The Devourer's Dominion

The night was unnaturally still. No wind. No rustling leaves. Just an eerie silence that stretched across the camp. Even the fire, flickering lazily in the center, seemed subdued as if something unseen weighed down the air.

Aetheron sat near the flames, his fingers tracing over the sigil now burned into his arm. It had changed after the temple trial—its shape shifting, the ink-like markings moving beneath his skin as if alive. The sensation was strange, like something ancient had stirred within him.

Across from him, Lyara leaned against a tree, slowly running a whetstone along the edge of her dagger. Her gaze flickered toward Aetheron now and then, watchful, thoughtful.

Veyrin, sprawled out on a fallen log, let out a long sigh, breaking the silence. "Alright, I've had enough of the brooding. Someone needs to start explaining things. Because I refuse to believe we just risked our lives for some random artifact."

His usual smirk was absent. This was different. He was serious.

Aetheron didn't respond immediately. Instead, he turned his gaze toward Lyara, who had been unusually quiet ever since they left the temple ruins.

"You know something," Aetheron said, voice steady. It wasn't a question.

Lyara didn't look up. She simply studied the fire, her fingers pausing on the blade as if considering her words. Then, after a long moment, she finally spoke.

"I know that what we took from that temple wasn't just power. It was a message."

Aetheron's eyes narrowed. "A message?"

Lyara exhaled slowly, shifting her dagger in her grip. Then she lifted a finger, pointing directly at his arm.

"The sigil changed because it responded to you. That means whatever is inside you—whatever this Dominion of yours is—was always meant to inherit that power." She paused, letting the weight of her words settle before continuing. "The Sovereign chose you."

The fire crackled in the heavy silence that followed.

Veyrin sat up straighter, his usual sarcasm gone. He looked between them, his expression darkening. "You mean the Sovereign? As in the same entity that was supposed to be long gone? The one that ruled over abilities, crushed entire civilizations, and just—vanished?"

Aetheron didn't flinch. He simply stared into the flames, deep in thought.

The Sovereign. That name had haunted his mind for some time now. It was more than just an old legend—it was a presence. A force that had guided him, tested him, and now… prepared him.

"So, what's the next step?" Aetheron finally asked, his tone calm, measured.

Lyara sheathed her blade and crossed her arms. "That's what worries me. If the Sovereign is leading you somewhere… it's not for your sake. It's for something bigger."

Aetheron clenched his fingers. That much, he had already guessed. The Sovereign didn't care about him. It wasn't helping him. It had a goal, something unfinished. And it was using him to complete it.

Veyrin groaned and threw his hands in the air. "Fantastic. More cosmic-level problems. Can't wait."

Aetheron smirked faintly. "You're free to leave."

Veyrin scoffed. "And miss out on all the fun? Yeah, right."

Lyara rolled her eyes but said nothing.

Aetheron shifted his gaze toward his pack, where the artifact still pulsed faintly with residual energy. He could feel it, calling to him, whispering just beneath his consciousness.

A test. A trial. A step toward something inevitable.

The path ahead was uncertain, but one thing was clear—

The Sovereign wasn't done with him yet.