Chapter 7: The World That Worships Shadows

The royal court was never silent.

Even in the depths of night, whispers echoed louder than war drums. Golden masks hid cracked smiles. Velvet robes muffled daggered footsteps. It was not a court of justice—

It was a theatre of loyalty, bought and sold.

And at its heart sat the one now called The Hero.

Tall. Radiant. Crowned not with metal, but with the world’s faith. His name was Lucien Valehart.

The chosen.

The worshipped.

The liar.

In the candlelit chamber beyond the throne, Lucien knelt alone before a massive mirror. But he didn’t see himself.

He saw a shadow.

A smear across fate.

The erased one.

He grit his teeth as the memory clawed at him again—the first time he killed another reincarnated soul.

A fellow hero.
A boy who had arrived in this world before him.
A boy who had already begun saving lives.
A boy whose legend… threatened to shine brighter than his own.

Lucien had struck first.

And the world… chose him.

He whispered to the mirror:

“Why do you haunt me? I gave them peace. I became what they needed.”

But the shadow didn't answer.

Only the silence did.

And in that silence… Lucien heard rumors.

Of a nameless figure rising beyond the wastes.

Of a shrine reawakened.

Of a cracked wall in the Temple.

And of a symbol—

Tsuyoi.

His knuckles turned white.

Elsewhere…

In the ruined chapel of Aelmir, the Forgotten knelt before the seven followers from Hollow Vale. Together, they etched new symbols into steel. Not of nations. Not of gods.

Of grief.

Of vengeance.

Of memory.

The old woman who led the first gathering stepped forward. “You are building an army?”

“No,” he said.

“I am building a wound. One the world cannot heal. One they’ll be forced to look at—every day—until they admit what they did.”

She nodded.

And yet… worry lingered in her eyes.

“You bear too much alone.”

He smiled—cold, but honest.

“I died alone. Let me live that way too.”

Night fell hard.

In seven corners of the continent, children dreamed of golden heroes.

But in one city, a boy woke screaming from a nightmare…

…of a man with no face.

A man with blood on his hands and truth in his eyes.

A man returning to reclaim a story stolen by angels.