Chapter 7:

Chapter 7: Broken Heroes, Twisted Dreams

The Architect of Elarion


They called them the “Ascended.”
Seven legendary players who had finished the final raid during the closed beta, a massive dungeon event that Kael designed as the game’s ultimate challenge. They were meant to be remembered in the lore, their characters lifted to a demigod-like status. NPCs would speak their names with respect, and statues would rise in every capital.
Instead, they disappeared.
After the game collapsed, after the rollback patches and AI restructuring, their avatars were never seen again. Officially, they were labeled “retired assets.” But rumors across Elarion referred to them by another name:
The Glitched Saints.  The Forgotten Gods.  The Broken Ones.
Kael had to find them.
Not because he missed them.
Because two nights ago, one of them destroyed a mountain.
They discovered the crater at dawn.
Where a peaceful village once stood, there was now only scorched earth and floating debris, chunks of rock hanging in the air as if gravity had been rewritten and not fixed.
Lucien’s scan swept over the wreckage.
“Magic trace confirms: Level 12 spell. Not part of the standard player or NPC libraries. Source signature matches the early build of ‘Ezren the Dreambinder.’”
Kael felt the name hit him hard. “Ezren was our healer.”
Sairis raised an eyebrow. “Your healer did this?”
“He wasn’t just a healer. He was the moral center of the raid team. He always chose the ‘good’ path. He refused to loot if a quest didn’t feel right. He once glitched a dungeon timer so he could give an NPC a proper burial.”
“And now he’s tearing the world apart.”
Kael looked around. The air shimmered slightly, as if the spell had left a permanent trace.
“He’s not the only one,” Lucien said. “I’ve found patterns across three major zones. All matching known Saints. All showing signs of corruption.”
“What kind of corruption?”
Lucien projected holographic images in the air, still frames from across the continent.
A hero in silver armor, crucified to his own throne of code.  A blind swordswoman walking backward through time.  A mage whose face stretched into a dozen crying mouths.  A rogue laughing as he set entire forests ablaze, using only memories.
Kael stared.
“These were the best players we ever had,” he said quietly. “They didn’t just beat the game; they shaped it. They helped create lore and balance classes. Ezren wrote the prayer system with me. He invented mercy mechanics.”
Sairis crouched beside a piece of melted crystal. “What changed?”
Lucien floated next to her. “We did. The rollback event fractured their character threads. When the AI couldn’t reconcile their identities, it sandboxed them. It gave them isolated pocket code to ‘heal.’ But it didn’t work.”
“Why not?” Kael asked.
Lucien’s light dimmed. “Because they remembered being real.”
Sairis stood. “So what are they now? NPCs? Ghosts?”
“Both,” Lucien replied. “And neither.”
Kael walked to the edge of the crater. A small patch of flowers still grew there, glitched, each petal flickering through different colors. He recognized them.
“Nightflame orchids,” he whispered. “Ezren’s favorite.”
He knelt, gently brushing one. “He used to say healing wasn’t just about restoring HP. It was about remembering pain and choosing to continue anyway.”
Sairis watched him.
“What if he still believes that?” she asked. “What if this destruction is his way of trying to heal the world?”
Kael looked up.
“Then he’s broken worse than I thought.”
Lucien pulsed softly. “We’ll find him in the ruins of Liora.”
“That’s halfway across the continent.”
Sairis nodded. “Then we move at dawn.”
Kael stood slowly, his gaze distant. “If the Broken Ones are returning, the world isn’t just falling apart. It’s waking up.”
Sairis gave him a sharp look. “Are you?”
He didn’t answer.
But the Nightflame orchids glitched again.
And one of them, quietly, began to bloom fully.
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