The night sky stretched like a wound behind Rayon, its edges bruised with lightning. He had left Cairo's citadel behind without ceremony — no goodbyes, no second glances. The world had grown too small for hesitation.
Dust clung to his boots as he moved westward — past fractured lands and empty plains where no kingdom dared to plant its banners. Erethon's voice echoed faintly beside him, more lucid now than it had been in months.
"You're quiet," Erethon observed.
"You talk too much," Rayon replied.
The phantom chuckled. "That's rich, coming from you. But I can't blame you. Every step you take brings you closer to where it all began — the Forsakens, the Seals, everything that made our world rot."
Rayon didn't answer, but his gaze sharpened.
"You've noticed it too, haven't you?" Erethon continued. "The resonance between you and the Seals — how each one trembles when you draw near. It's because you're one of them, Rayon. A Forsaken. A vessel."
Rayon stopped mid-stride. "You've said that before."
"Not like this." Erethon's tone darkened. "The Forsakens were never random anomalies. Each of them was chosen — bound — by something older than the gods themselves. Primordials. You've already met their echoes through the Seals you broke: Despair, Hunger, Oblivion, Wrath… And then there's me."
Rayon looked up at the distant stars, their light trembling against the storm brewing over the western sea. "You mean there are more like us."
"Oh, far more," Erethon murmured. "Some don't even know what's inside them. Some are nothing but walking cages for beings that should have never been named. The Seals weren't made to contain beasts — they were built to contain us."
Rayon said nothing. His expression was unreadable, but a faint pulse of violet energy coiled around his hand, flickering once like the heartbeat of something vast and ancient.
Erethon's voice softened. "You carry Insanity. It doesn't just dwell in you — it became you. That's why the others fear you even when they don't understand why."
"Fear is rational," Rayon said. "It keeps the weak alive."
"Or keeps them ignorant," Erethon countered. "There's a difference."
The wind grew harsher as Rayon reached the edge of the continent. The sea below writhed beneath a violent storm — as if refusing him passage. But the ocean obeyed when he raised his hand, and a path of darkened water split open, stretching westward toward a horizon few had seen.
It took him a week to reach it — the land beyond the known world.
No maps marked it. No stories spoke of it. The air itself seemed heavier, pressing down with invisible hands.
The moment Rayon's boots met its soil, his knees nearly buckled. Gravity — twentyfold what he knew — dragged against his bones. Even Erethon's form flickered beside him.
"This place…" Erethon hissed. "It rejects outsiders."
Rayon gritted his teeth and straightened, muscles straining against the crushing weight. "Then I'll make it accept me."
He adjusted his stance, every movement deliberate, forcing his body to adapt. The air burned with static; the trees here weren't trees but towering crystal spines threaded with veins of gold. The ground hummed beneath his feet like the skin of a giant drum.
Creatures moved in the mist — massive silhouettes with too many eyes, wings that stretched between the clouds. They watched him, but none approached. Something deeper held them back.
Through the dense forest, he found a hut. Small, humble, standing where it shouldn't — at the heart of a place that devoured everything. Around it, the beasts circled but never entered.
Rayon felt it instantly. Sanctuary.
The door creaked open before he could knock. An old man stepped out, robes patched with ash and moss, eyes like molten gold. He held no weapon, but his presence made the very gravity tremble again.
"You walk heavily for someone so young," the old man said, voice low but resonant. "And yet… the earth itself makes room for you."
Rayon tilted his head. "Who are you?"
The man smiled faintly. "I've gone by many names. But here, I am Azelar. This land is mine — or perhaps, I am its."
Rayon's eyes narrowed. "You know what I am."
Azelar's smile faded. "A Forsaken. A vessel. But I cannot see which primordial has claimed you. That, I admit, unsettles me."
The air shimmered as Erethon materialized behind Rayon, his form wreathed in smoke and silver light.
"Insanity," he said, his voice cutting through the air like glass. "He carries Insanity."
Azelar's eyes widened slightly — not in fear, but recognition. "So it's true… The Mad One chose a mortal again."
Rayon glanced between them. "You know of it."
"Every ancient does," Azelar said, voice grave. "The Primordials were not gods. They were truths given form. When they were sealed, their fragments sought vessels to dream through — to keep existing, to keep whispering. You, child, are one of those whispers given shape."
Rayon looked unimpressed. "And you? What's your excuse for living here in the middle of nowhere?"
Azelar chuckled. "My body is a cage for Stasis. The stillness between creation and decay. As long as I remain, this land does not move, and the monsters here obey that law. They sense what I contain, and they fear it."
The weight of his words settled like lead. Even Erethon went quiet.
Rayon studied the old man for a long moment, then said simply, "You survived this long. That's impressive."
"I endure because I must," Azelar replied. "You — you thrive because you were meant to destroy. Tell me, Insanity's vessel, do you know what happens when all the Seals fall?"
Rayon's lips curved slightly. "The world burns, I assume."
Azelar's eyes gleamed. "No. It restarts. Every Forsaken reborn, every Primordial freed — the cycle begins anew. You may think yourself in control, but even your defiance is part of the pattern."
Rayon turned away. "Then I'll just break the pattern, too."
Azelar watched him go, the faintest flicker of something — hope or dread — in his expression.
"You can't destroy what you are," the old man murmured.
Rayon didn't answer. He stepped back into the storm-drenched forest, the twentyfold gravity bowing the world around him. Each footstep thundered like judgment.
Erethon drifted beside him. "He wasn't lying, you know. If all the Seals fall, the Primordials won't just awaken — they'll merge."
"Then I'll make sure they merge under me," Rayon said quietly.
His voice carried no arrogance — only inevitability.