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

As the four wandered deeper into the Luminaries Sanctum, the labyrinthine corridors gave way to a grand, open space. The vast arena stretched before them, its grandeur overwhelming. Towering statues loomed at its edges, each a testament to the legendary protectors who had come before: Sentinel Drakonis. Kael Duskbane. Lyra Winterclaw. Sylvara Everbloom. Eryndor Sagefall.

The Protectors stood eternal, weapons raised, eyes carved to pierce through time. Their shadows stretched long across the ground, cutting between the footsteps of those who dared stand beneath them.

Elias stopped first. He said nothing, only exhaled through his nose, the air sharp and clipped. His jaw tightened as he tilted his head back to look up at Kael Duskbane, one hand curling into a fist behind his back.

"How can I ever measure up to this?" he thought, the weight of his family's expectations bearing down on him.

Beside him, Thorne stood silent before Sentinel Drakonis, his brows drawn low, eyes narrowing beneath the hard slant of sunlight. The dragonborn's coiled posture seemed to breathe fire into the open air, and Thorne's fingers twitched as if echoing the Protector's power. The breeze stirred the edge of his cloak as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. A faint crackle of static brushed his palm, but faded. Still, his gaze stayed locked on the statue's unblinking eyes.

"How am I supposed to command the kind of fire he does?" he pondered, the image of the dragonborn protector sparking envy and aspiration within him.

Alice approached last, boots scuffing softly across the stone. She stopped a breath away from Eryndor Sagefall, the wizard's robes swept in mid-motion, his hand extended as if offering something unseen. Her lips parted slightly. She didn't speak. She simply raised her hand, almost to match his, and then lowered it again.

"Can I really reclaim my powers?" she wondered, the uncertainty weighing heavily on her. "What if I'm destined to fail?" Doubts echoed in her mind, taunting her with every step.

None of the three noticed each other. Not yet.

And yet... they were not alone.

At the far edge of the arena, Aiden emerged, quicker and less graceful. His stride was impatient. He circled once around Lyra Winterclaw, head tilted, assessing. Then he stopped in front of her, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His jaw tensed, then loosened in a motion that looked like surrender. Or defiance.

The light flared briefly in his sharp blue eyes while the tousled strands of his dark-black hair shifted with each restless breath. He shifted his stance, feet planted too wide, as if bracing for something that hadn't yet arrived.

"What if I can't protect my pack?" he questioned, the sense of pressure overwhelming him. "I'm just... me. Will I ever be a true alpha?" The worry consumed him, filling him with a sense of dread that he couldn't quite dispel.

From another archway, soft footsteps barely disturbed the silence. A girl entered, her pace slow, deliberate. She moved toward Sylvara Everbloom, drawn not by grandeur but by detail, stopping inches from the stone where vines wound delicately across the statue's robes. Sunlight filtered through the high arches above, catching in her silver hair and turning it almost white, as if it drank in the day.

Her eyes, a pale jade-green, flecked with soft gold, lingered on the intricate carvings, scanning them as if searching for something long lost or half-remembered. She reached out, brushed the edge of a vine with the back of her fingers. Her breath caught, but she said nothing.

"I'll never be that strong. What if I never find my magic?" The thought slid unspoken through her mind, sharp and familiar. The fear of inadequacy settled like a stone in her gut, casting long shadows across dreams she'd barely begun to chase.

Fifteen hours earlier...

The sky above Lunareth Glade was alive with light.

Soft ribbons of opalescent hues wove through the air, casting their glow upon the fae gardens below. The scent of moonbloom flowers drifted in the breeze, their petals shimmering like captured twilight. Fireflies pulsed lazily between the branches of silver-barked trees, their light reflecting off the tranquil streams winding through the heart of the glade. It was a night of quiet magic, the kind that made the world feel endless and safe.

Until the radiance shattered.

A sudden explosion of brilliance split the sky, turning the soft dusk into a jagged, blinding white. The silver-haired girl barely had time to react before a shockwave tore through the glade, rattling the trees and sending ripples across the crystal-clear water. Her basket of luminous blossoms tumbled from her hands, the petals scattering like falling stars.

The magic in the air lurched, a strange and unnatural silence swallowing the once-lively hum of the garden.

Then came the sound.

