Chaosbound: Elarith Chronicles

The Relentless Assault

Aric leapt, his silhouette stark against the gray sky, pursuing Aurel with a predator's ferocity. His blade rose, unleashing a barrage of golden crescents—a rain of energy slashes streaking through the air. Each one, a manifestation of his warrior's divinity, tore through the landscape with reckless abandon. Trees splintered, rocks shattered, and the very ground seemed to groan under the weight of the destruction.

Aurel darted through the onslaught, parrying strikes that came too close, evading others with desperate precision. The searing energy from each slash burned against his senses, forcing him to push past his limits. Sweat beaded on his brow, his breath heavy as he fought to keep pace.

So strong, he thought, deflecting another slash, his arms trembling from the impact. Even now, even after all I've become, I can't match him. This is the strength of a true Bladelord.

Aric landed gracefully on the ruined ground, his presence dominating the space. With each step forward, his warrior's aura flared brighter, the sheer weight of his power pressing against Aurel like a tidal wave. His strikes came again, merciless and calculated. Aurel continued to block, parry, evade—anything but strike back.

"You're using warrior techniques," Aric's voice cut through the chaos, calm but sharp. His eyes narrowed as he stepped closer, each word like the edge of a blade. "Those moves... They're ours. Exclusive to the warriors. But you're not one of us. You're chaos-touched... like an Abyssal. Who are you?"

Aurel remained silent, his jaw set, his focus unbroken. He deflected another blow, but the pain in his heart grew heavier with every strike. He doesn't see me. He doesn't remember. And I can't... I can't tell him.

Aric's strikes grew fiercer, but with them came a growing realization. As his blade clashed against Aurel's, he began to discern the familiar in the movements—the subtle shifts of weight, the instinctive angles of the parries. It was a style he knew too well, forged through years of training. The way Aurel moved, the way he deflected—it gnawed at the edge of Aric's mind.

And then it struck him. His steps faltered, his strikes hesitated. The form, the parries, the deflections—they were all too familiar. It's him, Aric thought, his heart lurching. It has to be. Markus...

But the man before him didn't look like Markus. His aura, his stance—there was chaos intertwined in every breath he took. Markus is gone. Dead. And yet, the more he fought, the more he saw it—the boy he once knew, the best friend of his son. The boy he had trained into a great warrior.

Aric's hesitation gave way to certainty. He raised his sword for a final, powerful strike, but as he did, his grip faltered. The doubt in his heart dissolved. Instead of landing the blow, he stepped closer. His blade lowered slightly, his burning eyes locking onto Aurel's.

"Markus?" Aric's voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper. He froze, the aura around him flickering like a dying flame. "Is it... really you?"

Aurel's shoulders fell, the weight of his emotions finally overtaking him. Tears welled in his eyes, slipping down his cheeks as he let his blade lower to his side. Relief and guilt warred within him, the joy of being recognized clashing with the pain of facing the man whose trust he felt he had failed.

"Lord Aric..." Aurel whispered, his voice trembling. His heart broke anew at the sight of his mentor, at the thought of the suffering they'd both endured. And yet, for this single moment, he felt a flicker of solace—that even without words, Aric had seen him. He had remembered.

The Fractured Reunion

Aric stood frozen, the weight of his realization heavy in his chest. His fierce gaze softened, the authority in his aura flickering like a fading flame. "Markus..." he whispered again, his voice trembling, carrying years of sorrow and disbelief. Slowly, he lowered his sword, letting it dissipate into nothingness.

Aurel staggered, his own blade hanging loosely at his side. Tears blurred his vision as he hesitated, guilt and relief colliding within him. "Lord Aric..." he said, his voice cracking, broken by the weight of their shared history.

Without another word, Aric stepped forward, closing the distance between them. For a fleeting moment, they were no longer Bladelord and Chaos Divinant, no longer warriors tangled in the threads of fate. They were just two souls, scarred and aching, seeking solace in the one person who understood.

Aric's arms closed tightly around Aurel, pulling him into an embrace that spoke of everything they couldn't say—of grief and longing, of guilt and forgiveness. Aurel's hands shook as they gripped the back of Aric's armor, his tears falling freely, soaking into the shoulder of the man he had once called family.

"It's really you," Aric murmured, his voice heavy with emotion. "I thought I'd lost you forever."

Aurel nodded against him, his breath shaky. "I'm sorry... I—"

Aric cut him off, his voice steadying. "No more apologies, Markus. You're alive... That's all that matters."

