Two Worlds, One Destiny

The silence between Azeron and Lyra grew heavy as they pressed forward, the ruins around them bathed in the dim red glow of the sky. The battle with the hellhound had left them both drained, but neither dared to stop. Danger lurked in every shadow, and Azeron could still feel the weight of his father's words clawing at the back of his mind.

"You're growing attached, my son. Don't forget your purpose."

Azeron stole a glance at Lyra. She walked with a quiet determination, her sword still in hand, but her shoulders were tense. She hadn't said much since the fight, though her earlier words lingered.

"That power… it's not just demon magic, is it?"

She was beginning to question him, and he knew it was only a matter of time before she demanded answers. The problem was, he didn't have any—at least not ones he was willing to share.

"Are you sure we're going the right way?" Azeron finally asked, breaking the silence.

Lyra stopped and turned to face him, her brow furrowed. "You don't even know where we're going, do you?"

He sighed. "I'm just trying to keep up."

"We're heading to the Cathedral of Light," she said, her voice steady. "I was told it's the last safe place in this world."

"Safe?" Azeron muttered, his tone skeptical. "Nothing here feels safe."

"It's better than wandering aimlessly," Lyra shot back. She studied him for a moment before adding, "If you have a better idea, I'm all ears."

Azeron shook his head. "No. I'll follow you."

"Good," she said, turning away. "Try to keep up this time."

They continued walking, the cracked ground beneath their feet crunching with every step. The silence stretched again, but this time it felt different—heavier, as though both of them were waiting for something to happen.

---

Hours passed, or so it seemed. Time felt meaningless in this broken world, where the sun never moved and the air seemed to hum with dark energy. Finally, the cathedral came into view. It stood tall and defiant against the desolation, its spires reaching toward the sky like jagged claws. The once-white stone was now stained gray, and parts of the structure had crumbled, but it still held an undeniable presence.

"There it is," Lyra said, her voice filled with relief.

Azeron narrowed his eyes. Something about the cathedral felt… wrong. The closer they got, the more he could sense an ominous energy radiating from it.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" he asked cautiously.

Lyra stopped and turned to him, her expression firm. "It's the only idea we've got. I don't know about you, but I'd rather take my chances there than out here."

Azeron wanted to argue, but he couldn't deny that she had a point. The creatures were getting stronger, and without a plan, they wouldn't survive much longer.

"Fine," he said. "But stay close."

"Don't worry about me," she replied, a hint of a smirk tugging at her lips. "I can handle myself."

---

As they approached the cathedral, Azeron's unease grew. The massive wooden doors were slightly ajar, and a faint light spilled out from within. It was an unnatural light—pale and cold, like the glow of the moon.

Lyra pushed the doors open, her sword ready. The inside of the cathedral was even more unsettling. Rows of broken pews stretched toward the altar, where a massive stained-glass window loomed, its design depicting an angelic figure battling a monstrous demon. Dust floated in the air, and the faint hum of energy echoed through the cavernous space.

"This place feels… strange," Lyra murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Azeron stepped in beside her, his senses on high alert. "We're not alone."

Suddenly, the doors slammed shut behind them with a deafening boom. Lyra spun around, her sword raised, but the doors wouldn't budge.

"Great," she muttered. "A trap."

Before Azeron could respond, the pale light intensified. Shadows began to slither across the floor, pooling together like ink. From the darkness emerged a figure—a tall, robed being whose face was hidden beneath a hood. Its voice echoed through the cathedral, hollow and otherworldly.

"Two souls have wandered into my domain."

Lyra raised her sword, the blade glowing faintly. "Who are you?"

The figure ignored her, its hidden gaze turning toward Azeron. "And you… the son of Zevaris. Why do you linger among mortals?"

Azeron stiffened, his heart pounding. "How do you know who I am?"

The figure chuckled, a sound that sent chills down Azeron's spine. "Your father's reach extends far, even here. But you have strayed from your purpose."

Lyra looked at Azeron, confusion and suspicion flickering across her face. "What is it talking about?"

"Nothing," Azeron said quickly, stepping forward. "Who are you, and what do you want?"

"I am the Watcher," the figure said, spreading its arms. "Guardian of this place, and judge of all who enter. Tell me, son of Zevaris, will you fulfill your destiny? Or will you betray your bloodline?"

Azeron's fists clenched, dark energy flickering around him. "I don't answer to you."

The Watcher laughed again, the sound reverberating through the cathedral. "We shall see."

Without warning, the shadows surged forward, taking the shape of monstrous figures with glowing eyes. Lyra sprang into action, her sword cutting through the darkness as Azeron unleashed his power, blasting the creatures apart.

"Azeron!" Lyra shouted over the chaos. "What is it talking about? What destiny?"

"Not now!" he snapped, focusing on the enemies swarming them.

But as the shadows closed in, Azeron realized the truth he had been avoiding: the more he fought to protect Lyra, the closer he came to betraying his father.

And the Watcher knew it.

---

As Azeron and Lyra fought side by side, the Watcher's voice echoed through the cathedral once more.

"Your time is running out, son of Zevaris. Choose wisely—her life, or your soul."

Azeron faltered for a split second, and in that moment, a shadowy claw lashed out toward Lyra.

"Lyra, look out!"

To Be Continued in Chapter 6

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