Ale slowly pushed open the temple doors, his heart pounding in his chest.

  The massive gates creaked open with a deep rumble, releasing a wave of scorching air.

  Inside, the hall was bathed in a dark crimson light.

  Flames flickered along the pillars, casting shifting shadows that seemed to breathe.

  Every breath of air carried a heavy, black aura — thick, alive, almost sentient.

  At the center of the vast chamber stood a lone figure.

  A man wrapped in a black cloak that moved like folded wings.

  Dark feathers drifted around him — and each one, as it touched the ground, burst into black fire before fading to ash.

  “Ale.”

  The voice echoed through the temple — deep, resonant, shaking him to the bone.

  Ale froze.

  That tone… that presence…

  “Nyxion… Nyxion, is that you?!”

  He took a step forward, then another — before breaking into a run.

  His mentor. The one who had taught him the forbidden arts. The one he thought was gone forever.

  The man slowly raised his head. Under the red glow, his eyes shone with an unearthly white light.

  “What is your ultimate goal in life, Ale?” he asked calmly.

  “My ultimate goal?”

  Ale froze.

  He didn’t know how to answer.

  Ever since his grandfather’s death, he had lived for only one purpose — to find the Prince of Light.

  But after all these years, he still hadn’t found a single lead.

  Every trail he followed ended in nothing.

  So he stayed in Eldoria, became an adventurer… and just tried to survive.

  The last words of his grandfather still lingered in his heart — no longer a flame, just a scar.

  “I… I don’t know,” he finally said, his voice low.

  He had never been good with questions like that.

  Nyxion stood silent for a moment. Then his deep voice echoed across the temple:

  “Ardea. Daedra. Sylphs. Nereides. Helios. Selene. Gaia. Vesta. And me.

  We all had the same master.”

  Ale’s head snapped up. He knew those names.

  “They’re… gods?” he asked hesitantly.

  Nyxion shook his head slowly.

  “Gods? No. We never were.

  Even our master — the one the ancients called the Ultimate God — wasn’t truly divine.”

  He took a step forward, dark flames swirling around his feet.

  “He took us in — the nine orphans of Nirvalis, the lost city.

  Back then, the Master was already nine thousand five hundred years old. His days were numbered.”

  Nyxion’s tone softened.

  “He raised us like his own children. He taught us the secrets of the arcane, the deadliest spells, and the oldest forms of pure magic.

  Each of us had a path: Gaia ruled the earth, Daedra mastered strength, Ardea commanded fire, Selene held light… and I wielded the shadows.”

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  He paused.

  The dark flames flickered weakly around him.

  “The Master also gave us his final secret — the essence of longevity.

  He gave everything he had…

  Nyxion’s voice grew deeper, almost trembling.

  “At the age of nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-eight, he called all of us to the main temple.”

  His gaze drifted into emptiness.

  “To mortals, we were already seen as demigods — symbols, living legends.

  But he… he knew his end was near.”

  “He said he wanted to bless us one last time.”

  “So we came. All nine of us.

  Our hearts were heavy — filled with gratitude… and love for the one who had given us everything.”

  Nyxion’s hand slowly clenched into a fist.

  “But it was a trap.”

  His voice cracked, rough with bitterness.

  “The moment we stepped inside the temple, the seals activated.

  Ancient artifacts of impossible power.

  And around us — his loyal warriors, fully armed, waiting for the signal.”

  A heavy silence fell.

  “Do you want to know why he did it?” Nyxion asked quietly, his head lowered, eyes burning with a dark flame.

  “For life. For eternal life.”

  He looked up slowly, his tone sharp and heavy with resentment.

  “He wanted to offer us to himself.

  To sacrifice his nine children… just to escape death.”

  “A dying god… is no god at all.”

  Nyxion’s voice echoed through the temple, ancient and heavy.

  His eyes dimmed with a shadowed light — almost nostalgic.

  “He wanted to become an eternal god.

  He raised us, taught us, shaped us.

  He gave us power, wisdom, longevity…

  Not out of love. Not out of kindness.

  But to prepare us — to offer us to himself when the time came.”

  Ale stood frozen, unable to speak.

  “He wanted to harvest our life essence,” Nyxion continued, each word falling like a sentence.

  “Our souls. Our hearts. Our memories.

  Everything he had given us, he wanted to take back — to feed on us and extend his own existence.”

  Silence.

  Then Nyxion slowly lifted his head.

  “The battle that followed… was a massacre.”

  His voice cracked for a brief moment under the weight of the memory.

  “He knew everything about us. Our strengths, our weaknesses, our limits.

  Every spell we cast — he had already foreseen it.

  Every move — he had already predicted it.

  It was like fighting a mirror… fighting a father who knew every beat of your heart.”

  He closed his eyes.

  “But he made one mistake.”

  “He thought we were still divided. Still obedient.

  He forgot that this time… we stood as one.”

  A dark light flickered in Nyxion’s gaze, and the black flames around him began to surge, twisting like wings of fire.

  “He had created nine weapons…

  and that day, he faced nine gods.”

  “Ironic, isn’t it?”

  Nyxion’s voice echoed through the hall — deep, calm… and terrifyingly serene.

  “We spent centuries cursing our master for trying to escape death.

  But over time… thousands of years later, we finally understood.”

  He slowly lifted his gaze toward Ale, a dark flame burning in his eyes.

  “His ultimate goal — to become immortal, to earn the title of almighty god…

  It became ours too. Our eternal curse.”

  He raised his hand, watching the black flame flicker in his palm.

  “Death… is far more terrifying than most dare to admit.

  Especially for those who claim to be gods.”

  His tone grew heavier, almost solemn.

  “Some of us tried to create the Water of Youth — a myth said to reverse time itself.

  Others ventured into the Realm Beyond, hoping to erase their names from the list of the dead.

  And a few… even summoned beings from other worlds, searching for the miracle of immortality elsewhere.”

  A long silence followed.

  Then, slowly, a bitter smile curved across his lips.

  “But I… found my own way.”

  He raised his head sharply. His eyes flared crimson — burning, inhuman.

  “You, Ale. You’re the key to my solution.”

  Before Ale could react, a surge of power erupted from the ground.

  Nyxion lunged forward, his cloak twisting like a living shadow.

  In a single heartbeat, he was upon him.

  His hand clamped tightly around Ale’s throat.

  The air trembled. The ground cracked beneath them.

  The pressure was overwhelming — Ale felt as if his very soul was being pulled out of his body.

  “The power of the phoenix allows me to escape my mortal shell…

  and be reborn in a new vessel.”

  His voice — now distorted, echoing like it came from another world — filled the temple.

  He tightened his grip, his blazing eyes locking onto Ale’s.

  “And that vessel, Ale… will be you.”