Then, Aric dropped to his knees, his aura dissipating like the last embers of a dying fire. The fierce Bladelord who had towered over Aurel moments ago now seemed impossibly fragile—a man worn by grief, hope, and the weight of years. His trembling hands reached out, not for his sword but toward Aurel, as though touching him might confirm the impossible truth before his eyes.

"Markus?" Aric's voice cracked, raw with emotion. Tears streamed freely down his weathered face, carving paths through the dirt and blood that smeared his skin. "Why... why has your face changed? What happened to you?" He swallowed hard, his words faltering as his breath caught in his throat. "Why didn't you come back to us?"

Aurel stiffened at the questions, his heart sinking under their weight. His gaze faltered, looking anywhere but at the man before him. Memories rushed in like an unstoppable tide, drowning him in regret and shame. Finally, he forced himself to answer—his voice quiet, restrained, as though speaking the words might break him further.

"A lot has happened to me," Aurel began hesitantly, his hand tightening around the hilt of his blade. "I woke up... wandered into the southern territory, where the chaos found me and... I don't know how it came to be." He hesitated again, his voice trembling slightly. "But I..."

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Aurel's throat tightened as Aric's desperate gaze held him firmly, awaiting the answer to the second question—the one that hurt the most. Aurel's silence hung heavy in the air as he tried to force the words past the lump in his throat.

"I couldn't bear it." His voice wavered as he finally admitted it. "I couldn't go back to the west—not after what happened... not after I failed to protect Ron."

Aric's expression shifted in an instant, his sorrow sharpening with an intensity that made the air in the cavern feel heavier. His mouth opened as though to speak, his face contorting with barely contained emotion. "Ron—" he began, his voice breaking into something raw and urgent. "Ron! He's alive."

A Fractured Revelation

Aurel's expression twisted with disbelief, the weight of Aric's words settling heavily upon him. "Ron?" His voice cracked, barely able to breathe the name. "How can that be? I... I saw it with my own eyes."

"I know." Aric's voice was quieter now, filled with an exhaustion that seemed to age him further. His body remained kneeling, but his gaze drifted away, as though reliving the memories that had brought him to this point. "But he is alive. I swear it, Markus. This is why I came here—to the south. I followed him... I followed him here."

Aurel couldn't respond. His mind raced, torn between a flicker of joy and the cold dread that had started to take root in his chest. He's alive. The thought filled him with relief, with hope—but something about Aric's tone whispered a darker truth. Something that would shatter the fragile joy blooming inside him.

Aric's voice interrupted his turmoil, steady but burdened by years of pain. "The Eclipseborne... they gave me the information I needed. They led me here. They showed me the trail."

"The Eclipseborne?" Aurel frowned slightly, confusion mingling with unease. His thoughts barely stayed long enough to grasp the name before his hope pushed through again. "He's here? Alive? That's great!" His voice rose slightly, faltering with excitement. "Where is he, Aric?"

But Aric's face twisted, grief etched deep into his features. He hesitated for a moment, lowering his gaze as though summoning the strength to continue. "No," he said finally, his voice sharp with sorrow. "He's alive... but he's different now."

The joy in Aurel's heart faltered, crumbling beneath the weight of those words. His breath caught as he took an instinctive step closer. "What do you mean?" he asked, almost pleading. "What do you mean he's different?"

Aric closed his eyes, and for a moment, it looked as though he might break. His shoulders trembled slightly before he forced himself to speak. "I've been investigating him for months. Searching for answers. But when I found him..." Aric's voice cracked as he turned his face away, unable to meet Aurel's gaze. "He's one with the Luminaries now."

The name struck Aurel like a blow. His heart sank, the breath stolen from his chest as he struggled to understand. "The Luminaries?" he whispered, the word coming out hollow.

Aric nodded slowly, his voice quiet but filled with anguish. "He didn't recognize me, Markus. I looked into his eyes, and all I saw..." His hand clenched into a fist, shaking as he forced the words out. "All I saw was hatred. It wasn't him. It wasn't the boy I knew. That's why I'm here, Markus." He turned back to face Aurel fully, the tears brimming in his eyes once more. "The Eclipseborne—they've been helping me piece this together. They've given me the information I needed... enough to follow the trail."

His voice dropped to almost a whisper, his gaze unwavering as he looked at Aurel. "I work for them now, Markus. I had no other choice. I seek the truth."

