Golden flames surged violently around the room’s center, casting a molten glow over everything in sight. The sheer intensity of the heat warped reality itself, causing the very fabric of existence to melt like wax in the fire. The radiant inferno twisted the world, blurring the line between solid matter and divine essence, making even the air quiver under its power.

Aleric stood frozen, watching helplessly as the flames consumed the fruits of his labor. His grand designs, his ambitions, everything he had meticulously crafted was disintegrating before his eyes, reduced to ash and molten remnants.

His heart ached with regret and pain. 'How did it all come to this?' His plan had been flawless, every detail carefully considered. He had envisioned a future filled with glory and ascension, where his name would be whispered alongside the gods. And yet, despite all his planning, everything had crumbled.

He wondered, 'Was it arrogance? Was it my pride that blinded me?' He had once believed himself invincible, that no force could stand in his way, that his path to godhood was assured.

Aleric’s lips curled into a bitter smile, his reflection on his former self laced with self-deprecation. The brilliant Artisan, the genius who thought he could tame the divine itself, was now faced with the harshest of consequences. For nothing was more terrifying than the wrath of an enraged god.

Aurelion’s gaze weighed on him, a pressure so immense that it felt like it was crushing his very soul. The room seemed to pulse with the god’s fury, and Aleric felt as though the very walls were closing in on him. 

He had once stood before Aurelion with confidence, even defiance. But now, that composure was crumbling. As his mind spiraled, he remembered the words of a priest who always prayed to a figure on a cross, a symbol of salvation —'Ichor'—the Archangel of Fate, the son of the Old Sun God. He had been Aleric’s last hope.

After things had spiraled out of control, Aleric had sought Ichor out, desperate for aid. He had explained everything to the angel, his plans, his failure, and the unstoppable force that now hunted him. Ichor had smiled then, a serene, knowing smile, and had assured him that everything would be fine. He had even promised to intervene if things took a darker turn.

But now, as Aurelion stood before him, flames dancing in his eyes, Aleric realized just how wrong he had been. He had never imagined that his actions would bring him face to face with divine wrath. And when Aurelion mentioned Ichor’s name, the last vestiges of hope within Aleric crumbled.

It wasn’t because Aurelion had discovered his connection to Ichor. No, it was because, even after learning that the angel of Fate was involved, Aurelion’s expression hadn’t changed. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing. 

"Oh?" Aurelion’s voice was laced with amusement as he watched the shift in Aleric’s demeanor. "Did you really think invoking Ichor’s name would change anything? Did you expect me to back down, to speak to you with reverence, out of fear?" His tone dripped with mockery, each word peeling away Aleric’s fragile sense of control.

Ichor, the child of the Old Sun God, a being so powerful that many mistook him for a god in his own right even though he's just an Archangel. His feats were legendary, his power undeniable and no god believed otherwise. Aurelion understood why Aleric had placed such faith in him. Ichor had achieved what many believed impossible, and there were whispers that he had inherited more than just power from his divine father.

Aurelion’s mind drifted back to that fateful day. He remembered the golden blood of his former lordsl spilling across the oceans, and the world being plunged into chaos once more. It had been the twilight of the Old Sun God, the final moments of his reign. As his light dimmed, his resentment of Aurelion’s betrayal erupted into a cataclysm, spreading across the world like wildfire.

The alliance between gods and archangels had shattered in the wake of the disaster, as they turned on each other in a desperate scramble for the relics of the Old Sun God. But amid the chaos, one figure had risen above the rest—Ichor. The angel had appeared in the heart of the turmoil, and with him came the full weight of his father’s legacy.

When the gods descended upon him, Ichor stood unfazed. One of the first relics—the fallen body of the Old Sun God—manifested around him, shielding him from their assaults. It was a sight none would forget: a father, even in death, protecting his child. And when Ichor escaped the siege, it became clear to all that he was far more dangerous than anyone had anticipated.

