Chapter 31: Origins II

Arten ran through the forest, feet pounding against wet stone and soft earth. His breathing came hard, but not from exhaustion— this was something else. The Orb pulsed in his arms like a living thing, its glow slipping through the cloth he’d wrapped it in, casting flickers of black and white light onto the trees as he moved. The cave was far behind now. The King was dead. The Zagons, his. His fingers still buzzed with the memory of that moment— the rush of power, the silence that followed. But all he could hear now was the wind. The woods thinned. The terrain flattened. And then, there it was. Krutone.

He ran harder, faster, until he reached the his home at the far end of the broken town. He burst through the door, chest heaving, the hinges giving way without resistance. Inside, dust hung in the air like breath held too long. The small kitchen was untouched, still bearing the outline of life that once passed through it. But the living room—no longer warm, no longer safe— held only silence. The couch was overturned. Shelves broken. And there, near the window, a smear of blood stained the floorboards, already dry and dark. The bodies were gone. Moved, perhaps. Taken. But the mark remained. Arten’s knees gave out. He sat in the center of the house, his body trembling, The Orb resting on the floor in front of him like a god that didn’t speak. He stared at it. The glow pulsed again— slow, steady, calm like a heartbeat. Arten locked the door and stared at The Orb.

His fingers hovered just above The Orb. At first, nothing happened— just the quiet hum in the air and the gentle flicker of its surface. But then, like sensing his touch without being touched, The Orb responded. A thin stream of energy began to rise from it— slow, elegant, and silent. It unraveled upward in two intertwining threads: one of brilliant white, the other a deep, shadow-drenched black. They twisted together in a silent dance like twin rivers flowing from the same source. Arten's eyes widened. The darkness felt cold, but not cruel. The light warm, but not forgiving. Both spoke to him in ways he couldn't explain. Together, they felt whole.

Arten: How… am I doing this?..

The threads lean closer to his hand. He watches, eyes wide, until—

KNOCK KNOCK.

Arten jumps. The energy retracts instantly. The Orb vanishes in a silent pulse. Arten stares at his empty hands, breathing hard.

Arten: What the…? Where’d it go?

He scrambles, patting the ground, lifting the corner of a rug, flipping over a broken shelf. Nothing. His hands shake.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

He freezes. Then, a voice— muffled through the door.

Villager (other side): Hello? Is Arten in there?

Arten walks slowly to the door. He opens it. A woman— his neighbor— stands there, her clothes dusty, her eyes wide with relief.

Neighbor: Arten!

She pulls him into a hug before he can react.

Neighbor: Oh, thank Yeshma… are you okay? Are you hurt?

Arten stands still, stiff in her arms. The Orb races in his mind. But he quickly softens his face into a sorrowful expression. He lowers his eyes.

Arten: … They're gone…

The neighbor steps back, nodding gently. She holds his hand.

Neighbor: I know… We picked up their bodies earlier. You didn’t see them, right?

Arten didn’t respond.

Neighbor: Oh lord. You did see them. Are you ok?

Arten: I’m… ok… I think.

Neighbor: We thought we lost you too when we couldn’t find you… Come, you shouldn’t be alone.

Behind her, a few more villagers arrive, carrying wet cloths and water jars. They enter quietly, cleaning what blood they can.

Neighbor: You need rest.

She guides him to his bedroom. Arten lays down slowly, body still stiff. The bed creaks beneath him. The neighbor tucks a blanket over him.

Arten: I’ll be fine… It’s sad, but I’ll be fine.

She hugs him gently one more time. Then she leaves, closing the door behind her. The house grows quiet again. The voices fade. The footsteps leave. Time passes. Arten stares at the ceiling, eyes unblinking. He waits. Hours pass. The sky dims. Krutone falls silent. He sits up. Looks at his palms. Breathes in.

Arten: Are you here? Come back.

In an instant, The Orb forms— silent, perfect, glowing in his hands. Black and white energy pulses softly in the dark. Arten looks out the window. Krutone is mostly asleep. He grabs his cloak and steps outside, pulling the door gently shut behind him. He moves slowly— quiet, steady, not rushing. His boots tap against the stone paths as he leaves the ruins of his home behind and slips into the woods. The journey is long, but he doesn’t mind. Moonlight filters through the trees. The air is cold, but calm. Arten walks without speaking, without stopping, until the forest parts and the cave rises before him once again. He steps inside. The cave is just as he left it— dark, massive, and hollow. The throne of stone still sits at the far end. But something has changed. The Zagons are here.

Arten walks in further. The Zagons shift. Their massive forms press tighter against the walls. Wings tremble. Claws clench. Their bodies tense in fear. Arten says nothing. He walks past them, one by one, down the long central path toward the throne. No one stops him. He reaches the center and slowly sits. His hands rest on the arms of the throne, and for a moment, no one breathes. Arten raises one hand and gestures forward.

