The sound of rain against the cathedral's stained glass was the only thing breaking the silence.
High above the city of Lyon, within a fortress that once served as a church, ten figures stood around a vast, circular table made of marble.Each seat bore the crest of a nation, shimmering faintly beneath the pale light filtering through the dome.
They were the Ten Heroes of the Divine Table—humanity's greatest defenders, symbols of strength, hope, and unity.And now, for the first time in decades, all ten were gathered in one place.
At the head of the table sat Arthur Leclair, the Hero of Light.Golden hair brushed against the polished shoulders of his white uniform, his silver eyes calm yet sharp.The weight of divinity itself seemed to rest on his back.
"You've all felt it," Arthur said, voice steady."The surge of dark mana spreading through the European front.It isn't a normal phenomenon—it's deliberate."
Beside him, Seraphine de Lys—the Paladin of France—rested her gloved hands on the table, her expression grave.Unlike Arthur, her light was gentle, not blinding; her long silver braid glistened softly under the lamps.There was sadness in her eyes that she didn't voice.
"It's him," she murmured."The one they call The Fallen. The man who commands the dead and the forgotten.His name... is Adrian Vales."
The room fell into silence.
The others exchanged glances—some skeptical, others furious.
Draven Volkner, the giant from Germany, slammed his fist into the marble, cracking it.Flames coiled around his gauntlets, distorting the air.
"That bastard again? I thought he died in the last purge," Draven growled."If he's still breathing, I'll finish the job myself."
Lian Hua, the serene warrior from China, exhaled quietly.Her eyes were closed, her presence calm, but her aura was sharp as a blade.
"No fire can erase resentment," she said softly. "If he returns, it is because his hatred still burns."
Han Ji-Woon, from Korea, stood with his arms crossed, dressed in a deep blue uniform adorned with dragon motifs.His gaze didn't leave Arthur's.
"Hatred alone doesn't explain that kind of power," he said. "Someone—or something—is helping him."
The table shimmered faintly as their discussion continued.Each of them had fought wars, saved nations, slain monsters born from darkness itself.Yet none of them had ever faced a threat that came from within humanity itself.
Arthur rose, placing his sword, Clairval, on the table.The blade emitted a faint light, pure and golden, casting away the shadows in the room.
"Adrian Vales was once one of us," he said quietly."An initiate who failed to awaken his Heroic Spirit. Rejected by the system. Forgotten by history.But now… he's no longer human."
Across the table, Amara Ndlovu—the warrior from South Africa—folded her arms.The dark markings across her skin pulsed with earthen light.
"If he commands the spirits of the dead," she said, "then he's treading into the domain of the ancestors.No mortal should wield that."
Ilya Moretti, from Italy, smiled faintly, his emerald eyes shimmering.
"Perhaps," he said, "but destiny often loves irony.The man the world discarded might be the very one meant to end it."
The tension in the room thickened.Some smirked; others frowned.But only Seraphine stayed silent, her eyes distant.
She remembered him—the quiet man who always sat at the edge of the academy courtyard, reading while the others trained.The boy who never spoke unless spoken to.The one who had looked at her once, not with admiration, but with something far darker.Resentment.Pain.Longing.
Meanwhile, far from the city, beneath the ruins of an abandoned fortress in northern France, Adrian Vales stood before a vast, pulsating altar.
The air was thick with mist and blood-red light.Black sigils twisted across the walls, whispering in languages that hadn't been spoken in centuries.
Adrian's cloak fluttered as he raised his hand.Behind him, hundreds of silhouettes—figures cloaked in black, eyes glowing faintly violet—knelt in silence.His army.The forgotten.The "Failures" of the Heroic System.
"The world finally moves," he said, his voice calm, yet heavy with venom."The Ten gather once more. The idols of humanity, preparing to strike their fallen god."
The Echo, that ghostly voice within him, laughed softly.
"Do you fear them, Adrian?""Fear?" he whispered. "No. But I remember them."
He closed his eyes—and for a moment, his mind drifted back.The academy courtyard.The laughter.The stares.The humiliation.
"They called me worthless," he murmured. "A man without light.But now… they'll understand what the darkness truly is."
He turned, his crimson eyes glowing beneath the hood.
"Gather the Shades," he ordered. "Prepare the Veil.The first one to fall… will be Seraphine de Lys."
The room trembled.The shadows behind him bowed and vanished, merging with the mist.
Adrian looked up at the ceiling—the fractured stone above revealing a sliver of moonlight.His hand brushed the scar across his chest, the one left from the day he died.
"Heroes," he muttered. "You saved the world… but you destroyed me.Now, I'll return the favor."
Back in the cathedral, the meeting neared its end.
Arthur stood, his golden aura expanding.
"Our goal is simple. Find him. Contain him. End this threat before it spreads.""We are humanity's final defense."
Lucien Stormfield, from Britain, saluted sharply.
"Then we hunt the ghost."
Selene Volkov's icy voice followed.
"And freeze his nightmare where it began."
Amara rose, her spear shimmering with golden dust.
"Let the world remember why the Divine Table exists."
Arthur nodded.
"May light guide our blades."
But as the others left the cathedral one by one, Seraphine remained.She stood before the stained glass depiction of an angel—its wings shattered long ago.Her reflection stared back at her, fractured and dim.
"Adrian…" she whispered. "What did this world do to you?"
Outside, the rain stopped.The night fell silent.And far beyond the horizon, a faint purple glow lit up the clouds—like a wound opening across the sky.
The war had begun.