Aurelion’s former self had always been wary of Ichor, suspecting that the angel was chosen by the Old Sun God as a contingency, a successor in case the god’s own ascension failed. Even the other gods had treated Ichor with caution, unsure of just how much of the Sun God’s legacy he had inherited.

But Aurelion was no longer the same being he once was. He had transcended his former self, evolved beyond the limitations of fear and uncertainty. Even with the knowledge of how formidable Ichor was, Aurelion stood ready to face him.

The flames in the room intensified, licking at the edges of reality, threatening to consume everything. Aleric could barely stand under the weight of Aurelion’s power. His last hope had turned to ashes. There was no one left to save him. 

Aurelion stood still, his golden eyes glowing with a quiet intensity as he surveyed the room. He had a feeling Ichor would not appear. There was no need.

"Have you not realized it yet, Aleric?" His voice, calm and unhurried, echoed in the room.

Aleric, once known as the Artisan, felt a chill crawl down his spine at Aurelion’s words.

“I never concealed my presence since I arrived on this floating continent.” Aurelion chuckled, the sound sharp and mocking. “I always thought you were the smartest of them all, Artisan.”

Aleric’s brown eyes darkened, the last flicker of hope extinguished in that moment. He had been waiting, clinging to the belief that Ichor—the angel of imagination, the one being who might stand against Aurelion—would intervene. But now, standing in Aurelion's merciless presence, he realized that his hope had been in vain.

Ichor was not coming.

"Your Excellency..." Aleric’s voice trembled, his throat dry. He bowed his head, the weight of the situation crushing him. “I’m prepared to accept any terms you wish to impose. I have wronged you.”

"Terms?" Aurelion raised a brow, a trace of amusement playing on his lips as he watched Aleric’s sudden change in demeanor. "At least now you’re beginning to understand the gravity of your situation, Aleric."

Aleric fell silent, his hands trembling as he clenched them tightly together. His body quivered, the mask of composure slipping away to reveal his true terror.

Aurelion’s smile faded, his expression hardening into cold indifference. “Let’s start with the Seekers of Origin. What happened there? And explain the issue with the Divine Eyes of sage."  

Aleric flinched at the mention of the order, knowing exactly what Aurelion sought. He felt the edges of his composure slip as the weight of his mistakes closed in.  

“And don’t try anything clever again,” Aurelion warned, his voice sharp as ice. He raised his hand, gesturing toward the towering window that overlooked the vast, floating continent suspended in the sky.  

The golden sun on the horizon suddenly flared, burning brighter than before. Its brilliance stretched across the floating land, bathing everything in a radiant glow. The entire continent shimmered under its piercing light, as if poised on the brink of destruction.  

“All I need to do is snap my fingers,” Aurelion said, his voice flat but brimming with quiet menace. “The sun will burn through your believers, and this entire continent will be reduced to ash.”  

Aleric’s heart pounded in his chest. His mind raced to calculate the cost—not just the physical destruction but the annihilation of everything he had built. Thousands of lives. The great city, the achievements of his alchemical designs, and the dream he had spent a lifetime pursuing.  

“And with it,” Aurelion continued, his voice low and deliberate, “your dream of ascension will vanish. Every piece of your grand design—your chance at godhood—gone.”  

Aleric’s breath hitched. The ritual to ascend as the God of Alchemy and Progress required the creation of a miracle—something extraordinary, far beyond the age’s comprehension. His floating continent was that miracle. A civilization-defining achievement, the pinnacle of progress. And now, Aurelion threatened to obliterate it in the blink of an eye.  

The fire in Aurelion’s golden gaze flared, casting a harsh light over Aleric’s trembling form. “So, Aleric… tell me everything. And remember,” Aurelion’s voice dropped to a deadly whisper, “you cannot bear the consequences if you deceive me again.”  

Aleric stood frozen, every muscle locked under the crushing weight of divine power. He knew Aurelion was not bluffing. There would be no mercy, no second chance. If he failed to satisfy the god’s demand, everything—his city, his ambitions, and his future—would be consumed in flame.  

Swallowing hard, Aleric steadied himself. There was no escape from this. He had no choice but to obey.