Arten: Come here.

A Saber Zagon— larger than the rest, its shoulders broad and fangs gleaming—flinches. It lowers its head, backing away slowly.

Arten: I said come.

The beast does not move.

Arten's eyes narrow. He extends his hand, the other holding The Orb. His fingers twitch and a pulse of black and white energy slips through his veins. The Saber Zagon growls low then steps forward, not of its own will but bound by something greater. It stops at the foot of the throne. Its eyes wide, unblinking. Fear. Arten slowly reaches out and lays a hand gently against its head.

Arten: I don’t want to hurt you.

The Zagon lowers its head, quiet now while the others watch in silence.

Arten sits quietly in the throne, his hand still resting on the Saber Zagon’s head. Around him, the vast cave slowly softens. The once-alert Zagons, tense and watchful, begin to settle— curled beside the walls or stretched along the stone floor, their massive frames casting shifting shadows in the flickering light. The tension that once gripped the room has lifted, replaced by something heavier… quieter. He leans back, exhaustion finally catching him. His limbs loosen. His head tilts to the side. His vision blurs, the last image he sees being the Saber Zagon breathing gently beside him. Then, with no words left to say, no strength left to hold, he drifts into sleep.

Morning comes slowly.

A pale light breaks over the edge of the cave’s entrance, casting long rays across the floor. The Zagons remain still, resting, undisturbed. Arten’s eyes open. He lifts his head, the ache of sleep heavy behind his eyes.

He rises.

Outside the cave, he finds a thick branch fallen from a nearby tree and sets it on the ground. Holding out his hand, he focuses on the sensation he felt the night before— the coldness that was not cruel, the darkness that felt quiet and still. A pulse of black energy curls from his palm. The branch ices over instantly, freezing solid in a blink. Arten’s breath catches. Then, with the opposite hand, he channels the other half— the warmth, the radiance. A soft light flickers from his fingertips. He touches it to the frozen branch. It ignites. The ice hisses into steam, and the wood blackens, curling in on itself as flames lick upward and die out just as fast.

Arten steps back, breathless, staring at his hands. He summons The Orb, floating in his hands. He can feel something calling to him. Arten reenters the cave, heart pounding now— not with fear, but with curiosity. He steps toward the center again, toward where he first sat. He lowers himself slowly, closes his eyes, and focuses on that presence. The space before him begins to bend. Light and dark energy twist in a spiral, and with a sharp, soundless fold of the air, a small portal opens.

Arten: What… is this?

The portal is barely the size of a plate. Arten looks inside, curious to where the portal leads. Suddenly, a loud shriek. Not human. Not animal. Something else. Arten’s eyes snap wide. He wills the energy away, cutting the portal shut in an instant. Silence slams back into the space. The Orb has more power than he imagined. And it’s only just begun to show him.

Arten: What… was that?

His gaze fell back to his hands— steady now, but restless. The Orb hovered slightly above his palm, turning slow in midair, black and white Intergy spiraling in soft threads around it. He stood.

Arten: I’m going… to see what that was…

He extended his hand again and summoned the memory of the feeling, of bending space, of willing the unknown into form. The air before him rippled, then folded in on itself. A spiral of light and dark opened once more, spinning wide into a perfect circle of nothing. A portal. Arten peered into it, waiting for that terrible sound to return, but there was nothing. Only silence. He stepped forward. The other side was cold. Not from wind or air, but from absence. The world around him was dark— not pitch black, but dry, dead, quiet. The soil beneath his feet was cracked and crumbling. The sky above was vast and alien, lit with many moons. Their glow was pale and sickly, casting fractured light across a wasteland of stone. Arten stepped cautiously, his boots crunching against the brittle earth. The portal behind him flickered… and disappeared.

Arten: Of course it disappears…

He didn’t panic. Not yet. The Orb still hovered in his hand. Its glow seemed steadier here, like it belonged. He walked. The landscape stretched on endlessly— stacked boulders, jagged cliffs, cracks in the ground so deep they swallowed sound. The silence was absolute. Until it wasn’t. A sudden clatter. Arten spun, heart jumping. It had come from behind a stack of boulders. Something was moving. Slowly. Carefully. But not hiding. He extended his palm, summoning a soft burst of light from The Orb. The beam flared outward like a spotlight, revealing nothing.

Arten stepped forward. Then, a burst of motion. From another direction, a pack of Zagons lunged from the shadows. They were monstrous and moved with fury. Arten raised his hand instinctively and pulse of Intergy burst outward. The Zagons froze in their place, unable to attack.

