The Masked Legacy

Her eyes lingered on Thorne as he moved forward cautiously, as if expecting the orb to spring to life or trigger a trap.

 She was tempted to ask what it was or what he planned to do with it, but she held her tongue.

Thorne had shown time and again that he knew what he was doing, even when things seemed most uncertain. And if he did know something, she trusted him to handle it.

Still, as she watched him approach the altar, curiosity gnawed at her. Whatever this orb was, it clearly meant something to him. She could see it in the way he moved—cautious, deliberate, as though he were expecting some hidden danger. But if Thorne knew what he was doing, she trusted him enough not to interfere.

Thorne's thoughts, however, were far from settled. The map in his head, the mysterious knowledge that had guided him this far, had made it clear that this was part of the third gift he had come here to claim.

But even knowing that, he remained wary. The genesis of this strange journey—the one who had appeared in the temple—had put him on edge, and he didn't want to underestimate the significance of the orb before him.

Slowly, Thorne stretched his hand toward the orb, fingers hovering just above its cold, smooth surface. There was no immediate reaction. No tremor in the ground, no surge of energy from the orb. Still cautious, he gently closed his fingers around it and lifted it from the stone slab.

The moment he touched it, a chill spread through his hand, not the kind of cold that one could shake off, but something deeper, colder, as though the very essence of the orb was seeping into him. It wasn't painful, but it was unsettling—like the touch of death, quiet and unassuming, but impossible to ignore. He held the orb in both hands, feeling the weight of it, not just physically, but spiritually. It was as if the orb had a history, a purpose that was not yet fully revealed to him.

Thorne's breath caught in his throat as his spiritual sense brushed against the orb. What he had initially thought to be an ordinary, lifeless stone now pulsed with an unmistakable flicker of spirituality—fragile, but defiant, like an ember clinging to life in the midst of a raging storm.

His eyes widened, a spark of astonishment flickering within him as he absorbed the unexpected sensation.

For a brief moment, the entire world around him seemed to fade away, leaving only the faint pulse of the orb's energy in his awareness. It wasn't just the presence of spirituality that surprised him; it was the sheer persistence of it, as if whatever force was trapped within the orb refused to surrender, even after being nearly snuffed out.

He had expected something, perhaps, but nothing like this—a spiritual entity that felt both broken and resolute at the same time.

Thorne's mind raced. What was this? Why did it feel so familiar, yet so foreign? He had encountered remnants of energy before, but never anything like this—a flicker so faint, yet so alive. The orb felt old, ancient even, but there was a strange connection there, something that pulled at him, almost as if it were waiting for him, reaching out in its final moments.

He stepped closer, his hand moving instinctively around the orb. The chill that emanated from it seeped into his bones, but Thorne barely noticed, too absorbed by the faint pulse he could still feel within. His thoughts swirled with curiosity, with a growing realization that this had something to do with the path he had been set on as a Chosen. This was no ordinary artifact, and its significance, though unclear, tugged at his consciousness.

"What... are you?" Thorne muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible. He had come to the summit expecting just the archway, but this? This was something entirely different.

Akira watched, her eyes narrowing as Thorne's expression shifted subtly. He didn't flinch, but she could tell something was happening that she couldn't see. Whatever the orb was, it wasn't ordinary, and it wasn't just a simple trinket.

The chill spread up Thorne's arm, curling into his chest, where it settled like a cold flame. His head remained clear, but he could feel the orb attempting to connect with him, as though it had a will of its own. For a moment, his spiritual sense reached out, probing the orb further, and he caught a glimpse of something buried deep within—a fragment of something ancient, a memory or a presence, flickering like a dying ember.

Thorne gently placed the cold orb into his pocket, its chilling touch lingering on his fingers as he turned his gaze toward the archway. Despite the ominous nature of the orb, he could feel a strange connection to it, the ember of spirituality within flickering ever so faintly. He knew it wouldn't leave his thoughts anytime soon, but for now, the path home lay before them.

Akira, standing a few paces behind him, let out a sigh of relief. She didn't say much, but her body language spoke volumes. She was tired—exhausted, really.

 And as Thorne reflected on her behavior throughout their journey, he realized how much weight had been on her shoulders. After all, she was only seventeen—a young girl thrown into a perilous, life-altering adventure.

Despite her brave face and fiery personality, the fear had to be lurking beneath the surface, especially after losing her arm.

Akira had shown incredible resilience, fighting alongside Thorne without complaint. But beneath her tough exterior, there were moments when her youth and inexperience showed. Thorne had noticed the slight hesitation in her movements during certain battles, the way her eyes darted around nervously when they encountered overwhelming numbers of beasts, and the tension in her body that never seemed to fade completely.

And how could he forget the look on her face when she regrew her arm after consuming the Fruit of Steel? There had been disbelief, relief, and perhaps even fear—a reminder of how fragile life was in this world.

She had been fighting beasts nearly twice her size, watching Thorne butcher them with a precision she couldn't understand. Akira wasn't weak, not by any measure, but compared to Thorne, who fought as if he could see every strike coming before it happened, she felt like a novice. His spiritual sense, the way he predicted the movements of their enemies, left her in awe. She had seen skilled warriors before, but Thorne… Thorne was different.

Akira had been tempted to ask about his abilities, about how he seemed to know exactly where to go and what to do, even at some point she had thought he had already carved his mask, gaining abilities from the gods already, the garden of the gods was not limited to just maskless.

An impostor among initiates.

 But she'd held her tongue, respecting his privacy after everything he had done for her. Besides, after watching him fight for their survival, it was clear he had enough burdens of his own.