The city was gone. Not burned, not destroyed — simply absent, as if time itself had forgotten to keep it real. The horizon bled a dim violet, and the air shimmered with the echo of prayers that no god had answered.
Mael stood at the edge of the void, the ashes of what had once been a cathedral clinging to his boots. The Crimson Mark on his chest pulsed, faintly alive, responding to something beyond this silence.
He whispered to himself, "They erased it again."
A voice replied from the mist.
"No. You did."
He turned. From the haze emerged a figure cloaked in black, her eyes silver like reflected moons — the Seer of the Abyss, Lirien. Once, she had been his follower. Now, she was something else entirely.
"Do you even remember me?" she asked. Her voice trembled between fury and sorrow. "You ordered the cleansing of this city. You said they had been touched by the False Sun. You turned their faith to cinders."
Mael's throat went dry. The Mark burned deeper, and flashes of light tore through his mind — a thousand screams, a thousand fires, and a single command whispered by his own voice:
Erase them.
He staggered backward. "No… That wasn't me. That was before."
"Before what?" Lirien spat. "Before you decided to pretend you were human? Before you renamed your sins as destiny?"
The sky cracked. A fracture of light split the dawn, and for a heartbeat, the forgotten city flickered back into existence — towers of white marble, bells ringing, faces turning toward the heavens. Then, in an instant, it all crumbled again into dust.
"You see?" she said. "Even reality rejects your redemption."
Mael fell to one knee, clutching his chest. The Crimson Mark expanded, its lines forming runes across his body — ancient letters spelling words he could not yet read.
"What do you want from me?"
Lirien approached, her footsteps echoing like whispers of the dead. "I want you to remember what the gods fear. I want you to become what they buried."
Her hand reached for his Mark. The air trembled. The ground cracked open, bleeding red light.
And then—
The world inverted.
He was standing in another place, another time. The same city, alive and golden under the morning sun. The people were laughing. The air was filled with incense and joy. And at the center stood a throne — his throne.
Mael's heart froze. He saw himself seated upon it, radiant and terrible, his wings stretching wide like a storm. In this memory, he was not a man but a god, and all bowed before him.
"Lord Mael," said a voice beside him — the voice of the Seer, gentle, obedient. "The False Sun rises. Shall we cleanse it?"
The god on the throne smiled. "Yes. Let it burn."
The illusion shattered.
Mael screamed, collapsing to the ground of the present world. His Mark blazed like molten fire, searing his skin. Lirien stepped back, her eyes wide.
"You saw it, didn't you?" she whispered. "The truth buried in your rebirth."
Mael's breathing came ragged. "I was the one who started it all…"
"The gods only followed your command," she said. "You were their chaos. Their judgment."
He clenched his fists. "Then I'll end it."
"You can't end chaos," Lirien murmured. "You can only become it again."
Lightning erupted across the void. The ground beneath them twisted as if the world itself recoiled. From the rift spilled figures wrapped in divine light — the Heralds of the Forgotten Pantheon. Their voices echoed like thunder:
"The Mark has awakened. The Cycle must be purged."
Lirien stepped forward, her cloak torn by the storm. "Run," she whispered to Mael. "They will erase you again before you can remember everything."
But Mael did not move. His eyes burned crimson, his voice breaking into a growl. "No more running."
He rose, and the air howled with his awakening. The Mark unfurled like wings of living flame, spreading across the sky. The Heralds hesitated, divine fear flickering through their perfect forms.
"I am Mael," he declared, "and I remember enough."
Then the dawn screamed — black and red clashing like worlds colliding.
When the light faded, nothing remained but silence and smoke.
In the distant horizon, beyond the ruined sky, something stirred — a second heartbeat, echoing through the void.
A whisper followed it:
"He remembers too much."
And somewhere in the divine halls, the gods began to prepare for war.