Before he could release them, from the shadows of the original boulder came a leap. A single Zagon. Humanoid, but wrong. Its body was draped in black, scale-like armor. Its movements were fast, catlike, and its shriek was the same one that had torn through the portal before. But this one was different. Feminine. Smaller. Agile. Furious. It lunged straight toward Arten— fangs bared, claws out, but Arten didn’t move. In a single motion, Arten raised his fingers and the creature halted mid-air. It floated. Suspended above him. Its limbs twitched against the force holding it in place, but it could not move. Arten’s eyes locked onto its strange, golden pupils. They were familiar.

Arten (quietly): You’re not the King… but you’re like the same…

The creature hissed, but the sound was strained, as though struggling through invisible restraints. Arten lowered his hand just slightly, and the creature descended until it hovered just above the ground. Then he released it. It didn’t attack. It crouched low, one clawed hand against the stone, breathing hard. Its gaze never left him. Arten stared back— heart pounding, mind racing.

He had questions. But none came out.

And the creature, just like King… waited.

The creature knelt on one knee, clawed fingers dug into the ground like it was holding itself back from lashing forward. It’s eyes— golden like the King’s— gleamed in the fractured moonlight. Arten stepped cautiously closer, The Orb still glowing faintly in his hand. It was Queen Zagon.

Arten: Who are you?

The Queen didn’t answer at first. It’s breath came in sharp exhales, steady but strained. Then, slowly, it stood— taller than he expected, regal in its own way.

Queen: You don’t know?

Arten (quietly): No.

The Zagon tilted its head slowly, jaw tightening.

Queen: Typical of your kind. You kill what you do not understand, and question it after the blood has dried.

Arten’s hands flexed, but he held his ground.

Arten: I didn’t come to fight.

Queen: But you did fight. You killed him. You killed our King.

Arten’s breath caught.

Arten (quietly): I didn’t mean to—

Queen (shrieking): Don’t tell false testimonies to me!

The Zagon’s voice hit like thunder in a canyon. The air itself seemed to tense around them.

Queen: You came with poisoned food. You spoke false peace. You placed your hand on The Orb, knowing it was not yours. You used our trust to bury a dagger in our heart.

Queen Zagon stepped forward once. Arten didn't back away.

Queen: And now you stand here, in King’s throneworld, asking me who I am?

The Zagon raised its chin.

Queen: I am the Queen. I am the one who births the Zagons. I am the voice that no human heard… because none were allowed to live long enough to hear it.

Silence followed.

The moons overhead shifted slightly in the sky, casting her features in fractured silver. Its form looked even more terrifying now— sleek, predatory, but composed. Restraint was not weakness— it was choice.

Arten: I didn’t know… there was another one of you.

Queen (softly, bitterly): Of course you didn’t. He kept you safe. Shielded you. Spoke to you when he should have let you burn. No— killed you.

Arten: He saw something in me.

Queen (snapping): King saw hope in humans!

Arten flinched.

Queen: King was a fool.

Arten: I didn’t come back here to justify what I did. I came because… I don’t know what else to do.

The Queen’s claws twitched.

Queen: Oh, you know what you’re doing. You hold our Orb. You command our children. And you speak of not knowing?

Arten: Then tell me. Teach me.

Queen Zagon growled low.

Queen: Teach you? You should not even be breathing. You murdered the King and expect a lecture?

Arten: I didn’t mean to kill him!

Queen: You meant to steal The Orb. Everything that followed was just consequence. Don’t you dare pretend otherwise! You touched something you were never meant to touch. And now the balance is broken.

Arten (firm): The balance was already broken. You just never stepped out to see it.

That stopped Queen.

Arten: The world beyond your cave… whatever this place is— is dying. Burned from the inside by the same war that killed my family. I didn’t take The Orb to hurt you. I took it because nothing else would stop the blood from flowing.

Queen: So, you’ll drown the world in a new war… to end the old one?

Arten: No. I’ll make sure the war stops forever.

The Queen tilted its head, mockingly.

Queen: Ah. The delusions of saviors. So noble. So naive. You human creatures never change. You grasp at power and call it destiny. You kill and call it justice. You stand in the ruins you made and claim you were only trying to help.

Arten (quietly): So, what then? What do you want to see happen?

Queen: I want to see if you end! King believed in you. That was a mistake.

The words had barely left its mouth when the Queen lunged— this time with no restraint, no warning. Its claws slashed forward with unnatural speed. Arten reacted, but not fast enough. One claw grazed across his arm, tearing through the cloth and slicing shallow into flesh. He stumbled back, gasping, the pain searing, hot and immediate. He hit the stone ground hard, breath knocked from his chest. The Queen raised its arm again— but it didn’t strike.

Queen: Kill him!

From the cliffs, from the shadows, from every edge of the broken terrain, they came. Arten didn’t think. He raised a trembling hand, The Orb igniting in his grasp. Light surged from his palm, white and pure, blasting outward in a wide arc. The first wave of Zagons was gone in an instant— evaporated, reduced to dust mid-sprint. Their bodies didn’t fall. They vanished. But the Queen was still coming.

