The sun had long disappeared behind the jagged horizon, leaving the remnants of twilight to seep through the forest canopy. Arlen Frost and Lira Vale had finally settled near an abandoned settlement — ruins of a time long forgotten, with collapsed stone walls covered in moss and strange, weathered glyphs carved into their surfaces. The air was heavy, electric, almost vibrating with an ancient resonance.
Arlen's veins, faintly visible beneath his skin, pulsed with the fragment's residual energy. Every breath he drew seemed to carry the echo of the fragment's authority, its subtle tug at his muscles and mind reminding him of what he had glimpsed: the name, the battlefield, the power, and the weight of what he carried.
Lira, vigilant as ever, examined the surroundings. Her sharp eyes traced the glyphs etched on the crumbling stones, her mind deciphering patterns older than memory. "These ruins… they're not just remnants," she said softly. "They were meant to contain something… or someone."
Arlen nodded, stepping closer to one of the stone slabs, running his fingers over the worn carvings. His touch activated a faint glow along the lines, almost imperceptible at first, but growing steadily. The glow pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat, as though the fragment within him recognized the ancient runes.
Seven anchors… one vessel…
The words resonated in his mind, fragments of the lore he had seen in scattered visions, whispered by the fragment but never fully explained. He didn't understand it yet, but instinct told him that these ruins were a key. A key to understanding the fragments and the god that slumbered, and perhaps a guide to navigating the immense power now tethered to his soul.
Lira stepped closer, her eyes scanning the runes. "Arlen… these glyphs… they're like a map of energy, a lattice of mana anchored in the world. Look here — each symbol seems to represent a fragment… or a vessel."
Arlen traced the lines with a trembling finger, feeling the energy pulsing through the ground. Each pulse resonated with the fragment in his body, a subtle reminder of its presence. The fragment was awakening, yes, but it was not yet anchored fully. It reacted to the environment, drawing him to understand what it had once been.
He closed his eyes, letting the fragment guide him. The first vision hit him abruptly: a vast chamber, impossibly large, with seven massive, crystalline structures embedded in the floor, each radiating its own unique aura. The light was not bright, but deep, intense, and somehow alive. A voice, not his own, whispered in his mind:
"Each anchor contains a fragment. Each fragment holds memory, authority, and dominion. The vessel is the key. Without it, the anchors remain isolated… useless."
Arlen stumbled backward, his eyes wide. "The vessel… that's me?"
Yes… the fragment's presence pulsed violently. You are the vessel. The fragments awaken through you, not around you. Their authority leaks through your existence, yet you are incomplete. You are unready.
Lira put a hand on his shoulder, grounding him. "Arlen, calm down. I know this feels… overwhelming, but we need to understand it. Every fragment you awaken is tied to something in the world, something these ruins are showing us. Look."
She motioned toward a massive stone mural on the largest wall of the ruin. Despite the centuries of weathering, the carvings remained intricate, depicting colossal beings — some angelic, some monstrous — standing beside mortals who seemed to command impossible authority. The figures radiated power, yet there was a symbiosis: the mortals were not simply wielding power; they were conduits, vessels through which authority flowed.
Arlen approached the mural, his fingertips brushing over the etched figures. Each fragment seemed to resonate, a hum in his bones. He could feel the power of the past, echoes of battles fought and decisions made, guiding him toward understanding.
"These… these mortals," he murmured. "They weren't chosen. They were vessels… like me."
The fragment pulsed violently, reacting to his words. It sent images into his mind — glimpses of Arlen's previous life, battles fought across vast landscapes, cities bending to his authority, and the weight of countless decisions that shaped history. The visions were brief but intense, forcing him to stagger backward. His hands clenched into fists, struggling to contain the surge of alien memories.
Lira watched silently, her expression a mix of awe and caution. "Arlen… the vessel is not just a host. It is the point of convergence. Every fragment you awaken will react to you, through you, and because of you. You can't ignore them."
The wind shifted, rustling through the ruins, carrying the faint scent of ozone and frost. Arlen felt a prickling at the base of his skull — an awareness beyond his immediate senses. The fragments were not isolated; they were stirring in concert, responding to the energy of the ruins, the fragment within him, and the history etched into the stones.
Seven anchors… one vessel…
The phrase pulsed in his mind like a drumbeat, each repetition clearer than the last. He understood now: the fragments were not just relics of power; they were pieces of a god's authority, distributed across time and space, waiting for a vessel to unify them. And he, unwillingly, had become that vessel.
A sudden tremor ran through the ruins, dust and debris falling from the ceiling. Arlen's veins flared, faintly glowing, as if the fragment within him was reacting to the disturbance. He stumbled, barely catching himself on the wall. Lira moved instinctively to support him.
"Arlen… what is it?" she asked, her voice tense.
"The fragment…" he whispered, his eyes scanning the mural. "It's reacting… to something. Something beyond the ruins."
In that moment, the air seemed to thicken. Mana, invisible yet tangible, pulsed through the ground. It was as though the fragments themselves were alive, sensing each other and acknowledging his existence as their anchor. Arlen felt both awe and terror — the magnitude of what he carried was immense, and the cost was unknown.
You are not ready, the fragment pulsed in his mind. You carry authority without experience. You will bleed before you can wield. You will suffer before you can command.
He staggered to the ground, pressing his palm against the cold stone. A faint glow radiated from his hand, illuminating the carvings. Frost formed along the edges, and the faint crackle of lightning echoed through the chamber. He was the vessel, yes, but every step toward awakening the fragments came at a price — pain, disorientation, and the risk of losing himself entirely.
Lira knelt beside him, placing her hands over his. "Arlen… listen to me. You're not alone. We'll face this together. Every fragment, every memory… we'll understand it, step by step."
He closed his eyes, letting her words anchor him. The fragment's presence was strong, but with her near, he felt a sliver of control. Slowly, he rose, tracing his fingers along the mural. Each carved figure resonated differently, each pulse a reminder of what was yet to come.
Seven anchors… one vessel…
The phrase repeated, insistent, like a heartbeat through time itself. Arlen understood now that the fragments were not simply power to be claimed — they were consciousness, authority, history, and burden. To awaken them fully, he would need more than strength; he would need understanding, patience, and the will to endure pain beyond measure.
As the night deepened, Arlen and Lira remained within the ruins, studying the glyphs, discussing the fragments, and preparing for the path ahead. Each revelation brought clarity and fear in equal measure. The fragments were stirring, and the vessel had been chosen.
Seven anchors… and I am the vessel.
He whispered the phrase to himself, tasting the weight of its truth. A god's fragments were awakening, history was stirring, and his journey toward understanding — and mastering — the fragments had truly begun.