The Protectors: Rising from Ashes [Progression Fantasy | Action-Packed | Epic Battles]

The weight of the book settled across Eddy's palms like something alive, quiet, waiting.

The faded gold of Echoes of the Realms caught the flickering firelight, each letter glinting with the gravity of truths long buried or barely remembered.

"You'll find what we do know in there," Lyric said. "Not everything. But enough. Species, factions, fragments of history. Some of it's scattered. Some of it's forgotten. But it's a start."

She turned, scanning the other shelves again.

"There are others too, if you're curious."

Eddy looked down, brushing a thumb over the fading gold lettering. Then he met her eyes.

"Thanks. I... will. Probably need to catch up if I'm supposed to not die horribly."

He opened it with care, the spine creaking softly, the scent of old parchment rising in a faint curl.

Thin ink trailed across the first page, sharp and deliberate:

"To understand what waits in the dark, one must first know the names it once answered to."

He blinked at the words. Not dramatic. Not poetic. Just a warning dressed as an invitation.

Then his brow furrowed again.

"But what do they even get by attacking us? What's the point?"

Astraea floated closer. Her glow deepened just enough to catch the edge of the book's spine.

"The Eclipse Heart," she said. "If they claim it, they can control this world."

Eddy looked up at her, the firelight catching in his eyes, casting flickers of amber across his thoughtful face. The flames crackled softly between them, shadows shifting on the walls like echoes of ancient truths.

"But it doesn't end there," she continued. "The Heart's power isn't bound to one world alone. With it... they can breach the others. One by one."

He leaned forward slightly, fingers tightening around the edge of the couch as the words sank in.

"So… they come because of the Eclipse Heart?" Eddy asked slowly, voice low with dawning realization. "Is that the only thing like this? Just in our world?"

Astraea, hovering beside Eddy's shoulder, tilted her head, her luminescent body dimming and brightening like a heartbeat.

"The Eclipse Heart is our world's anchor," she said. "But it's not alone. Each of the eight realms holds its own force—a relic, a guardian, something that binds the all worlds together. Without it, the balance falters. With it… power grows."

Eddy blinked, his brows furrowing as the pieces twisted and turned in his head like a puzzle just out of reach. "Then why don't they attack the other worlds instead of just ours?"

A rustle of fabric whispered from across the room. Elias, who had been still until now, leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands loosely clasped. The firelight caught the edge of his jaw, throwing part of his face into quiet shadow.

"They do," he said simply. "Any world can become a target. If someone—anyone—wants to rise above the rest, they strike. Sometimes one world. Sometimes many."

His voice carried weight, not from volume but from the sharp edge of memory. His gaze dropped slightly, eyes shadowed.

"If someone manages to claim four of the eight relics… even half, they gain enough strength to bend the others. Control the flow of power across all worlds."

Astraea's glow shimmered again, a silent agreement pulsing in steady waves that danced against the walls.

"It begins with one world," she said. "But it never ends there."

Eddy dragged a hand across his brow, the heel of his palm resting for a moment between his eyes. The fire snapped softly. His voice, when it came, was rough with thought. "But if they do manage to get four relics from other worlds, we obviously can't stand against them, right?"

A chair creaked as Aiden shifted. He stretched his legs out, boot heels resting lazily against the floor, then leaned back with a shrug that didn't quite reach indifference.

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"Just like us," he said, "each world has its own protectors. Chosen by their relics. Defenders born from their own lands and magic. They don't let go of their worlds so easily."

He glanced over at Eddy, a small smile playing at his lips, not mocking, just steady.

"So no, getting half of them? It's not that simple."

From the corner, a faint rustle. Ash, coiled and half-dozing on the rug, cracked one eye open, the ember-like gleam in its gaze watching without comment.

Noir, curled near Alice's boots, shifted closer, pressing gently against her ankle, ears twitching at every word.

Eddy exhaled, slow and quiet, as though letting go of something heavy and invisible. He looked down at the book in his hands, no longer just parchment and ink, but something heavier. He could feel it now.

"Right," he murmured. "So, no pressure."

Across from him, Elias sat still in his chair, hands resting lightly on his knees. The firelight carved soft shadows across his face. He studied Eddy for a moment, quiet, unreadable—then spoke, his voice low and steady.

"You've taken in enough for one night," he said. "Let it sit. Answers come clearer when you stop chasing them."

Eddy nodded, the gesture small but firm, as if grounding himself with it.

Around them, the room began to settle.

