fiancé, holding her sister Se-yeon close, their lips locked in a kiss that was both intimate and devastating.
A-reum froze. The world seemed to stand still. Time stretched unbearably as her breath hitched, and her heart shattered into a thousand jagged pieces.
Se-yeon was the first to notice her. Slowly, she pulled back, her lips curving into a faint, almost mocking smile. Min-jae’s eyes widened as he turned to see A-reum standing in the doorway, her expression a mixture of shock and heartbreak.
“A-reum, I…” he started, stepping forward, but the words died in his throat.
She didn’t wait to hear the rest. Turning on her heel, she fled, her legs carrying her as fast as they could down the stairs. Voices called after her, Min-jae’s among them, but she didn’t stop.
The rain greeted her as she burst through the doors and out into the night, the cold droplets soaking her dress and chilling her skin. She didn’t care. She ran, her tears mixing with the rain as her mind replayed the scene over and over.
“A-reum! Wait!” Min-jae’s voice was closer now, but she didn’t look back.
The street loomed ahead, slick with rain and glowing faintly under the dim streetlights. Desperate to escape, to outrun the pain, she stepped off the curb.
A blaring horn cut through the downpour.
The last thing A-reum saw was the glare of headlights, impossibly bright, before the world went dark.
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A-reum Marlowe floated in a void of endless night, weightless and untethered. The pain of betrayal, the storm, and the crash were all distant memories, dulled by the stillness that surrounded her. She wasn’t sure if this was death—only that she felt cold, her soul adrift in the dark.
Then came the light.
It was soft at first, like the faint glow of dawn cresting over a hill, but it grew warmer, brighter, until it engulfed her. A-reum felt something—no, someone—pull her closer to the source. The cold dissipated, replaced by an embrace so tender and familiar it brought tears to her closed eyes.
“My child,” a voice whispered, gentle yet filled with an ancient sorrow. “You have wandered far, but you are not lost. It is time to wake up.”
A-reum’s eyes fluttered open—or at least, it felt like they did, though she remained within the strange, glowing void. Before her stood a woman, radiant and serene, her golden hair flowing as though moved by an unseen breeze. Her eyes glimmered with warmth and an unyielding strength, and her hands cradled A-reum like a mother holding her child.
“Who... who are you?” A-reum asked, her voice trembling.
“I am Cecilia,” the woman replied, her voice like the chiming of distant bells. “I was once the Saintess of Light, sworn to protect Arcadia and its people. But my time has passed, and now the burden falls to you.”
A-reum shook her head, confusion and disbelief swirling within her. “I don’t understand. I’m just... A-reum. I don’t belong here. I’m not a saint, not a savior. I—”
Cecilia pressed a gentle finger to A-reum’s lips, silencing her. “You may not believe it now, but fate chose you long before you were born. You are Slyvia, the Saintess of Radiance, the one destined to stand where I once stood. Arcadia needs you, child. The darkness stirs once more, and the sanctuaries weaken. If you do not rise, all will fall.”
A-reum felt the warmth in Cecilia’s embrace intensify, filling her with an aching sense of loss and longing. It wasn’t just Cecilia’s sorrow—it was her own. Memories of betrayal, of pain, threatened to overwhelm her, but Cecilia’s presence steadied her.
“You carry wounds of the heart, A-reum,” Cecilia said softly, as though reading her thoughts. “But it is through our scars that light can shine the brightest. You are stronger than you know. Trust in yourself, and trust in the power that has chosen you.”
A-reum’s vision began to blur, the void shifting as the warmth became almost unbearable. She reached out, desperate to hold onto Cecilia. “Wait! Don’t leave me! I don’t know how to do this!”
Cecilia smiled, her form beginning to fade into golden mist. “You are not alone, Slyvia . I am with you always, as are the spirits of those who came before. Now, awaken. The world awaits its Saintess.”
The void shattered, and A-reum gasped as she awoke, lying amidst the ruins of an ancient sanctuary, sunlight streaming through broken stone walls. Her heart pounded in her chest, her body trembling with an unfamiliar strength—and an undeniable purpose.
Cecilia’s final words echoed in her mind, a beacon in the chaos of her awakening: "The light will guide you, but you must carry the flame."
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