Chapter 2: Chapter 1: 500 Years Later

Deimos drifted through the formless void, unconscious—his body suspended in the cold silence of the abyss. Around him, dim pulses of dying light flickered: fading Soul Cores of lost humans and fallen Avatars, each one extinguished by chaos. All who succumbed to disorder were cast down here, into the lowest circle of Enmida.

The Pit.

A realm without mercy.

A darkness without end.

From the gaping wound in his face, Deimos’ Soul Core glimmered faintly—its light fragile, like a lone candle trembling in a crypt.

Then, through the void, a voice called.

Soft, strained, and ancient—worn by time yet gentle, like the memory of a lullaby.

“Deimos…”

His body stirred, as if drawn to the sound by some unseen current, drifting toward the voice with the slow inevitability of gravity.

“You have slept too long, my child. The world stirs—and it cries out for you.”

Through the blackness, a figure emerged. Titanic in scale and bound in pain, she shone faintly in the gloom: Eirene, goddess of concord. Her form lay ruined—her once-radiant gown torn and bloodied, vast thorns of darkness impaled her limbs and torso. Her abdomen was split open, entrails cascading over her rose-gold hair, now matted and dulled by blood.

“My sister... has imprisoned me here,” she whispered, her voice like silk fraying in the wind. “She seeks my Core—to enslave humanity through it.”

Her ivory eyes met Deimos’ slowly approaching form. As he neared, she tried to move—her flesh tearing against the spikes as she lifted her trembling arms.

She caught him. Gently, reverently, she pulled his limp body into her embrace.

“But I will not yield it to her. Not while you still breathe.”

“The princess has awakened, and become misguided. You must save her, you must protect humanity.”

Her fingers—slick with blood—traced the wound in his face, pausing at the fractured Soul Core.

“Five centuries since I last touched sunlight… and now, I hold its echo in my arms.” A faint smile curved her lips.

“With the last of my strength, I bequeath you my power. You shall carry what I can no longer hold. As my heir, your gifts will awaken anew—and your lance of divinity will transform itself anew to holster this newfound strength.”

Then she cried out—her scream echoing across the chasm—as thin threads of light burst from her chest, spiraling outward, tearing her Soul Core apart.

"Deimos, let my will become your armor, and my love the blade you bear. Return to the world as the final gift I bestow upon humankind."

With a flick of her wrist, those threads wrapped around Deimos’ Core, filling the empty space that had once pulsed with life.

“Go now… as humanities liberty, be their light.” Tears streamed down her face, glowing faintly as the radiance surrounded them both, pushing back the darkness like dawn breaking over ruins.

The light dimmed. Deimos’ Soul Core shone whole once more, and the wound across his face sealed like a memory fading.

Eirene gasped, the glow fading from her body—her power, her essence, now within him. The void trembled.

A low growl stirred in the distance—chaos itself awakening.

“My sister…” Eirene said weakly. “She has returned.”

With the last breath of her divine strength, she raised Deimos toward the nothingness above, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“To the world, I give hope.”

A pale beam of light broke through the abyss, washing over Deimos. His body, still motionless, was lifted from her hands. Eyes shut, face serene, he ascended.

"Let the mountains bow beneath your stride. Let the sun rise in your wake," she whispered, her voice trembling like a prayer.

"Rise once more, Deimos!"

And then—he was gone. Taken by the ray of light.

Eirene collapsed, the last remnants of her power ebbing away. She stared at the void above, watching as a piece of her parted with him.

From behind, a voice, low and venomous, slithered through the dark.

“Oh, sister… what have you done?”

A shape emerged: shifting void wrapped in suggestion of form. A shadow pretending to be human. Eris, the goddess of discord.

Her beauty was unnatural—wrong. Violet eyes glimmered like lightning storms. Her presence curdled the air.

“You ripped your Path out…and gave it to that tool?” she sneered. “How pathetic.”

With a wave of her hand, the black spikes impaling Eirene twisted. The goddess gasped, agony writ across her face.

“I was so close. If I’d taken control of that vessel’s body before she woke, the entirety of Enmida would have been mine...”

“Deimos will stop you,” Eirene managed, blood on her lips. “As long as he carries that light… he will always stop you.”

Eris paused, her expression curdling into disdain as she watched her sister’s chest rise and fall—each breath slower than the last, more labored, more fragile.

