The Great Journey

Fifty years had passed since the defeat of the Demon King, yet the world still honored the legendary party that had brought him down. Tales of their valor echoed through cities and villages, songs sung in taverns and stories whispered around fires. Statues of the heroes stood in bustling squares, weathered but still proud, reminders of a darker time that had been pushed back by courage and sacrifice. Over time, the heroes quietly went their separate ways, each returning to the rhythm of ordinary life—if such a thing was possible after saving the world. They had wielded fate like a sword, but even fate quiets with age. One day, Heiter—the leader of that fateful mission and the guiding light of the party—passed away. The king himself arranged a grand funeral in the Great City of Makour to honor the man who had once carried the hopes of the world on his shoulders. Nobles, commoners, and warriors from every corner of the realm gathered to pay their respects. The cathedral bells rang from morning until night, and the streets were lined with banners bearing Heiter’s crest: a sword piercing through a rising sun. Among those in attendance was Takko, the party’s warrior. Though he and Heiter had been comrades, they were never particularly close. Heiter had been the leader—the symbol—while Takko was the sword, the one who carved a path through monsters and darkness. Still, something stirred in Takko’s chest during the ceremony. A yearning, almost like a whisper on the wind, calling him to rise once more. It wasn’t grief—it was purpose. A feeling he hadn’t known in decades. Days after the funeral, Takko found himself standing before a small, weathered house near the southern hills—Edgard’s home. Edgard, the party’s mage, had once been sharp-eyed and full of fire. But age had not been kind. Takko entered to find him on his deathbed, breathing shallowly beneath heavy blankets. Sitting beside him was a quiet boy with sharp, observant eyes: Latno, Edgard’s apprentice. With his final breath, Edgard reached out and gripped Takko’s wrist with surprising strength.

“Teach him what we learned,” Edgard whispered. “Let him see what the world truly is.”

Takko didn’t need to be convinced. There was a fire rekindled in him now, and Edgard’s request gave it shape. He clasped Edgard’s hand and gave a single nod. The old mage closed his eyes, and the room fell silent. Their destination was the Great City of Auberst, where Takko hoped to find answers—and perhaps, a path to the heavens. But every journey begins somewhere, and theirs began in the quiet village of Knosht, nestled among green hills south of Makour. After arriving, the two visited a local bakery. Latno marveled at the scent of warm bread and spiced cheese. He hadn’t been outside Edgard’s house much in years. As they stepped into the golden morning light, a man with a panicked expression rushed toward them.

“Are you adventurers?” he asked, eyes wide.

“We are,” Takko replied calmly.

“People have been disappearing in the Enchanted Forest,” the man said. “Please, help us. I don’t have much, but I can offer gold.”

Takko nodded. “We’ll handle it.”

They set out at once. The forest’s tangled canopy swallowed the sunlight, casting the world in a cool, eerie twilight. Birds grew silent as they entered, and the deeper they went, the heavier the air became. Takko suddenly stopped, his hand resting on his sword’s hilt. “There’s a powerful mana surge coming from the mountaintop,” he said. “This is no ordinary beast.”

“What is it?” Latno asked.

“It’s a mimish,” Takko said, grimly. “They read minds. They create illusions—visions of loved ones, lost friends… anything you miss or regret. That’s how they lure people away.”

Latno tensed, gripping his spear.

“What do we do if it shows up?”

“This time, we know what to look for,” Takko said. “If you see anything strange—anything at all—tell me. I can track the real body. Don’t trust your eyes. Trust your instincts.”

They continued forward. Suddenly, a wave of despair washed over them. Latno dropped to one knee, gasping. Takko stopped cold, sword already in hand.

“It’s here.”

He closed his eyes, extending his senses. Among the illusions, one presence burned too brightly to be natural. There—disguised as part of a tree’s bark. He muttered an incantation and slashed. The tree shimmered, revealing a twisted creature beneath. It shrieked as the blade cut through it, and then crumbled into dust. The mimish was gone. Silence returned to the forest. Back in Knosht, they found the man from earlier browsing the market. He turned and smiled when he saw them.

“Thank you,” he said, handing them five gold coins. “No one else dared enter the forest.”

Later that day, Takko unrolled his worn map. Their next stop was Aurualei, a small village to the east of Auberst. But first, they would need to travel the muddy, winding backroads to the north. The path was rough, and Latno—still unused to long travel—began to lag behind. Noticing this, Takko hailed a merchant passing by with a small cart. With a few silver coins, they secured a ride. Latno slumped onto the bench with a grateful sigh, exhaustion written across his face.

