The underworld had grown quiet—too quiet.
For years, Lidow had trained under the eyes of demons and shadows, guided by a father who wore a crown of flame and a mother who had once borne the light of the heavens. But even in silence, the winds whispered: something was coming.
He stood alone on the obsidian cliffs of Varnok's Spine, where rivers of molten light and shadow met—opposite forces, always on the brink of war, just like the blood in his veins.
Behind him, General Vek, the oldest remaining demon general, approached.
"You're restless," Vek growled. "Your aura flares like fire in a dry forest. Do you sense it too?"
Lidow didn't answer right away. His golden eyes glowed faintly, the mark of his Lightborn lineage. But in the shadows under his skin, the mark of his father pulsed: a deep, ancient darkness, endless.
"I feel them watching," he muttered. "From the veil. From the sky. From beyond."
Vek grunted. "Then you are ready."
"Ready for what?"
Vek's face twisted into a smirk. "The test. You've lived too long with protection. Now you'll face the world."
Back at the obsidian fortress, Valarie stood on the balcony, her hands laced over her stomach. She had aged little, but her eyes carried centuries of sorrow. Shadow emerged from the darkness behind her without a sound.
"You sense it?" she asked softly.
"Yes," he said. "He's almost at the edge."
"Of what?"
"Becoming something more. Or burning out."
Valarie turned. "You've trained him. Why do you still doubt?"
Shadow looked up toward the broken sky. "Because the world is cruel. Because I've seen power twist even the brightest."
They watched as Lidow descended the cliff path toward the Gate of Ruins—where the remnants of the last war were buried. Where one did not return unchanged.
Far away, in the realm above, old gods stirred. One—once loyal to Light—watched Lidow with interest. "The son of the dark king walks the path," she whispered to the others. "Shall we welcome him… or destroy him?"
The new High Chancellor of the celestial halls, a figure veiled in radiant armor, answered with cold clarity.
"He is neither Light nor Shadow. That makes him dangerous."
A council of winged beings leaned forward in the glow.
"Send the Seeker," one said. "Let her judge him."
Back on the ground, Lidow passed through the arch of ruin-stone. The air changed instantly—denser, louder, as if memory itself screamed from every rock. His reflection flickered in broken glass: one moment a boy, the next a king.
He faced the Trial Chamber. Three doors. Three choices. Each would test him.
From the darkness, a voice spoke.
"Enter, heir of balance. Choose who you are."
He stepped toward the first door—flames behind it. The trial of Wrath.
The second door—blinding light. The trial of Judgment.
The third door—pure black. The trial of Shadow.
But before he touched any, his hand froze. Behind him, someone had followed.
A girl stood there. Cloaked in silver and ash. Eyes like dying stars.
"You're Lidow," she said.
He nodded.
"I was sent to end you," she said calmly. "But I'm not sure I will."
He narrowed his eyes. "Then why speak?"
"Because if I don't, we might destroy everything."
She drew her blade, wreathed in holy fire. But her hand trembled.
He looked into her—really looked—and saw fear. Not of him. Of herself.
And somehow, it made him smile.