A piercing, inhuman screech sliced through the night, curling around Lyric like a living thing. She gasped, pressing her hands to her ears, but the shrill noise still coiled deep into her bones. A shadow stirred at the edge of the trees, shifting and writhing, a darkness that did not belong in the fae realm.

Then it moved.

A mass of pulsing void slithered forward, its tendrils undulating like liquid night. Flowers withered at its touch, their glow snuffed out in an instant. The silver-barked trees dulled to gray, their leaves curling inward as if recoiling in fear. Even the air seemed thinner, struggling to carry breath and life.

The girl tried to move, but her legs refused to obey. Her eyes, wide and unblinking, stayed locked on the approaching abyss.

A wraith.

A creature that devoured magic.

She opened her mouth to scream, to call for help, but all that escaped was a trembling breath.

Then.... golden light erupted before her.

"Lyric, get behind me!"

Her mother's voice rang out, steady as steel.

Maia Stardust materialized in a swirl of radiance, her hair lifting as if caught in an unseen current. Power rippled from her, the brilliance of her presence holding back the encroaching void. She raised a hand, fingers shimmering with raw energy. The wraith recoiled, its form writhing in protest.

But it did not retreat.

It lunged.

Another explosion of light, brighter and searing, slammed into the creature before it could reach them. It convulsed, a screech ripping through the air as it shrank back, tendrils thrashing violently.

Elric Stardust strode into the clearing, his staff a column of white-hot brilliance. The glow did not simply illuminate. It burned.

"Move, Lyric."

Her father's voice was calm. Unshaken. A command woven from certainty.

Her legs finally obeyed. She stumbled toward the radiant shield Maia conjured, slipping behind its protective warmth as the battle erupted before her.

Her parents moved in perfect sync. Maia lifted her hands, fingers carving delicate sigils into the air, and the wind obeyed. Silver gales spiraled outward, slicing through the wraith's writhing limbs like a thousand ethereal blades. The creature shrieked, its form unraveling in the storm of magic.

Elric struck next. He thrust his staff forward, and light exploded from its tip, brilliant and blistering. Lyric flinched at the intensity, her vision swimming with afterimages. The wraith convulsed, its screech twisting into a fractured wail before it shrank in on itself, trying to escape the relentless radiance.

Lyric barely had time to breathe before something flickered at the edge of the clearing.

Another shadow peeled itself from the trees, gliding forward in eerie stillness.

Her throat closed. She tried to call out, but Elric was already moving.

A pivot. A flash of silver light.

The second wraith disintegrated before it could strike.

And then.... silence.

The garden exhaled, its glow hesitantly returning, as if testing whether it was truly safe.

Lyric stepped from behind the barrier, her legs trembling beneath her weight. The scent of burnt magic clung to the air, sharp and acrid. The unease in her chest refused to settle.

Maia turned first, eyes sharp, scanning every inch of her. "Are you hurt?"

Lyric swallowed. "No." The word barely left her lips.

Elric approached next, his staff dimming to a soft ember. He studied the fading shadows, his expression unreadable, then exhaled. "Good. The wraiths were only scouts. A real assault would have been much worse."

The words barely registered. Lyric's fingers curled against the fabric of her dress, her knuckles white. Scouts. The creatures that had drained the life from the glade and sent her trembling behind a shield had only been scouts.

Her parents had cut them down with effortless precision, their magic shaping the battlefield like artists at work. Maia's sigils had danced through the air, the wind itself bending to her will. Elric's light had burned through the darkness, unraveling it as if it had never existed. And Lyric....

Lyric had stood there.

Rooted. Silent. Helpless.

A cold knot tightened in her stomach.

Maia stepped closer, brushing a stray lock of silver hair from Lyric's face. "You did well to stay out of the way," she murmured, the warmth in her voice meant to soothe. "The barrier was for your safety."

The words settled over her like a blanket too heavy to bear.

She knew her mother meant to reassure her—knew Maia was simply being kind.

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But all Lyric heard was what had been left unsaid. You weren't strong enough to fight.

Later that evening, the crystalline pond shimmered under the moon's radiance, its surface a shifting mirror of pewter and dusk. Lyric sat at the edge, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. The cool night air pressed against her skin, but it wasn't enough to chase away the heat prickling behind her eyes. She dipped her fingers into the water, watching the ripples distort her reflection. The weariness in her gaze and the tremor in her lips warped like a fading echo.

