The chase carried Zoran and Vorn deeper into the twilight wilderness. The shadows that had stolen Queen Eliana moved swiftly, vanishing into a labyrinth of fractured crystal plains. For hours, the two pressed on, guided only by faint traces—a torn cloak snagged on jagged stone, or the echo of footsteps swallowed by silence.
As they pushed their speed to the limit, a shape emerged from the gloom. It was a city that defied logic—a sprawling fortress as large as half a Terran kingdom. Walls of refined, dark material rose nearly twenty feet into the air, constructed with a precision unknown in this wild, rejected realm.
Zoran crouched low, scoping the defenses. "How many are there, to be able to build a city of this magnitude?" he whispered, awe warring with suspicion.
Vorn stared at the battlements. "I believe with time, even the dullest places can become great," he replied quietly.
The Hidden Society was arrogant. Though guards were stationed atop the walls, their vigilance waned with the setting sun. "Even if they have guards," Vorn observed, "years without human intervention have made them sloppy. They expect beasts, not soldiers, so their discipline will crumble at night."
Zoran nodded, agreeing to the plan. They waited for darkness.
Before the light fully faded, a procession arrived at the main gates. Men and women in carriages, armed with diverse weaponry, rolled in freely. They looked like raiding parties returning with spoils, and the guards at the gate waved them through without a second glance. It was clear the Hidden Society believed they were the only true power in the Divine Realm.
When the dead of night finally settled, Zoran and Vorn finished their preparations. To blend in, they donned heavy cloaks and pulled their hoods low. Vorn stripped off his heavy armor, carrying only his sword to move silently.
Just as Vorn had predicted, the night watch had lost focus. Laughter and the clinking of tankards drifted from the walls; the guards were too busy drinking and gambling to watch the perimeter.
Seizing the moment, Zoran and Vorn slipped through a discovered gap in the masonry .
Inside, the city was a jarring contrast. Massive black buildings dominated the center, looking complete and imposing. But the further they moved from the core, the worse the conditions became. The outskirts were a slum of half-built, distorted structures. Drunken figures stumbled through streets filled with filth, and the air itself hung heavy with pollution, barely fit to breathe .
As they walked among the destitute, Vorn leaned close to Zoran.
"Prince Zoran, do not let your guard down," Vorn warned, his eyes scanning the shadows. "This place may look ruinous, but I feel hostile eyes upon us. We need information—likely from a tavern where warriors and locals mix—but first, we need coin.".
Zoran moved through the squalor, but suddenly, he stopped. A sensation tugged at his chest—not the void essence of the enemy, but something familiar. Something resonant.
"Sir Vorn," Zoran whispered, touching his chest. "I feel something... related to the Goddess. Here, in these slums." He looked at the commander. "Is it possible she still has followers in this wretched place?".
Vorn paused, considering. "The Goddess works in mysterious ways. If you feel it through the gift she gave you, then it is true. We may be able to use this to find Queen Eliana.".
Conviction settled over Zoran. Guided by the Celestial Heart within him, he led Vorn away from the main streets.
They arrived at the edge of a desolate road. There, surrounded by piles of garbage, stood a small, dilapidated hut. It looked too ruined for anyone to inhabit, yet the pull in Zoran's chest was undeniable.
Someone was inside.
Zoran pushed the rotting wooden door open. It creaked loudly, a sound that seemed to freeze the very air in the room.
Inside, the hut was barely a shelter. Moonlight filtered through cracks in the roof, illuminating three huddled figures. They were young—around Zoran's own age—clothed in rags that had been stitched and restitched a dozen times.
Two boys and a girl stood instantly, weapons raised. They held not swords, but sharpened scraps of metal and a heavy length of crystal pipe.
"One step closer and you bleed," the girl warned. Her voice was sharp, trembling not with fear, but with adrenaline. She had fierce, dark eyes and hair chopped short with a knife.
Vorn stepped in front of Zoran, his bulk filling the doorway, but Zoran placed a hand on the commander's arm to lower it. He stepped forward, his Celestial Heart pulsing in rhythm with the terrified, angry heartbeats of the three strangers.
"We are not here to hurt you," Zoran said softly, keeping his hands visible. "I felt... a call. A pull of light in this darkness. I believe the Goddess led me here."
The reaction was instant—and violent.
"Don't you dare speak that name!" the girl hissed. She didn't lower her weapon; she raised it higher, aiming the jagged metal at Zoran's throat. "Is this a test? Did Kaelus send you? Does the Society want to see if the 'rats' still have hope so they can snuff it out?"
"We aren't with the Society," Zoran said, frowning.
"Liar!" one of the boys—Kael—snapped. He was tall and lanky, a scar running down his chin. "Look at you. You're clean. You're fed. You walk in here with a sword that glows, talking about the Goddess? That's exactly what a trap looks like."
The girl, Elara, stepped closer, her eyes burning with a mixture of grief and hatred. "Our parents followed that call. They prayed for salvation. And you know what they got? They got hung from the Obsidian Spire as a warning. The Goddess is dead. And if you're claiming to speak for Her, you're either a fool or a spy for Malakor."
Zoran felt the weight of their pain. It wasn't just suspicion; it was a wound that hadn't healed. They believed that hope was the most dangerous thing in the city.
"But Malakor's power is cold, isn't it? It's a void. It takes." Zoran closed his eyes and focused on his Celestial Heart. He didn't summon a weapon or a shield. Instead, he let the barrier fall.
A soft, warm pulse expanded from his chest. It wasn't the blinding, violet neon of the city, nor the harsh lightning of the beasts. It was the warmth of a hearth fire. It was the feeling of a sunrise they had never seen.
"I do not offer you a test," Zoran whispered. "I offer you the fire that Malakor could not steal."
The warmth washed over the room. Kael and the other boy, Rian, lowered their weapons slowly, their eyes widening as the sensation touched their skin.
It was a feeling they had never known. Born in the twilight of the Divine Realm, they had known only cold stone, purple skies, and the fear of the hunt. This warmth... this was the "Golden Sun" their grandparents had spoken of. It was the fairy tale their parents had whispered to them in the dark before they died—a promise of a world that didn't hurt.
For the first time in their lives, the myth became real.
Elara's hand shook. She tried to hold onto her anger, to her protective cynicism, but tears welled in her eyes. She had always secretly feared her parents were liars—that they made up the stories of the Goddess to hide the ugliness of their reality. But this warmth proved them right.
The jagged metal clattered to the floor.
Elara let out a ragged breath, wiping her face aggressively to hide her weakness. "The stories..." she whispered, her voice cracking. "They were true. You... you really are him."
"I am Zoran," he said, the golden light fading to a gentle hum. "And I need your help. They have taken my mother."
Rian, the stocky boy, stepped forward, looking at Zoran with new awe. "The noble woman? The one brought in today?"
"Everyone saw her," Kael added.