The journey was peaceful—until it wasn’t.

A bolt of lightning split the sky, striking the road just feet ahead of them. The cart skidded to a halt. The air hissed with wild mana. Latno leapt up, spear in hand. “What was that?!” Perched on a nearby branch was a bird—small, silver-feathered, and glowing with magical energy far beyond its size. Without hesitation, Latno hurled his spear. But the bird vanished in a blur of light. Takko stepped forward, calm and focused. He bit his finger, drew a symbol of fire on a nearby stone, and whispered an incantation. The stone glowed, lifted into the air, and then streaked like a comet toward the fleeing bird. It exploded in a burst of light, disintegrating the creature in an instant.

“Mana wraith,” Takko muttered. “Drawn to power.”

With the danger gone, they repaired the cart and continued. By the time they reached Aurualei, the sun had dipped below the horizon. But something was wrong. The village was silent. Too silent. People lay asleep in the streets, mid-step, mid-task—frozen, as if time itself had paused. Latno raised his spear. “What… is this?” He reached for the mana around them—but found nothing.

“It’s not always about sensing,” Takko said. “Sometimes, you have to listen. Mana has a voice. The higher the pitch, the closer the source.”

Latno closed his eyes. At first, silence. Then—he heard it. A rising hum, faint but building.

“There,” he said, pointing west.

They ran. In a clearing, they found a massive, pulsing flower glowing with chaotic energy.

“A Chaos Flower,” Takko muttered. “It spreads mana-laced pollen. Harmless to plants, but toxic to people. It puts everything nearby into magical stasis. If we hadn’t stopped it... this whole valley would’ve fallen.”

Latno didn’t hesitate. He summoned his spear and hurled it. It shimmered into a radiant nail mid-flight—but bounced harmlessly off the outer petals.

“You fool!” Takko snapped. “You have to strike the core!”

Cursing, Latno readied another. This time, he focused—deep breath, steady aim. The second spear flew straight and true, piercing the heart of the flower. It let out a low, echoing wail, then crumbled into dust.

Back in the village, the people slowly stirred—confused, dazed, but alive.

The village chief thanked them personally, gifting them fifteen gold coins and a small healing grimoire.

“You are welcome here as long as you like,” the chief said.

That night, Takko sat beneath the stars. His blade rested beside him, untouched, but ready. Latno was tending the fire with quiet focus, his face lit by flickering orange light.

The boy had courage. Instinct. And perhaps... something more.

The next morning, they set off again. Their next destination was Botie.

Botie was no ordinary village—it was a threshold. Rumors whispered of a stairway to the heavens hidden among the cliffs beyond its borders. But crossing into that sacred realm was no simple task.

To ascend, a party needed a certified Grade 1 warrior—someone who had passed the Five Grand Guild Trials. Though Takko had once fought alongside Heiter himself, he had never been certified. Not because he lacked the skill, but because the classification system had changed over the years. His legacy lived on in the hearts of the people, not on parchment or within guild records.

Still, Takko wasn’t chasing glory, nor did he seek recognition. He was chasing something higher—something eternal.

And with Latno beside him, his old friend’s final wish burning like fire in his heart, he knew one thing with unwavering certainty:

They had to reach the heavens.

When Takko and Latno arrived in Botie, they made their way to the warrior school and enlisted in the Grade 1 warrior trials. These trials were no mere formality—they were grueling tests designed to push every warrior to their limits.

The first trial was one of raw power. Contestants were tasked with protecting a cursed statue from waves of monsters. Latno impressed the judges immediately, striking down every beast before they even came within 200 yards of the statue. His precision and calm under pressure left the other warriors in awe.

The second trial tested cunning. Competitors were dropped into a dungeon riddled with traps, illusions, and puzzles that shifted with every mistake. Latno and Takko worked together, combining wisdom and instinct to navigate the labyrinth in record time.

The third trial was a race—pure speed. Contestants dashed across treacherous terrain filled with collapsing bridges, swinging blades, and shifting platforms. Only the ten fastest would advance. Takko, despite his age, held his ground and crossed the finish line just behind Latno.

