Ashen Light

Chapter 5: Spark of a Hero

The midday sun beat down on the bustling streets of Clankal as Cyrus and Zack wove their way through the crowded market district. Zack, as usual, was half-occupied with talking, half with searching, his bright brown eyes darting from stall to stall in search of a part he had muttered something vague about earlier. Cyrus didn't mind tagging along, though he was more focused on the stray thoughts that lingered in the back of his mind—memories of his most recent dreams, flashes of faces and places he tried to forget.

"Can you believe that old guy tried to sell me a broken valve?" Zack complained, breaking Cyrus from his thoughts. He scoffed. "You gotta know who you're dealing with in Clankal."

Cyrus gave him a faint smirk. "Sounds like he knew exactly who he was dealing with."

Zack huffed, shooting Cyrus a playful glare. "You should be grateful you get to come with me. If you were on your own, I'd give you maybe an hour before someone tries to sell you an 'ancient relic' from the Underworld."

They rounded a corner when the crowd suddenly grew louder, a surge of excited whispers washing over them. Of course, there were always crowds in Clankal about one thing or the other. But this seemed different, more excited, more energetic.

"What's goin' on over there, Zack?" Cyrus said absently, adjusting the sheath for his sword. Zack shrugged. "It's because I came around. I'm pretty damn awesome." He grinned, putting his arms behind his head.

Cyrus glanced up, noticing heads turning, eyes widening. Just ahead, a tall figure in dark clothing cut through the sea of people, moving with a kind of effortless command.

He wore a sleek black jacket lined with vivid purple, and his skin held a bronze hue, contrasting sharply with his wavy jet-black hair. Sparks of violet energy pulsed around him, a faint but unmistakable aura of power. His gaze swept the market with purple eyes that seemed to glimmer with their own light.

"Who's that?" Cyrus muttered under his breath, his curiosity piqued.

Zack's face lit up with the realization. "No way. That's Zephyr, the Champion. The Champion."

The Champion. Cyrus had heard stories—everyone in Sanctum Primus had. Legends told of a warrior born every hundred years from the World Chalice, a figure of raw strength and divine purpose tasked with defending the land. But the man striding toward them looked less like a legend and more like a tempest contained in human form, energy crackling subtly in the air around him as if it might break free at any moment.

The World Chalice was a mythical relic as old as Sanctum Primus itself, forged by Holactie, one of the ancient gods whose influence had long since faded into legend. Created to be a beacon of divine power, the Chalice lay dormant for generations, its magic awakening only once every century to birth a new Champion. The people of Sanctum Primus believed each Champion to be a living vessel of the gods' strength, a guardian who would rise in times of turmoil to protect the land and its people.

Every Champion throughout history bore unique powers, often shaped by the challenges of their era. Some wielded flames or commanded the earth, while others moved as swift as shadows. Zephyr, the latest Champion, was known for his power over violet lightning—a rare and formidable force. Rumors spoke of him harnessing storms, striking down entire hordes of demons with a single burst of thunderous energy.

Though Sanctum Primus had not seen conflict on a grand scale in recent memory, Zephyr had made himself known. Tales spread of his bravado, of him sparring with monstrous creatures and claiming victory with ease. To some, he was a revered figure—almost godlike in his confidence and strength.

As they watched Zephyr stride toward them, Zack leaned in and whispered, "He's supposed to be the real deal, Cyrus. They say he can split the sky with a flick of his wrist. Can you imagine? What I wouldn't give to have that kind of power, just for a day."