Lyric stood first, brushing her hands down the front of her robe in a slow, absent motion. She offered a faint glance toward Eddy, no words, just a quiet acknowledgment, before disappearing into her room through the nearby door.

Thorne rose with a grunt, stretching his shoulders before trudging off without a backward look, his door swinging shut behind him.

Aiden yawned and stood more slowly, rubbing the back of his neck and giving the fireplace a suspicious glare. "If training's brutal tomorrow, I'm blaming dessert."

Alice followed with a soft smile, her fingers trailing along the edge of the table as she passed Eddy.

"Goodnight, Eddy. Don't stay up too long."

Elias lingered a second longer near his doorway, offering a calm, unreadable glance over his shoulder.

"First night's always heavier than the rest. Try not to carry it all at once."

Then, slowly, the common room quieted.

Doors clicked shut around him, each one leading to a separate room, all circling this shared space where they'd gathered hours ago. The warm center of their new reality.

Eddy closed the book in his lap, his fingers resting lightly on the rough cover. The fire had dimmed, its soft amber glow flickering across the walls, throwing long shadows across the moon-glass table and half-empty teacups.

He leaned back into the couch, the cushions exhaling beneath his weight. His eyes lingered on the fire for a moment longer before drifting toward the door of the empty room.

Ash had already flown off, likely curled on a perch in Alice's room. Noir had disappeared entirely, quiet as his name. Astraea had faded without sound, like a light being gently tucked away.

The silence left behind felt thoughtful. Waiting.

"I think that's enough for today," he muttered, rubbing his temple with the heel of his hand. "Way too much to take in."

He stood, joints cracking quietly as he stretched, then wandered toward the door that led off the crescent-shaped common room. His hand lingered on the handle for a breath longer than needed.

Click.

The door swung inward, revealing a quiet space bathed in soft golden light. Stone walls curved gently around the room, cradling a bed, a table, and a high window that opened to shadows. It smelled faintly of parchment and dried lavender.

Eddy crossed to the table and set the book down. The weight left his hands, but not his thoughts.

A narrow door led to the washroom. Running water, the quiet splash against porcelain, steam ghosting across the mirror, each motion felt mechanical, like his body moving while his mind wandered far behind.

He came out, damp hair clinging to his forehead, towel slung carelessly over one shoulder.

The bed waited in silence.

His fingers tightened around the towel. He stood still for a moment, staring at the sheets as if they held the answers to everything he didn't understand. Then, with a quiet sigh, he turned away and made his way back to the table.

The book was still there, waiting.

He pulled out the chair and sat down, flipping the cover open once again.

A single orb of light hovered above him, casting a soft glow over the pages. His fingers brushed across the text, movements slow, reverent.

Charred illustrations bled across the parchment, cracked landscapes veined with molten fire, skies smeared with ash and smoke.

Pyrranis
Land of Flame and Ash.

His thumb drifted over the heading, then followed the sketch below it, something large with ember-veined skin and no mouth, just flame curling from its core.

Ashwalkers
Born of fire. Veins like coal, glowing in the dark. Skin forged by heat, and shaped by hunger.

A turn of the page revealed another illustration: long limbs coiled in stormclouds, antlers dripping with sparks.

Veilstorms
Shrouded in thunder. Lightning in their gaze. Voices that echo like distant storms.

Eddy leaned in closer. Breath shallow. Eyes scanning faster now, caught between fear and fascination.

The room around him seemed to hold still, as if listening.

Another page.

And another.

His legs shifted under the table. His spine curved with the slow droop of fatigue. The words bled together, then sharpened again, only to blur once more.

Eventually, he closed the book, fingers resting over the cover for a long, quiet beat.

He exhaled. Not sharp. Not tired. Just… full.

"Nice way to melt my brain," he muttered, voice hoarse from disuse. A corner of his mouth tugged upward, barely.

The chair scraped gently against the stone floor as he rose.

The light above dimmed, matching his steps.

He crossed the room. His fingertips brushed the bedframe, then gathered the blanket and pulled it over himself in one practiced motion.

The pillow met the back of his head. His eyes stayed open.

Ceiling. Stone. Moving shadows cast by firelight sneaking in from under the door.

Did I make the right choice coming here?
The thought pressed quietly, not panicked, just persistent.
Will I find answers?
Or did I just walk into something deeper… darker… something I won't be able to escape?

He didn't shift. Didn't sigh.

The quiet didn't feel heavy tonight.

It waited. Still and watchful.

And slowly, like mist over still water, his eyes closed.

No clawing panic. No bolt upright in the dark.

Just the hush.

And for the first time…

He drifted.