Queen Zagon dove forward again, faster this time, its scream splitting the air. Arten raised his other hand, darkness curling at his fingertips. A burst of black energy exploded forward— silent, cold, precise. The Queen froze in mid-air. Held. Suspended. Its limbs froze in ice against the force. Its golden eyes burned.

Arten’s voice came low, steady.

Arten: I’m sorry…

He raised one trembling finger. He snapped. And the Queen Zagon was obliterated into dust. No sound. No scream. Only silence, and the wind.

As Arten stood in silence, the ashes of the Queen still drifting in the strange air, something pulsed. The Orb flickered. It hovered above his palm, spinning just slightly faster than before. A soft hum filled the dead world— a soundless vibration that echoed not in the air, but inside him. Arten looked down at his bleeding arm. The gash left by the Queen still dripped faintly. The Orb pulsed again. He didn’t think. He just… knew. He placed his free hand just above the wound and let the smallest thread of Intergy pass through it— light and dark mixed in gentle ripples. Instantly, the torn flesh sealed. No pain. No scar. Just silence.

Arten: How is that even possible?

The Orb didn’t answer. But it shimmered. He began walking again, deeper into the throneworld’s dead terrain. He passed jagged rocks, lifeless craters, and distant peaks swallowed by mist. It was all barren. Empty. But again— The Orb flickered. Arten extended his hands. This time, he focused— not on light or dark, but on form. He remembered the Saber Zagon. Its weight. Its movements. Its breath. The Intergy swirled before him.

And slowly, like fog shaping into flesh, a Saber Zagon took form. It emerged from nothing— eyes wide with confusion, like it had been pulled from a dream it didn’t choose. It looked at Arten. It didn’t move.

Arten: You’re… real. I made you?

The Zagon stood frozen.

He raised The Orb slightly. It shimmered again, and the Zagon took a slow, cautious step forward. Arten blinked. His heart raced not with fear, but with wonder. He turned to the side and extended both another arm. The air trembled. A Viper Zagon slithered into form, followed by a Claw Zagon, and then another— each one emerging like thoughts being written into reality. Arten’s eyes widened.

Arten: I can… create you.

He looked at his hands. His voice dropped to a whisper.

Arten: What is this power?

The Zagons stood quietly now. They didn’t growl. They didn’t move unless he willed it. It wasn’t obedience. It was ownership. The Orb had made him something above them.

Arten (to himself): No one has this… no one’s ever had this...

For a moment, he stood among them— his creations, his followers, his army.

But then The Orb flickered again. A new message. A new pulse. Arten turned toward the sky, focusing hard, and summoned light and dark once more. The air peeled open, folding into itself. A portal. Back to his world. Arten looked behind him— at the Zagons he had called, at the throneworld that now bent to his will. Then he stepped forward, crossed the threshold, and disappeared back into the world he once knew. He returned not as the boy who fed Zagons… but as the one who now commanded them.

As Arten stepped through the portal, back into the cold night air of his world. The sky above Krutone was soft with clouds, and the breeze brushed against him like a whisper from a life he no longer belonged to. He stood in silence for a moment.

Then he moved— calmly, deliberately— climbing the craggy ledges near the cave’s entrance. Higher. Higher still. Until finally, he reached the tallest stone he could stand on. He stood tall, giving him a clear view of the distant hills, the ruined fields, and the faint silhouette of villages beyond. He looked out over it all. And then he spoke— to no one, to the world, to The Orb pulsing softly in his hand.

Arten: This world is sick. It pretends to be civilized… but it feeds on division. It pretends to love peace… but it praises victory more than justice. It rewards power. It protects the powerful. And it leaves the rest of us— people like me, like my grandparents— to burn for nothing.

He closed his eyes briefly.

Arten: I begged for peace. I brought food, kindness, understanding. I fed creatures that could’ve torn me apart— and they didn’t. They showed me more decency than the nations ever did. And yet… all of it ended in ash. Because that’s the only language this world speaks. Violence.

He opened his eyes again— cold now, lit with the glow of The Orb.

Arten: So, I’ll speak it back. I’m going to wipe out every place that thinks it can rule others. I’m going to end the nations that build their thrones on graves. And when I’m finished, when the world is clean— I’ll build something better. Something unified. Something strong.

He raised The Orb in his hand.

Arten: Krutone will be the heart of it.

The wind shifted around him.

Arten: They won’t understand at first. They’ll call me a monster. A tyrant. But someday… they’ll realize. You can’t fix something that’s already rotted through. You have to tear it down to the roots.

He looked to the horizon, voice lowering.

Arten: This isn’t revenge. It’s clarity.

He stepped down from the rock, walking slowly toward the darkness below.

Arten (quietly): I’m going to save the world… even if it hates me for it.