SANCTUARY [Nobledark | Progression | Apocalypse]

Vol. 1 - Chapter 117: The Prophecy


In Bahm's Spiritual Domain, the two humble white and blue glows of Will and Socrost were present.

"My Lord Bahm," Socrost's thought echoed with solemnity. "Henry Strike has officially left Aerion. The plan has entered the next phase."

Bahm's golden halo subtly flickered. A majestic silence fell, so profound the entire universe seemed to hold its breath.

"One hundred thousand years," Unprompted, a thought from Bahm suddenly emerged in their minds, but like a reflection on the past. "It has been over one hundred thousand years since the Sanctuary Enclave was founded in the early days of the Fifth Age."

Will and Socrost remained silent, knowing their Lord was reminiscing about a momentous memory.

"I met someone back then," Bahm continued. "An itinerant bookseller, who called himself "The Zero" He gave me a prophecy: the last person to join the Sanctuary Enclave would hold the key to the survival of Tehra."

Will and Socrost exchanged silent thoughts. This prophecy was familiar to them both, being one of the foundational secrets of the Enclave.

"And now," Will spoke, his white glow flickering, "we have Henry. He possesses a Sanctuary Seal unlike any in our history, an unprecedented symbol. It's likely he is the one from the prophecy."

"It's all still just speculation," Socrost said cautiously. "But the variables converging around him are too coincidental. Destiny seems to be deliberately pushing him to the center of the chessboard."

Bahm said nothing more. His golden halo simply gazed into the void, silent. The prophecy from a hundred thousand years ago was now beginning to be fulfilled by a young man who had just embarked on a fated path. The time had come for this game to make decisive moves.

Lucifer sat alone on a crystal throne in the grand hall of the Crystal Palace. Around him was silence and grandeur, but a rare melancholy was reflected in his deep, cosmic eyes.

In his hand, it was not a document of power or a divine artifact, but merely an old piece of parchment, yellowed with age.

The memory of two million years ago flooded back with the vividness of yesterday. In the midst of the Second Age, when he was at the peak of his power, a strange bookseller had sought him out. A mortal with an unremarkable appearance who dared to speak to a Trinity.

The man offered him a priceless reward, and in return, he only needed to perform a "very simple" task.

The strangest thing was that he agreed. Lucifer, who owned almost everything, was convinced by an offer from an unknown person. And what was even more frightening, he failed. He, one of the most powerful entities, could not complete that seemingly easy task.

He did not receive the promised reward. Instead, the bookseller smiled and gifted him a prophecy written on this piece of parchment. A prophecy about his own destiny.

Lucifer looked down at the bottom corner of the paper, where a signature was written in an exquisite stroke of ink, a signature that had haunted him for two million years:

The Zero.

In the icy grand hall of Iskadra castle, the stillness was broken only by the wind whistling through the cracks in the stones and the faint blue light radiating from the eternal blocks of ice. Laurent sat alone on a throne of obsidian, his figure was a somber statue carved from shadows.

He held a skull with reverence. It was cracked, with a large hole on top, yet it still radiated a cold, dark aura, a relic of the power that once spread terror. This was the skull of the Dark Reaper, one of the most precious spoils his subordinates had collected after the attack on Aerion.

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Laurent's long, pale fingers lightly traced the surface of the skull, feeling the coldness and the cracks. His eyes narrowed, lost in thought.

"Henry Strike..." He spoke the name, his low voice echoing in the empty hall.

Laurent had had the minds of many who participated in the battle ten years ago examined, from mere Zephyros soldiers to high-ranking commanders. The story he had gathered, though from various sources, was eerily consistent. A twelve-year-old boy had, somehow, lured the Rank A monster into a pre-set trap. He used the power of a massive waterfall, a purely natural attack, to crush the Dark Reaper into bone fragments.

Laurent gave a humorless, thin smile.

"Absurd"

Laurent frowned. For a monster that had reached Rank 6 and possessed the almost invincible Undead Mystic Sense ability, that should not have been enough to defeat it. A purely physical attack, no matter how powerful, could hardly completely destroy an entity shrouded in dark energy and the ability to foresee danger. There must be something hidden. Some crucial detail had been missed.

Something about those two children had neutralized its Mystic Sense, Laurent concluded. Or at least, had seriously disrupted it.

He held the skull up to eye level, staring into the two empty sockets, searching for an answer from the vanished soul.

"What if... what if that boy, Henry, were to touch this skull?" Laurent wondered. "If he had some special ability to see its final memories, would he know the real reason for that day's victory? Would he discover the secret about himself and that girl, Sophia?"

A secret that Henry himself, even now, was completely unaware of.

Laurent placed the skull back on the stone table next to him. He rested his chin on his hand, staring into the void. The chess game in Tehra was proceeding according to his calculations, but Henry's existence was a factor he had never foreseen.

"Henry Strike. In the end, are you "The Chosen One" arranged by destiny, or just a wild card that has appeared to turn everything upside down?"

The question hung in Laurent's mind, without an answer.

A week after the tragedy in the Manrok mountains, a week of silence, of pain, and of the first reconstruction efforts, Henry visited the military cemetery on the outskirts of Aerion. The somber gray sky mourned with the city for the brave sons who had fallen. A cold wind blew through, carrying the lonely, mournful sound of rustling dry leaves on the paths.

The cemetery was vast. Thousands of immaculate white marble tombstones stood in neat rows, an army at rest after its final battle. Henry walked between the rows of graves, each step landed with the weight of lead. He was looking for his comrades, his brothers.

He stopped in front of the graves of Danz and Halb, two close battle buddies, two men who had always stood shoulder to shoulder with him on missions. "You guys... you always argued about the silliest things," Henry smiled sadly, "but you were always the first to shield each other, and your comrades. Rest in peace, brothers."

He walked on, to the grave of Keln, the young investigator with a confident smile and an unquenchable passion. "Keln, you fought so bravely," Henry's breath hitched, the torment of having to end his teammate's life with his own hands rising in his heart once more. "I'm sorry."

And then, he stopped in front of two graves side by side, two graves that were more carefully tended than any others, with fresh bouquets of white chrysanthemums. Ragley and Brena. He remembered their words, their gestures, and their noble sacrifice to protect him and the others. He remembered the image of their hands, in their final moments, trying to reach for each other but never able to grasp. The memory was a fresh wound in his chest.

He placed the bouquets of white chrysanthemums on each grave, his hands trembling. He said nothing, just stood there, letting the memories, the pain, and the gratitude swell within him.

When he reached Jacobs's grave, he did not place white chrysanthemums. He placed a mug of Jacobs's favorite beer on it. He poured half of it onto the ground. "Drink up, Captain," he murmured. "This one's on me."

He looked toward the horizon, where Aerion was slowly being reborn. ""Everyone laid down their lives to protect this place. And I," he clenched his fist, "I am about to leave it. I'm sorry. I won't let your final gift be in vain." He promised himself, a vow etched in blood and tears. "I will live on, I will fight on, until the day I can truly bring peace to this land, until the day I can personally end Beleth and avenge everyone."

The final rays of the sunset painted the sky red, casting a lone, shadow of him.

He looked toward the distant Aerion, where the girl he loved was waiting day and night, and where there was a child with a fated power that he felt responsible for protecting.

He turned his back on the past, put on a new identity, a new name, and began a solitary journey.

He had to master his Mystic Sense and unlock the Sanctuary Seal's potential. Only then could he one day face Beleth and unveil the secrets of the Sanctuary Enclave. And perhaps, to find himself again, to find the meaning of his existence in a world full of injustice and contradictions.

End of Vol 1.

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