A single drop fell. Then another. The pond swallowed them whole.

Liora.

The name carried the weight of laughter, golden and bright, twirling through the air like fireflies. Lyric could almost hear it, her sister's delighted giggles, the way she darted between the trees, chasing pixie lights as if they were shooting stars she could catch in her hands. Sunlight had draped the glade that day, warm and endless, wrapping them in a world that had never known fear.

"Slow down!" Lyric called, chasing after her, but Liora only spun in place, arms outstretched, her honey-blonde hair catching the glow. "The pixies will wait!"

"But what if they don't?" Liora's grin stretched wide, her green eyes sparkling with mischief. "What if they're playing a game? What if we have to catch them before they disappear forever?"

Lyric rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

Then—Liora's scream.

The world cracked apart. The auric radiance splintered into abyssal gloom. Trees loomed like skeletal fingers. Cold, unnatural, suffocating.

Lyric had whirled around, her heart hammering against her ribs. And there it was. A monstrous shape, shifting like liquid darkness, slipping between the trunks. A wraith.

The air turned to ice in her lungs.

Liora stood frozen, her tiny hands clenched into fists, her chest rising and falling too fast. The wraith slithered forward, drawn to them, to their light.

"Liora! Move!"

Her sister didn't.

Lyric threw herself in front of her, arms outstretched. Magic. She just needed her magic. She squeezed her eyes shut, reaching inward, feeling for the spark, the pulse, the warmth.

A flicker. A breath of luminance.

Then nothing.

The shadows surged. Tendrils lashed out, curling around Liora's waist. She let out a choked sob, struggling against them, her fingers stretching desperately toward Lyric.

Lyric lunged, the scent of burnt air filling her nose as she grabbed for her sister's hand. "I've got you! Hold on—"

Their fingertips brushed, just for a moment, before the darkness swallowed her whole.

The wraith vanished. Silence fell.

Lyric stood there, empty hands trembling, her skin stinging where the gloom had burned her. The world around her remained unchanged, the trees still swaying, the pixie lights still drifting.

As if nothing had happened.

But the space beside her was empty.

She dug her nails into her arms, pressing against the phantom touch of Liora's fingers, trying to hold on to something that was already gone.

The years blurred together, a slow, suffocating drift of grief and unspoken regret. Lyric went through the motions, but the magic that had once flickered inside her, soft and uncertain like candlelight, had dimmed into nothingness.

On the morning of her eighteenth birthday, she had stood barefoot in the meadow, her breath shallow, her fingers curled into the fabric of her tunic. Fae wings were supposed to emerge like dawn breaking over the horizon, an inevitable and glorious transformation. She had closed her eyes, waiting, willing something to shift beneath her shoulder blades.

But the wind had passed her by.

By nightfall, the truth had settled over her like a shroud: nothing had changed. She remained earthbound, her back as bare as the day she was born.

The whispers had started soon after.

"She's the broken one."

"A fae who cannot fly? Impossible."

"Maybe if Liora had survived—"

Even when her parents tried to shield her, their silence spoke volumes. Her mother's fingers lingered too long over Liora's old hair ribbons. Her father hesitated before setting out three plates instead of four at dinner. The house wasn't empty, but without Liora's laughter, it felt like a shell of what it once was.

Lyric never asked if they wished it had been her instead. She didn't need to.

Now, sitting by the pond, she traced circles in the water, watching as her reflection wavered beneath the ripples. The moonlight cast her features in silver, but she barely recognized the girl staring back.

"I couldn't save her," she whispered. The words barely made a sound, but they carried the weight of a thousand sleepless nights. "I wasn't strong enough then, and I'm not strong enough now."

A droplet splashed onto the surface. Whether it came from the sky or her own eyes, she couldn't tell.

A faint shimmer broke the darkness, and Astraea flickered into view beside her, her glow dim, her tiny form a quiet presence against the stillness. Astraea had been with Lyric for as long as she could remember, a steadfast presence crafted by her parents in the aftermath of Liora's loss.

She didn't speak at first, only hovered near, the way she always did when Lyric's thoughts became too heavy to carry alone.