The Weight of Truth

Aurel's gaze lingered on Aric, doubt clouding his mind as he tried to process the man before him. This wasn't the unshakable Bladelord he had known—the pillar of strength, the mentor who had carried the weight of countless battles with a steady heart. Was this sorrow-stricken, chaotic figure truly the same man? Or had the death of his son broken him beyond repair? What if... what if he's wrong? Aurel thought to himself. What if Ron isn't alive? What if this obsession has driven him to madness?

But even as uncertainty gnawed at him, the possibility that Ron truly lived lit a fragile spark of hope in Aurel's chest. The thought of reuniting with the boy he had failed to protect stirred something deep within him. Yet the storm of conflicting emotions—the Eclipseborne, the Luminaries, and now Aric's unsettling alliance with the shadowy forces of the south—pressed heavily on him. The weight of it all threatened to overwhelm him.

"Lord Aric," Aurel finally managed, his voice low and laden with unease. "What happened to you? What about the west? What about the Rugal familia?" His tone was quiet, cautious, as though he feared the answer.

Aric's expression darkened. The fragile sorrow in his face twisted into something harder, more resolute. He straightened slightly, his gaze steady but shadowed with anger and pain. "I've disowned that part of me now," he said, his voice firm yet tinged with bitterness. "The west... the Rugal familia... they mean nothing to me anymore."

The words struck Aurel like a blow, but Aric wasn't finished. His hands clenched into fists as he spoke, his voice growing heavier with each word. "The west is my enemy, Markus. The Swordking, the man I served with all my heart, is an enemy—not just to me, but to all of us."

Aurel's breath hitched, his body tensing as the revelation settled over him. "The Swordking?" he repeated softly, barely able to believe it. "What... what are you saying?"

Aric's jaw tightened, his eyes burning with the fire of righteous anger. "He's colluding with the Luminaries, Markus. The Swordking... and the Malice Bloom." His voice faltered slightly at the last words, as though even speaking them aloud was a challenge. He paused for a moment before continuing, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. "It was the Eclipseborne who showed me the truth... the Abyssal. They know more than we ever could have imagined. They see the truth hidden in the shadows."

The Fractured Path

"Join me, Markus!"

Aric's voice was raw, splitting through the quiet like the edge of a blade. His outstretched hand trembled—not with desperation, but with something darker. His eyes, glassy with unshed tears, burned with a fervor that bordered on madness.

Aurel did not move.

The wind howled between them, carrying the scent of blood and ash. His gaze was iron, his voice steady—but beneath it, something cracked.

"Markus is dead."

Aric flinched. The name—a name Aurel had buried—now felt like a corpse between them.

Aurel's expression hardened. "I don't seek revenge. I don't fight for the Luminaries. Whatever war you're fighting, Aric, it isn't mine."

Aric's hand fell to his side. His lips twisted—not in surrender, but in something sharper.

"Then you have nothing left to lose."

Aurel's fingers twitched toward the hilt of his blade. "You want me to fight alongside the Abyssal?" His voice was a whip crack, sharp with disbelief. "They slaughter innocents. They twist the world into ruin. How are they any different from the Luminaries? From the Athenari? From this Swordking you serve?"

Aric stepped forward, his breath ragged. "You don't understand—"

"Then make me."

The words hung like a guillotine.

Aric's composure shattered. "This isn't about who's evil!" His voice tore from his throat, raw, broken. "This isn't about Ron anymore!"

Silence.

Aurel felt his pulse pound in his ears.

Ron.

Aric's voice dropped to a whisper, jagged with grief. "I found him, Aurel. I found him." His hands shook—not with sorrow, but with something far worse. "And he's not Ron. Not anymore."

Aurel froze.

"What?"

Aric's smile was a shattered thing. "The Luminaries didn't just take him. They rewrote him. He's hollow now. A puppet. A weapon." His voice cracked. "I don't need to save him. I need to kill him."

Aurel's breath stopped.

He's lying.

He has to be lying.

But Aric's eyes—gods, his eyes—held no deceit. Only horror. Only fury.

Aurel's grip on his sword tightened until his knuckles burned white. "You told me he was alive."

"He is," Aric hissed. "But the thing wearing his skin? That's not him."

The world tilted.

Aurel had mourned Ron for years. Had carried the guilt like a second skin, had let it fester into something unspeakable.

And now—

Now Aric was asking him to end it.

"You want me to kill him."

Aric stepped closer, his voice a blade's edge. "Not Ron. The thing they made him into."

The air between them thickened, charged with the weight of an unspoken oath.

Aurel exhaled.

"If I go with you... if I see him... and I decide it's not him anymore—"

"I won't stop you," Aric vowed.