The Last Star-Bearer: Heir of the Shattered Light

CHAPTER 3: A WHOLE NEW WORLD

Tristan opens his eyes once again after the veil disappears. His eyes grow in horror as he finds himself standing on the warm, blood‑slick sand, his mind a fog of disorientation. The last thing he remembered was he was about to be beat up by the thugs who tried to extort him with money, then a flash of blinding white light as the world seemed to tilt.

The sun had not yet risen over the desert of Helgia, but the sky was already a riot of crimson and violet as magical fire sparked against steel. The clash of swords rang like a storm, while bolts of raw arcane energy crackled over the heads of the combatants.

On one side, the Warriors of Light... clad in polished armor bearing the sigil he didn't recognize, were a force of disciplined fury. Across the dunes, the Shadow Legion surged, its forms shifting between darkness and substance, eyes burning with a violet hunger.

Still disoriented... A fireball, incandescent and roaring, arced toward him from the east. Its heat licked the air, and a scream of raw power rose from the mouth of a wizard who hurled it at a hulking shadow beast. Tristan’s eyes flew shut, his fingers curling around his temples as if he could will the projectile away.

“—you!” a voice shouted, bright and clear, cutting through the din. It was a woman’s voice, melodic yet edged with urgency. A flash of white robes, embroidered with celestial symbols, appeared in the periphery. She stood, her palm raised, and a thin veil of brown light blossomed around her.

The fireball struck the shield, exploding in a spray of harmless sparks that fizzed out like dying fireflies. The priestess... tall, her hair a cascade of midnight woven with strands of silver, whisked Tristan up in a single fluid motion. He stumbled onto his feet, knees buckling, but she held him fast.

“Stay behind me,” she hissed, eyes flickering between the chaos and the wounded man in her grasp. “You are not meant for this.”

The words fell in a lilting tongue Tristan could not name, yet every syllable resonated somewhere deep within his memory. He understood them fully, as if a forgotten part of his soul had been awakened.

“You… you saved me,” he managed, his voice hoarse. “Who are you?”

She glanced over her shoulder at a Lumen knight whose armor was cracked, blood seeping from a wound in his thigh. “I am Seraphine of the Earth Sanctum,” she said, her tone softening. “I tend the wounded. This war… it was never meant for someone like you, who bears no blade, no spell.”

“Why am I… here?” Tristan’s panic crept into his words, his breath shallow.

Seraphine’s eyes darkened. “That's what I'm about to ask you. But let's head first to a safer place. Run with me, if you can.”

Before he could answer, a guttural roar echoed from the shadow side. A massive creature... it forms a swirling mass of ebony smoke and jagged teeth, lunged from the gloom, its claws slashing at the priestess’s back. She wasn't looking as she was chanting in the same ancient language, a cascade of warm light spilling from her hands to seal the wound of a fallen swordsman. Her focus split, and for a heartbeat she was unaware of the looming danger.

Tristan’s heart hammered against his ribs. Instinct, raw and animal, surged through him. He raised his hands, palms outward, and shouted, “Look out! Behind you!”

A beam of golden light, bright as the midday sun, erupted from his right palm. It surged forward in a column of pure radiance, striking the shadow beast at its throat. The creature’s scream was not of flesh, but of void itself, a sound that seemed to unmake the very air around it.

In an instant the mass of darkness imploded, fragments of blackened vapor scattering like ash on windy plain. The blast washed over the battlefield, a wave of blinding brilliance that forced every combatant to shield their eyes.

Silence fell, heavy and reverent. When the light receded, the warriors stared at Tristan, their faces a mixture of awe and terror. The shadow legion staggered back, its ranks breaking as the dark creatures... gargoyles, panthers, shades, winged shapeshifters... recoiled and fled, their snarls swallowed by the sudden daylight.

Seraphine, clutching her wounded knight, turned fully to face Tristan. Her eyes were wide, her breathing shallow.

“By the Sanctums…” she whispered, the foreign words now clear as crystal. “You… you wielded the Sun’s Blessing. That magic has not touched this world for a millennium.”

Across the field, four figures stepped forward, their cloaks billowing like storm clouds. The new Arch Mages of the Elemental Conclave... Aelar of Fire, Nymira of Water, Gorath of Earth, and Lirien of Air, each wore a sigil that pulsed with their respective element. They gathered, hands clasped, and their faces twisted into grim lines.

“Impossible,” muttered Aelar, eyes flickering with ember. “The Sun’s Blessing was sealed away after the Great Sundering. No one has ever accessed it.”

Nymira’s voice trembled. “We have felt its echo in the old prophecies from our old masters, but never... witnessed it.”

Gorath’s massive hand clenched around his staff. “Who are you?”

Lirien, ever the observer, lifted a pale finger to his lips. “Stay… and watch. The source of this power is not yet understood.”

A low murmur rippled through the troops. A young squire, his armor stained with blood, stepped forward.

“What… what are you?” he asked, voice cracking. “Are you a god? A demon? Some… some relic of the old wars?”

Seraphine lowered her hands, the glow from her own minor healing magic dimming. She turned to Tristan, her expression softening despite the chaos.

“You are the one they spoke of in the old songs,” she said. “The Child of Dawn, the bearer of the Sun’s Light. You were hidden, sleeping, until the world needed you again.”

Tristan stared at his trembling hands, the lingering heat of the golden blaze fading from his skin. “No I… I am not. I was just an orphan from Thorndike. I never knew I could…”

“—hold the sun,” Seraphine finished, her voice resonating with a strange, timeless echo. “Your blood bears the mark of the First Light, a lineage thought extinct.”

A sudden gust of wind tore through the plain, carrying with it the faint sound of distant horns. The Shadow Legion, though beaten, regrouped at the far edge of the valley, their black banners fluttering ominously.

The Arch Mages exchanged glances. Their elemental icons flared briefly, a flame, a wave, a stone, a gust... then dimmed as they turned toward the retreating darkness.