The fourth trial tested balance. Warriors had to remain atop narrow wooden poles for five long hours, buffeted by wind and the taunts of illusion spirits meant to break their focus. Takko stood firm, eyes closed, as if meditating. Latno swayed but never fell.

The final trial was a test of each contestant’s personal ability. One by one, they stepped before the judges and performed their signature techniques. Each move was more impressive than the last—flashes of light, roaring energy, graceful weapon dances. When Takko’s turn came, he unsheathed his blade and performed the “Falling Sky”—a move said to have once wounded the Demon King himself. The room fell silent.

When the judges conferred, they chose only a handful to receive certification.

Among them stood Takko—and Latno.

Their path to the heavens had opened.

As the newly certified Grade 1 warriors passed through the golden gate of Botie, the path to the heavens finally lay before them. But before they could take even a few steps, a man in priestly robes rushed toward them.

“Wait!” he called, breathless. “Please—let me join your ascent!”

Takko eyed him warily. “We’re not taking passengers.”

“I can pay,” the priest said quickly, holding out a small pouch. “Twenty gold coins—and I hold a royal scholarship in healing magic. I know high-level restoration, warding, and purification.”

Takko hesitated, then gave a small grunt. “Fine. You’d better keep up.”

The priest, who introduced himself as Pokim, smiled with obvious relief.

Using two of the gold coins, Takko rented three sturdy horses from the village stables. The trio set off at once along the gravel path that snaked through the high cliffs, wind whistling in their ears as the skies darkened.

Then, without warning, a thunderous roar tore through the heavens.

A red dragon descended, its massive wings blotting out the sun. Flames ignited in its throat—and a blazing fireball hurtled toward them.

“Behind me!” shouted Pokim. With a flash of his hands, he cast a Level 3 defensive ward, summoning a dome of shimmering silver light that absorbed the blast.

Latno, already in motion, leapt from his horse. He planted his feet, raised his spear, and shouted a word of power. The clouds above split open—raining down glowing spears of divine mana. They hammered into the dragon’s crimson hide, scoring deep marks and slowing its assault.

But it was not enough.

The dragon shrieked, fury rising. Fire licked at its jaws as it prepared another strike.

Takko dismounted calmly, drawing his blade. “No holding back,” he muttered.

He drove the tip of his sword into the ground and whispered a forgotten incantation. The air trembled, and a massive sigil appeared beneath his feet—golden, ancient, alive with power.

“Light Destroyer,” he intoned.

A blinding beam began to form at the edge of his sword, growing until it hummed like a song of judgment. Takko raised the weapon high, then pointed it directly at the dragon’s heart. The laser surged forward, splitting the air with a deafening roar. It struck the dragon squarely in the chest—and pierced through. The creature screamed, flailed, then plummeted from the sky, crashing into the distant cliffs in a storm of dust and fire. Silence returned. Latno’s spear flickered before vanishing. Pokim lowered his staff, eyes wide.

“That… that was incredible,” Pokim whispered.

Takko simply nodded. “It was necessary. "They retrieved their horses and continued the climb. As the air grew thinner and stars began to twinkle even in daylight, Takko looked ahead—toward the cloud-wrapped summit.

As they reached the summit, the wind howled like a warning from the gods. Takko stood tall, his cloak fluttering behind him, eyes fixed on a peculiar stone slab embedded into the mountainside. It bore ancient carvings that shimmered faintly in the moonlight, and at its center was a perfectly cut hole—clearly made with purpose.

From the small leather pouch at his side, Takko pulled out a glowing aetherium crystal. The gem pulsed with energy, its soft hum almost whispering in a forgotten tongue. Without hesitation, he fit the crystal into the hole.

The moment it clicked into place, a radiant beam of light erupted from the stone, shooting into the heavens. The ground trembled beneath their feet, and the world began to spin. Colors bled into one another as the sky twisted and folded, a kaleidoscope of power and time. Then, just as suddenly, darkness fell—deep, silent, absolute.

They stood in nothingness.

Before any of them could speak, a piercing light tore through the black veil, forcing the warriors to shield their eyes. The brilliance settled, and before them materialized a grand stairway—each step glowing with celestial fire, stretching high into the sky until it vanished into the clouds above.

"The Stairway to Heaven," Takko whispered, his voice full of awe. It was real. The legends were true.

