The sun rose above the mist-covered peaks surrounding Velmora, a forgotten yet beautiful village nestled in a quiet valley. This was a place of mystery, simplicity, and silent fear. People here lived humble lives, but they knew—beyond the wheat fields and peaceful faces—there was darkness that watched.
Lightborn walked beside his newfound companion through the winding dirt roads. The man, a cheerful, talkative soul with the spark of old wanderlust in his eyes, introduced himself as Kaelrin.
> "You walk like you've never touched mud before," Kaelrin laughed, glancing down at Lightborn's near-glowing steps that somehow didn't leave a print.
> Lightborn simply smiled, "Where I come from, we don't have this kind of soil."
> "Where is that?"
> "From the realms beyond your sky… sent by the One who sees all."
Kaelrin stared, blinking slowly. Then he smiled again—less certain this time—but didn't question. "You're a strange one… but I like strange."
As they walked, children played by the riverside. Markets bustled with clinking steel and soft bartering. Women gathered herbs, and old men mended boots. But even this serenity couldn't mask the tension that hung over the village like a cloud.
Velmora, Kaelrin explained, was under rule. A young tyrant—Prince Nephrai, a fallen heir to a once-noble dynasty—controlled the region. He enforced his rule with threats, fear, and his control over the Dark Ranks—a corrupted form of power passed down through his bloodline.
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The Woman in Chains
As they approached the village's central stone fountain, the air turned sharp. Screams. Struggle. Dust.
A noble-dressed young man dragged a shackled female jinn—her wrists glowing with cursed silver. Her cries for help echoed through the square, but no one dared interfere.
> "That's Nephrai's doing," Kaelrin whispered, voice suddenly cold. "Anyone resists, they disappear. Best we don't—"
Lightborn stepped forward.
> "Wait!" Kaelrin hissed. "Do nothing! You don't understand—he'll kill you."
But Lightborn was already walking, slowly, his hand barely touching the hilt of the sword strapped across his back. His aura shimmered like heat through the air, unseen by most—but felt by every spirit in the area.
The prince's guards froze, sensing something… ancient. Nephrai glanced at him, narrowed his eyes.
> "Who dares walk into my court like a flame without fear?"
> "A flame," Lightborn said, "does not fear the night. I am Lightborn, sent by the Almighty. Unhand her."
The crowd gasped. The prince laughed, but he stepped back—not from fear, but confusion.
The female jinn was released not by permission, but by force—when Lightborn's mere aura unshackled the cursed chains. As she stumbled to safety, she looked into his eyes and felt it—the eternal white flame. Not rage. Not power. But purity.
> "What is your name?" she whispered, humbled.
> "I do not need a title. But if you must… call me what I am. A bearer of light."
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The Rankings and the Scrolls of Authority
Later, Kaelrin took Lightborn to the Sanctum of Scales, where travelers registered for passage beyond the safe zones. There, Lightborn learned of the Ranking System. Every traveler must earn their rank through sanctioned trials. Ordinary passes allowed basic travel, but an Elite Rank—also called Marshal Rank—was required to cross into the darker, lawless regions.
To earn this, Lightborn had to enter the Velmoran Trials, a semi-annual tournament where fighters, mages, and hunters clashed in tests of skill, strategy, and survival. Kaelrin explained:
> "Winners gain the Marshal Scroll. That's your real key to the world. But… it's not for the faint of heart."
> "If it grants knowledge and path, I will walk through fire."
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The Trials Begin
Among hundreds, Lightborn stood apart. Not just for his radiant features—skin that shimmered like twilight, hair kissed by clouds, and eyes calm like oceans—but for his silence.
Beasts came. Mutated wolves with black flame. Twin-headed golems. Warriors with blades fused to their bones.
He didn't shout. He didn't taunt. He fought.
With every clash, Lightborn revealed glimpses of the divine—his sword Heavenfire glowing with whispers of celestial flame, his aura expanding in waves, lifting him as if he weighed nothing.
Villagers and warriors alike began to whisper.
> "Who is he?"
> "Not of this world…"
And among them, in the grand arena's royal chamber, Prince Nephrai watched, jaw clenched, eyes twitching.
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The Final Duel: Lightborn vs. Nephrai
Nephrai entered the arena as challenger—enraged and threatened.
> "I don't care what star bore you," he sneered. "You bleed like any other."
The fight was chaos. Wind screamed. Blades clashed. The prince unleashed forbidden spells, his body mutating briefly with dark aura—slashing at Lightborn with fatal precision.
And then it happened.
A strike—piercing.
Lightborn fell. The crowd gasped. Silence.
But from that stillness… his eye opened.
The Eternal Eye.
His body lit with divine aura. The earth quaked beneath his feet. With a single flame-bound strike, he shattered the prince's defense, knocking him down with searing purity. Lightborn stood above, blade at rest.
> "I do not destroy. I awaken."
Prince Nephrai… surrendered.
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New Companions & The Road Beyond
After the duel, Lightborn was granted Marshal Rank. Scrolls were gifted, and the Library of Velmora opened to him—ancient texts, sealed maps, even forbidden knowledge.
The female jinn—now named Aylin—offered to journey with him. She owed him her life, but he made clear:
> "No debt between us. Walk beside me as you are, nothing more."
Kaelrin, of course, agreed without hesitation. And so the three prepared for the road ahead.
But before they left, Lightborn asked for one final thing:
> "Give me the scrolls. I seek the hidden corners of your world. I will not rest until I understand… everything."
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End of Chapter 2