“All you’ve done,” she said coldly, “is turn him into a surrogate, condemned to inevitably suffer the same fate as you. How cruel.”

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She tilted her head, a cruel smile spreading across her inhuman face.

“Though I worry I won’t be able to kill him myself—Liraels ‘toys’ will come for him the moment he returns.”

She trails off, before giggling maniacally as she mused.

“Actually… why kill him at all, I could just take his body instead. You did just make him a vessel, after all.”

With a snap of her fingers, the air rippled. Shadows slithered and writhed, coalescing into twisted forms—the Macabre—each one a nightmare given flesh, each a grotesque expression of Eris' will.

“You… mistake possession for control,” Eirene muttered, her body losing all its color like a wilting flower.

“His body isn’t just a vessel — it’s a covenant, one bound to humanity,” Eirene said, her voice fraying like torn silk. “If you try to inhabit it, you won’t have freedom. You’ll be chained to his purpose, forced to protect the very people you seek to destroy.”

For a moment, silence hung — then Eris laughed. A low, rich sound, amused and sharp, echoing like chimes made of broken glass.

She stepped forward, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “That’s perfectly fine.” Her grin curled like smoke. “Enslaving humanity is merely the dessert, dear sister.” She tilted her head, eyes gleaming with dark delight. “And if I’m not mistaken… you’ve re-written his purpose to ‘Save the Princess,’ haven’t you?”

She circled Eirene slowly, like a predator considering how to savor the kill. “Then I’ll wait — quietly, patiently — buried within him until that little quest is fulfilled.” She paused, letting the words sink in, before baring her teeth in a cruel smile. “And when it is… I’ll take over, I’ll kill Lirael, and humanity will be mine.”

A hum of power stirred at her fingertips as she raised her arm, palm open to the void above. Vile, writhing creatures—fungal constructs twisted by intent—crawled into being, shivering with hunger.

“I’ve waited five hundred years for another opportunity like this,” she added, almost wistfully. “A few more won’t hurt.”

With a snap of her fingers, the creatures launched into the darkness. She didn’t even watch them go.

“Find him,” she ordered, voice sharp and commanding, “and infect his Soul Core with my spores.”

The air shimmered as the constructs vanished. Eris let out a sigh of satisfaction.

“And once they do… I’ll be able to watch every single action he makes—through his eyes.” She clapped once, mockingly. “My own personal show.”

Her gaze fell back to Eirene.

The goddess of concord now lay crumpled in the cold darkness, her body barely able to support its own weight. Her eyes were glassy, distant. Her breath came in trembling gasps. The light in her Soul Core flickered, weak and uneven—like a candle drowning in fog.

Eris approached slowly. She knelt beside her sister, tilting her head with faux sympathy. One cold hand brushed Eirene’s hair from her brow.

“I would say I'm glad we got to share your last moments together, but,” she whispered, voice soft as poison, “Now that you’ve merged with the Sun Tarot I guess that’ll have to wait.”

Eris’ form grew.

Eirene watched as her sister's fingers rose, elegant and deliberate, as if conducting the final note of a dirge. Power gathered at her fingertips, dark and inevitable.

“Be seeing you,”

Eris smiled as two jagged spears of shadow erupted from the darkness and plunged through Eirene’s chest. Her eyes widened in agony as her Soul Core shattered, the sound of its breaking like glass screamed into the void.

A cry tore from her throat—and then, silence.

Stillness.

Eirene, the goddess of concord, was dead.

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Deimos opened his eyes. Sunlight streamed through the trees, warm beams draping across his face. As he stirred, he came face-to-face with a fawn sniffing his legs. It skittered away as its mother nudged it back into the forest.

“Goddess…?” Deimos whispered, disoriented. He looked around—nothing but dense forest canopy above, birdsong echoing faintly. His armor was gone. Only tattered remnants of clothing clung to his body.

“The goddess has resurrected me?” he murmured, brows furrowed. “Then… I must’ve failed my mission.”

He lowered his gaze to the ground where flowers swayed gently around him. As if stirred by the breeze, fragmented memories surged through his mind—war, desperation, betrayal. A fleeting image of a sleeping princess… A black-haired boy by her side… A monstrous wolf, its head larger than his entire body.