"They didn't need me," Lyric murmured, her voice raw. "I couldn't save my sister, and today... I just stood there. I didn't even try to help."

Astraea's light pulsed faintly. "Lyric, you were just a child back then. No one expected you to fight."

Lyric let out a hollow laugh. "Then why does it feel like I should have?"

She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms, but the pain was nothing compared to the ache that had settled in her chest years ago. It was a wound that refused to close. The memory of her parents wielding their power so effortlessly burned in her mind. They had swept aside the wraiths like dust in the wind, their magic fierce and absolute. And she had only watched, helpless, useless.

"I'm nothing like them," she admitted, the words scraping against her throat. "Their power runs in my veins, but somehow, I'm still... nothing."

Astraea drifted closer, her luminescence brushing against Lyric's cheek like a whisper of warmth. "You're comparing yourself to two of the most powerful fae alive," she murmured. "That's hardly fair."

Lyric exhaled sharply. "They're my parents. I should be stronger. I should be something more than this."

"Power takes time," Astraea said, her voice steady. "Your parents didn't master their abilities overnight."

"But they had something to master," Lyric snapped, frustration spilling over. "What do I have? I can barely fly, my magic is pathetic, and..." Her voice broke. She pressed a hand to her chest, where the ache of inadequacy burned the most. "I'm not even sure why they keep believing in me."

Astraea hovered in silence before speaking. "Because they see what you can't. They see what's there, even if it's not ready yet."

She clenched her fists again, tighter this time, until her knuckles paled. The air around her stirred. It wasn't just a passing breeze but something deeper, something unseen. The scent of damp earth and wildflowers sharpened, the very air shimmering with a presence just beyond reach. A breeze curled through the glade, stirring her hair, swirling around her like a whisper of unseen wings.

The pond's surface shivered, not just with ripples but with patterns. Delicate spirals appeared and vanished before they could fully form. The leaves near her feet quivered, lifting as if drawn by invisible currents, then drifting back down in silence.

Neither Lyric nor Astraea noticed.

Lyric shook her head, blinking hard against the sting of tears. "That doesn't make it any easier."

She hugged her knees to her chest, curling inward as if she could fold herself small enough to disappear. The night air pressed against her, thick with unshed grief, with years of waiting for something that never came.

Then came footsteps.

She stiffened, quickly brushing at her eyes before turning. A tall figure approached, his stride sure, his presence unmistakable even without the staff that usually accompanied him.

Elric Stardust.

Astraea's glow wavered, dimming like a fading ember before she drifted back, her form dissolving into the night. "Please," she whispered, her voice barely more than the wind stirring the leaves. "Help her understand she's not alone."

Elric exhaled softly, his eyes lingering on the space where Astraea had been. He inclined his head slightly, more to himself than anyone else. "I will."

He stepped forward, his boots pressing into the damp earth with a quiet firmness. Settling down beside Lyric, he let the silence stretch, the weight of his presence grounding her in a way words never could. He didn't speak at first, only gazed at the pond, its surface still rippling from unseen forces.

"You're upset," he finally said, his voice gentle, as if acknowledging the truth would lessen its burden.

Lyric stiffened. She wiped at her eyes quickly, fingers brushing away the evidence of her tears. "I'm fine."

A muscle in Elric's jaw twitched, but his tone remained steady. "You're not." There was no judgment in his voice, only certainty. "And that's alright."

She swallowed hard, drawing her knees tighter to her chest. "I wanted to help. I wanted to stand with you and Mother, but... I couldn't. I was useless." Her voice cracked on the last word, shame curling around it like smoke.

Elric turned to her, his silver gaze steady, unwavering. "Do you think Maia and I were born this strong?"

Lyric let out a short, bitter laugh. "You make it look easy."

"That's because we've had centuries to refine our magic." A small smile ghosted his lips, but there was something distant in his eyes, a flicker of memory. "When I was your age, I wasn't much different from you."

She scoffed, skeptical. "You? Struggling with magic?"

Elric chuckled, the sound warm and deep, like distant thunder rolling over the hills. "I was a disaster. My light magic was erratic at best, dangerous at worst. I once nearly blinded an entire assembly of elders."

Despite herself, Lyric's lips twitched. "Seriously?"

