CLEAVER OF SIN

Asher stood unmoving, his gaze lifted toward the sky where three figures hovered, each appearing less like mortals and more like gods wearing human skin. Their presence seemed to eclipse everything else, casting an awe-striking shadow over the fractured landscape below.

Around him, devastation painted the earth with scars of battle. Sword marks carved vast chasms that split the ground open as though creation itself had been undone. Entire buildings lay in ruin, diced and sliced into fragments so fine it seemed as if they had been ribbons unraveling in the wind. The temperature soared higher and higher as searing golden-orange flames licked the air, their brilliance bright enough to melt even the concept of space.

And yet, despite the apocalyptic wreckage, Asher himself remained untouched, standing within the storm like an island that the tide dared not drown. By all rights, he should have perished instantly, consumed by the mere aftershock of Malrik's first clash with Cindralis. Any other being would have been reduced to ash or scattered as dust upon the wind.

But he had endured, because Malrik, for all his overwhelming ferocity, was not reckless. He would never launch an unrestrained attack at Cindralis without first ensuring his youngest brother was protected.

Encasing Asher was a radiant dome of transparent solar energy, golden-orange in hue, flickering like the surface of a miniature star. It shielded him from the fallout of gods. Each wave of destruction crashed against the barrier only to dissolve into harmless light.

Asher had never, in his wildest imaginings, thought Malrik capable of such unfathomable might. Though he had always known his elder brother was extraordinary, the sheer scale of his power was something else entirely.

Due to his own weakness, his low Life Rank, Asher could not even track the movements of the battle. The speed at which Malrik and Cindralis moved surpassed the limitations of his mortal perception. All he could perceive were the aftereffects: the chasms, the flames, the ruin left in their wake. And that alone left him shaken, dumbfounded, his mind caught between awe and disbelief.

And before he could fully gather his thoughts, their father arrived. Azeron. His very presence had transformed the skies into a sprawling nebula, swallowing the sky with clouds of stellar light and darkness. The instant he appeared, Asher felt the shift. Gravity, his own familiar element, had multiplied over twentyfold. His lungs strained, his muscles tensed, and yet he did not collapse. He could tell without a shred of doubt: this was no deliberate attack. It was simply Azeron's presence, the passive weight of his existence.

The ground trembled beneath him, the earth vibrating as though it would disintegrate at any moment under the crushing force. Even the air seemed ready to collapse.

'Is Father's affinity… Nebula?' Asher wondered in silence.

He recalled the words of his siblings, the twins, Xavian, the Third Sun, and Xavienne, the Third Moon. He had once asked them directly about their father's elemental affinity. Their answer had been evasive, cryptic. They had told him that Azeron was different, unique, and that he would only understand the truth when the time was right.

Now, staring up at the sky filled with cosmic chaos, he finally understood. His jaw slackened, and he found himself utterly gobsmacked.

The First Sun awakened the Sun element. The Second Moon awakened the Moon element. And Azeron… he had awakened the Nebula element.

'How overpowered could one family possibly be?' The thought rang through Asher's mind like a mocking bell.

And yet, as shocking as that revelation was, another thought trailed behind it, one even more staggering.

'If Father's Nebula element works like my Star element…'

From the Star Core Fragment, Asher had awakened the rare affinity of the Star element. As a derivative, he had naturally also gained mastery over Light, Space, and Gravity. By that logic, Malrik, with his Sun element, could bend flames, light, heat, and solar energy to his will. Wuthenya, who bore the Moon element, would possess powers equally vast. And Azeron, with Nebula, what horrors could he command with such a primordial force? Asher did not dare to imagine the full extent.

The absurdity of it all almost made him laugh.

'This feels just like one of those stories where the protagonist is overshadowed by some side character who steals all the attention and admiration. If that were the case, then Malrik and Father would surely be those side characters, the ones who draw the world's awe, while the so-called main character fades into the background.'

His fists clenched at his side. 'No. I have to get stronger. Quickly.'

Memories resurfaced of only moments ago, when Cindralis had summoned him, when he had been forced to stand before her pressure. He thought of what might have happened if Malrik had not entrusted him with that rectangular wooden talisman a year earlier.

Could he have endured? Would he have broken beneath her will? Would he have surrendered, chained by desperation?

A quiet hum broke his thoughts. Virelass, floating loyally beside him, seemed to resonate with his unease. Asher turned to her, exhaling a weary sigh. His hand reached out, fingers brushing her form gently as though to anchor himself in the storm.

"Virelass," he murmured softly, "we have a lot of work to do."

Then his head tilted upward again, eyes fixed on the figures above, Azeron, Malrik, and Cindralis, standing weightlessly in the sky as though they were mocking gravity itself.

At that moment, Azeron's golden gaze shifted toward Malrik, who stood beside him. His voice, calm and unyielding, broke the tension.

"Did she plan to kill Asher," he asked evenly, "or merely leave a permanent injury?"

Cindralis raised an eyebrow, confusion flashing across her face. Why ask Malrik, of all people? Surely he did not know the answer.

But what she did not realize was that Azeron understood the hidden nature of Solaris, Malrik's katana. He knew of its abilities, its silent way of perceiving truths.

"No," Malrik replied without hesitation. Solaris had not whispered of such intent, nor had it revealed any killing intent within Cindralis. He had only arrived here because he had sensed Asher activating the talisman he had given him. Nothing more.

"Then we will end this matter here," Azeron declared.

Malrik's eyes widened in disbelief.

"What?"

The word slipped past his lips in shock, his composure cracking for the briefest instant. But then he stilled, his expression hardening as the weight of his father's words sank in.

He understood.

Azeron was not a man to shield his children from the cruelties of the world. Though he loved each of them, he did not smother them in protection. He did not cradle them as fragile eggs. To him, adversity was the whetstone upon which greatness was sharpened. Struggle was necessary. Suffering was inevitable. Only by enduring it could they become who they were meant to be.

It was this philosophy that had guided him when Asher had failed his first two awakenings. Azeron had not interfered, had not rushed to shield him from humiliation or despair. He had believed, no, he had known, that Asher would succeed on his third attempt. Because Asher was a Wargrave, and Wargraves did not bow to failure. He had let his youngest endure two years of mediocrity, of shame, of pain, believing that in the end, it would forge him into something greater.

Malrik knew this about his father. He had always known. But knowing it did not make it easier to accept. For though Azeron's philosophy was logical, Malrik's heart burned with something far less restrained. His obsession with his siblings was overwhelming, all-consuming. To him, the mere fact that Asher had been touched, injured, pressured, harmed, was reason enough to demand blood.

His emotions raged within him like a storm, urging him to defy Azeron's decree, to strike down Cindralis no matter the cost. But drilled into him from the age of five was another truth, a truth he could not ignore: duty. Duty to the bloodline. Duty to the Primarch. Duty to his father.

For the first time since he had grown into a man, Malrik stood at a crossroads, torn between his obsession to protect his siblings and the iron chain of duty that bound him to Azeron's command.

And in that moment, Malrik felt something alien. Something he had not known in years.

Indecision.