One by one, they ascended, each step feeling heavier than the last, not from weight but from the pressure of divine presence. The higher they climbed, the thinner the air became, the more their hearts pounded—not from fear, but anticipation. Memories, regrets, hopes—everything mortal weighed on them, testing their resolve.

At last, they reached the summit, a radiant platform suspended above the world, where stars shimmered like embers in a hearth. Awaiting them were two luminous beings cloaked in robes woven from light and stardust.

"You have climbed far," one said, its voice echoing through their minds. "And you seek truth."

Takko stepped forward. "Where is Heiter? The one who vanished beyond the Veil?"

The figure pointed toward a constellation that shifted into a map of a lost land—deep in the Hollow Reaches, where the sky bled into the sea. "There, he waits for you. But time moves differently there. You must hurry."

Then Latno asked, his eyes wide with urgency, "And Edgard? master?"

The second being raised a hand, revealing a vision: a vast desert scorched by twin suns, where Edgard stood atop a tower, imprisoned not by chains, but by duty and sacrifice. "He remembers you. But he cannot leave unless you free him."

The visions faded.

Silence followed, heavy and sacred. The stairway behind them still burned, but now it beckoned them forward, not back.

Takko and Latno exchanged a look—fear, hope, determination swirling between them. They had their answers. But more importantly, they had a purpose.

The heavens had spoken.

Without a word, the two warriors turned from the celestial beings and stepped back toward the edge of the platform. The stairway behind them still glowed, now softer, more inviting—as though the heavens themselves acknowledged their resolve.

They descended in silence. Each step seemed lighter now, though the air still shimmered with divine magic. As they moved, the sky around them began to shift once more. The stars wheeled above like watchful eyes, and the stairway curved in ways that defied logic, folding through realms unseen.

When they finally reached the foot of the stairway, the mountain summit was gone. In its place stretched a silver plain under a twilight sky, bathed in the lingering light of both sun and moon. It was neither day nor night. A place between places.

Latno knelt, pressing his hand to the strange soil. "This isn't where we began."

Takko nodded. "The heavens sent us ahead. A gift of time… or a warning."

Before them stood two stone arches—one pulsing with cool blue light, the other burning with an amber fire. Inscribed on the base of each was a name.

Heiter.
Edgard.

"They've given us a choice," Takko said, frowning. "We split paths."

Latno rose to his feet, gripping the hilt of his spear. "Then we walk them. Whatever it takes."

Takko placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. "Find him. And remind him of who he is."

Latno’s eyes glimmered. "You do the same."

Without another word, they parted ways—Takko stepping into the blue light of the Hollow Reaches, and Latno into the firelit sands of the twin-sunned desert.

Takko's Path – The Hollow Reaches

The world twisted again as Takko passed through the arch. Cold, salty wind hit his face, and before him stretched a vast ocean under a swirling storm. The sky here was broken, torn open by rifts of dark lightning and ethereal currents. In the distance, a jagged island rose from the sea like a wound on the world.

Takko summoned his strength and leapt onto a skiff waiting at the shore. The boat moved on its own, drawn by the crystal’s lingering resonance. As he crossed the storm-ravaged waters, voices whispered from the deep—memories, regrets, the echoes of those lost to the sea.

Hours—or was it days?—passed before the skiff touched black sand. The island pulsed with raw energy, and in the center stood a tower of bone and crystal, where Heiter waited—alone, cloaked in shadow and sorrow.

Latno's Path – The Twin Suns

Fire scorched the air around Latno as he stepped into the blazing desert. Twin suns blazed overhead, their heat unrelenting. The sand shimmered with illusion and truth alike. In the distance, a great spire rose from the dunes, guarded by statues of forgotten gods.

Latno trudged forward, determination burning brighter than the suns. Mirage after mirage tried to turn him back—visions of failure, of Edgard falling to madness. But he pressed on, heart fixed on the man who had once taught him honor, who had vanished without a word.

At last, he reached the base of the tower. Edgard stood atop it, back turned to the world, sword planted in the stone. His eyes were closed. Meditating. Or dreaming. Or trapped.

Latno called out, his voice cutting through the wind.

“Master. I’m here.”

The tower stirred.

Elsewhere…

Above all realms, the celestial beings watched.

“They walk the paths alone,” one murmured.

“But their fates are tied. As it was written,” said the other.

And below, two warriors stepped deeper into destiny—through pain and time and forgotten truth—to reclaim what was lost.

Their story was far from over.

But now, it had truly begun.