He nodded, smirking. "It wasn't until I faced true adversity that I began to understand my power."

Lyric frowned, tracing patterns in the dirt with her fingertips. "So what am I supposed to do? Just wait until some great crisis forces me to grow?"

"No." His expression sobered, the quiet authority in his voice sinking into her bones. "You train. You fail. And you keep going. Power isn't handed to us, Lyric. It's earned."

The words settled over her, heavy yet reassuring. She still felt small, still felt like a shadow cast by her parents' brilliance—but maybe, just maybe, she could start carving out her own light.

Elric rose, brushing stray leaves from his mantle. Before he left, he glanced back at her, something softer flickering behind his gaze. "You are not a disappointment, Lyric. Never forget that."

She watched as he stepped back inside, his presence fading beyond the warm glow of the home.

The pond's surface stilled, yet the echoes of his words rippled through her, deeper than she expected.

The warmth of the Glade vanished from her mind like dew beneath a rising sun.

Now, she stood before the Fae Protector's statue, its carved robes draped in ivy, its gaze forever fixed on a horizon long vanished. Her eyes lifted slowly to its face.

What if he's right?
What if it's not about waiting... but about becoming?

The thought settled like a whisper in her chest.

You train. You fail. And you keep going.

Elric's words echoed through her, not gentle this time, but anchoring.

Power isn't handed to us. It's earned.

She still didn't know how. But maybe that was okay. Maybe the trying was part of the magic, too. Maybe reaching, fumbling, trying, that was the start of becoming.

The five of them stood, spaced like the last remnants of a shattered constellation.

No words.

No shared glance.

Only the weight of eyes carved from stone, and the hush of breath held just too long.

Then—a voice cut through the quiet.

"Standing in the shadows of legends, are we?"

The five turned sharply.

From the far edge of the arena, a man emerged from the light-dappled stone, his steps unhurried. He looked to be in his mid-forties, his face etched with the weight of years and choices made. His deep-set eyes shimmered with something difficult to place, wisdom, perhaps, or the gravity of truths too heavy to speak aloud. He moved with the kind of calm that didn't need announcing.

Only then did the five truly take in their surroundings, and each other. Until that moment, each had been lost in their own thoughts, unaware that others shared the same space, the same silence. Their gazes met, brief flashes of surprise flickering before the man drew their attention once more.

Elias was the first to speak. "Who are you?"

The man didn't answer right away. Instead, he turned to the statues, his eyes lingering on the carved stone with something like reverence. "Tell me... do they look invincible to you?"

Lyric blinked. "Aren't they?"

The man exhaled a quiet chuckle. "Once, they weren't."

Aiden frowned. "They were the greatest protectors the world has ever known."

"They were," the man said, now facing them fully. "But not because they were born that way."

Alice narrowed her eyes slightly. "So what are you saying? That they were weak once? That they doubted themselves?"

His expression shifted, not anger, but something heavier. "They weren't just weak. They fell. They shattered. And they rose again." His gaze swept over them all, slow and deliberate. "They weren't chosen because they were strong. They became strong because they were chosen."

Thorne's voice was quiet, almost to himself. "So we're not meant to be ready... just willing."

The man glanced at him, a flicker of something like approval in his eyes. "Exactly."

Silence settled again, this time, not empty, but full.

"Remember this," the man said, voice quieter now. "It's not where you start. It's where you choose to go."

The words lingered, heavy and impossible to ignore. A shift stirred in the air—uncertainty, maybe, or the quiet pull of a force larger than any of them could yet name.

Then the man straightened, that faint, unreadable smile returning. "The ceremony's about to begin. Are you coming?"

With a moment's pause, they began to follow. One after another, hesitant steps fell into rhythm, their footsteps soft against the stone of the arena, at first uncertain, then steadier, as if the path was slowly revealing itself with each step taken.

Behind them, the statues stood in solemn vigilance, their shadows stretching long beneath the flickering sunlight. The protectors of old seemed to watch, silent and knowing, as if recognizing the shift in the air, the moment where everything would change.

The five figures stepped forward, following the man into the unknown. With each stride, they unknowingly etched the first lines of a legacy—one that would tether them to ancient legends and thrust them toward a destiny far greater, and far darker, than they could yet comprehend.