“These memories… what are they?” he whispered, overcome by a wave of sorrow. He stood slowly, lost in thought, and extended a hand instinctively, as if summoning an interface that no longer existed.

“Wait… what am I doing?” He blinked and facepalmed. “If I’ve been revived, the goddess must need me. Whatever I failed before, I won’t fail again.”

Though his memories were shattered and incomplete—his past, the old world, even his identity—one thing burned bright within him: his purpose.

“I, Deimos, Tarot of the Sun, will save the princess. No matter what!”

His declaration echoed through the trees, loud enough to send flocks of birds scattering into the sky. In the silence that followed, only the sound of rushing water and rustling leaves remained.

Then came a slow, deliberate clapping behind him.

“The Sun Tarot, you say?” a woman’s voice chimed, refined and amused.

Deimos turned to see a tall woman walking confidently toward him along a forest path. She wore ornate black armor adorned with golden accents. Her poise radiated authority.

“If you’re rehearsing for the recital in Central Square tonight, I like the enthusiasm!” she said with a regal laugh.

“…Recital?” Deimos repeated, bewildered.

“Yeah! Everyone in Hawthorn’s going. Uh…” She looked him over. “Are you supposed to be playing a homeless man?”

“What—? No!” Deimos stammered, glancing down at his ragged clothes. “These are just…” He faltered.

“...Who are you?” he asked, exasperated.

The woman placed a firm hand to her chest and smiled proudly. “Commander Amelia Isolde Valentina, of the Dol Marne army.”

Deimos blinked. Blank stare.

“You’re not surprised?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I-it’s not that. I’m just… lost.” He looked around—and that’s when he saw it. Just across the river, a massive, translucent wall shimmered in the air like heatwaves.

“Oh? First time here?” Amelia asked. Deimos nodded. She sighed, facepalming.

“That explains it. Here,” she said, stepping onto a small stone bridge that arched over the stream. She crossed the barrier and beckoned him over.

“Let me give you a tour.”

“Uhm, sure—” Deimos stepped forward, but she halted him.

“Wait. Let me get you something less… revealing. Walking into the city dressed like that is practically illegal. Wouldn’t want to arrest you,” she teased.

Deimos chuckled sheepishly. “That would be helpful. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” she said, and with a raised hand, her body shimmered before vanishing in a swirl of red and black smoke.

“She’s… an Avatar?” Deimos muttered, watching as the vapor slowly faded.

He took in the scenery—lush grass, butterflies drifting lazily through shafts of sunlight. Peaceful. Too peaceful.

Why did the goddess awaken me?

This world doesn’t seem in peril… What does humanity need protection from?

A rustle in the bushes behind him. He ignored it, lost in thought.

“What does Princess Lirael need saving from?”

Suddenly, crashing footsteps. He spun just in time to dodge a swipe from a Macabre—the beast was a writhing shadow that twisted the air around it.

Deimos kicked it away, sending it into the barrier. It screeched as its form burned, then tumbled off the bridge into the river.

Two more emerged from the underbrush, black tendrils lashing as they lunged.

“Macabre are here— In broad daylight?” Deimos exclaimed, extending his hand. “Helios, to me!”

But nothing came to his call.

The creatures struck him from both sides, knocking him down. One leapt onto him, shadows unraveling as it tried to pour itself into his mouth. Deimos gritted his teeth and kicked it skyward, slamming it into the barrier where it burst in a plume of shadow.

Breathing hard, he rose to his feet.

“My divine weapon—where is it?!”

The final Macabre lunged. Its limbs were dark bands of malevolent energy. Deimos dodged, then delivered a crushing kick, driving the beast to the earth. He stomped its head with such force the ground cracked. It vanished on impact.

He turned, scanning the forest. “Why are Macabre this close to a city? During the day?”

But before he could finish the thought, the first Macabre—the one from the river—rose again, soaked and smoldering.

It lunged and grabbed him, opening its palm to reveal a glowing pink orb that pulsed with dark energy. The orb floated forward, seeping into Deimos’ mouth, embedding itself in his soul.

The creature disintegrated instantly.

Deimos dropped to his knees, coughing violently. His irises flickered with bright pink light as a voice echoed in his mind:

“The seed has been planted. Now go and fulfill your purpose, little fawn,”

Eris' voice, mockingly.

“‘Save the princess.’”