Not the roaring fire of conquest… but the smothered crackle of something already dead.

Ash drifted through the air like tired snow. Roof beams hissed as they collapsed into the mud. The river beside the village steamed — crimson running down with the water.

In the middle of it all knelt a boy.

Eiden Vale pressed his trembling hand against the soldier’s chest. His fingers glowed faintly, a gold that didn’t belong to the mortal world. Light ran beneath his skin like threads of fire trapped in glass.

“Stay still,” he whispered. “I can still—”

The man coughed blood into the night. “You shouldn’t… waste it on me, boy.”

Eiden’s throat tightened. The warmth was already draining from his fingers into the soldier’s cold ribs. The power wasn’t gentle — it clawed through his veins like broken glass, taking pieces of him with it.

“If I don’t, no one will,” Eiden breathed.

The man gave a bitter smile. “Then may your kindness damn you.”

The glow intensified. Veins blazed down Eiden’s neck and arms — the gold grew brighter, hotter. The soldier’s breathing steadied for a heartbeat.

And then the pain slammed into Eiden’s chest.

His lungs seized as if stabbed. Blood beaded from the corner of his mouth. Every heartbeat stole a little more of him.

"You’re giving too much again…"

"You always do."

The voice wasn’t real. It was the echo of his own thoughts. But the world blurred around him.

The soldier took a final breath. The light faded. Eiden slumped forward, gasping, his palm smeared with another man’s life.

Around him, the Horn of Harvest sounded.

A long, low note. Cold. Inescapable.

Eiden froze. He knew that sound.

The Imperial Harvesters.

The villagers said they came for resources. But everyone knew the truth. They hunted anomalies—those born with veins that still carried the gods’ light.

Like his.

Golden light pulsed faintly under his skin like a curse.

He staggered to his feet, clutching his ribs. The world smelled of blood and charred earth. In the distance, hooves thundered on the stone road.

Run.

He turned.

And stopped.

At the edge of the village square, the statue of the First Lumen — broken and blackened — stared at him with hollow eyes. Its hand still stretched toward the heavens.

For a second, Eiden almost believed it moved.

“Eiden!”

A girl’s voice cut through the ringing in his ears.

Mira sprinted through the smoke, her small figure wrapped in a torn shawl. Ash clung to her cheeks, streaked with tears.

“They’re coming from the west road—”

“I know,” he rasped. “Where’s your brother?”

Her lip quivered. She didn’t answer.

Silence said enough.

He reached out and pulled her close, his golden veins dimming beneath soot and dirt. She shivered against his chest.

Behind them, the horn sounded again — closer this time.

Eiden clenched his fists. His light flared faintly, responding to his heartbeat.

He hated that it betrayed him so easily.

“Through the mill tunnels,” he whispered. “Now.”

Mira’s small hand gripped his. They ran through the ruins of their village — the mud, the flames, the scattered bodies. Eiden forced his legs to keep moving, though every step ached from the wound he’d taken for someone else.

As they reached the edge of the mill, the air shifted.

A sound like tearing silk.

Three figures appeared in the distance, cloaked in black, armor etched with silver veins. Their helmets had no faces — only lines of cold white light running where eyes should be.

Harvesters.

“Target located,” a metallic voice declared. “Lumen signature confirmed. Golden Vein.”

Mira squeezed his hand. “Eiden…”

He didn’t answer. He stepped forward.

Something burned in his chest. Not power — fear.

He’d felt this before, years ago, when they took his mother.

One of the Harvesters raised a hand. The air rippled, and spears of silver shot forward.

Eiden grabbed Mira and rolled aside. The spears hissed past, embedding into the mill with a sound like breaking bone.

"You can’t fight them. You’ll die."

Maybe. But running wouldn’t save Mira.

His hands trembled. The golden veins beneath his skin flared brighter, as if screaming. A heat rose from deep within his chest, flooding his arms.

The ground beneath him cracked with the pressure.

He raised his hand.

A thin arc of gold light burst from his palm — wild and unrefined — crashing against the cobblestones. Dust exploded around them. The Harvesters slowed their approach.

For the first time, their heads tilted slightly. Studying him.

“…An unbound carrier,” one of them said.

Eiden’s knees nearly buckled. The light wanted to rip him apart from inside.

But he stood his ground.

The lead Harvester raised its spear. “Capture alive.”

The world blurred.

Spears flew.

Eiden shouted — not in power, but in defiance. The gold light wrapped around Mira and flung her back into the tunnel. His chest burned like fire eating him alive.

A spear pierced his shoulder. He didn’t fall.

He screamed through clenched teeth, his hand pressing against the spear shaft, golden veins blazing like a star about to explode.

A voice — deep, ancient, broken — whispered inside his skull:

At last… a spark… in the ashes again.

The world trembled. The Harvester’s armor cracked from the wave of energy erupting around him. The sky above the burning village flickered — for a heartbeat, the clouds split, revealing a symbol of gold etched into the heavens.

And then—

Darkness.

---

Somewhere far away, an ancient being stirred for the first time in a thousand years.

The Eighth Lumen had awakened.