The sun cast long shadows as the group pushed deeper into the Olmec Hills, following narrow paths tangled with vines and remnants of a forgotten age. The forest felt subdued, almost reverent. The memory of the morning’s battle still lingered, but the air here was different—quiet, not threatening.

“It’s almost too quiet,” Seth murmured, bow already in hand.

“Better than another pack of Abyssal beasts,” Friedrich replied, though his grip on his greatsword never loosened.

Klara, walking a few steps ahead, suddenly stopped and pointed forward. “There. Look.”

The others followed her gaze. Rising above the treetops, half-hidden by mist, stood the ruins of an old church. Its stone walls were cracked and jagged, worn down by time, yet enough remained to hint at its former grandeur. A broken arch reached toward the sky, and fragments of stained glass still caught the sunlight.

“A church?” Star murmured, squinting. “It must date back to the Great War.”

Siegfried nodded. “Ancient—but still standing. That’s remarkable, considering all this land has endured.”

“And it could hold answers,” Klara added. Her catalyst glimmered faintly as she scanned the area. “I don’t sense Abyssal corruption here. We should investigate.”

They stepped inside the ruins, and an unexpected sense of familiarity settled over them. Though shattered and faded, the stained glass windows were still beautiful. Light streamed through broken panes, painting the stone floor in muted colors—red, gold, and blue—like memories refusing to fade.

Siegfried ran a hand along the wall, his fingers brushing cool stone. “Strange,” he murmured, his eyes following the intricate details of the glass. “These stories… I’ve heard them, but seeing them like this makes it all feel real.”

“What stories?” Seth tilted his head. “All I’ve heard about the Blond Hero is that he fought off some big, evil demon a long time ago. They don’t really teach much history in Chandrapura.”

Friedrich chuckled. “Seth, you might be the only person who didn’t grow up hearing about him. That man’s a legend across Atlantia.”

Star moved closer to the largest window. It depicted a golden-haired man holding a radiant sword, his posture steady, his expression calm—but his eyes carried a quiet sadness, as if he bore a weight no one else could see.

“The Blond Hero,” Star said softly. “The one who stopped Nibelung. The one who saved Atlantia during the Great War.”

Klara stepped beside her, studying the smaller panels around the central image. They showed fragments of a long journey—battles against shadowed beasts, encounters with towering figures of darkness, and moments of solitude beneath an immense, branching tree.

“This isn’t just legend,” Klara said. “Look at the detail. Someone wanted this remembered—because it happened.”

Siegfried knelt near a section where broken glass revealed carved stone beneath. He brushed away dust until words emerged.

“There’s an inscription,” he said.

The group gathered around as he read aloud:

“When darkness rose and the Abyss awakened,
the Seven Heavens sent forth a savior...
their chosen hero to defy despair.
He brought Light and carried Hope
for all who lived.
Alioth Castor,
Savior of Atlantia,
gave everything to protect this world from ruin.”

“Alioth Castor,” Star repeated, the name heavy with a strange familiarity. “So it’s true… that was the Blond Hero’s name.”

“It must be,” Klara breathed, eyes wide. “It’s the first time I’ve heard his name actually spoken like this. Most stories just call him the 'Hero' or the Savior.”

“That’s because most of the details were lost over time,” Siegfried added, awe in his voice. “But this… this confirms it. Alioth Castor wasn’t just a nameless figure. He was real.”

Friedrich crossed his arms, studying the stained glass with a critical eye. “If he was that great, why didn’t he stick around? He could’ve built a dynasty—ruled Atlantia, kept things in check.”

“Maybe he couldn’t,” Klara said thoughtfully. “Look at how he’s depicted. He’s always alone. Even in scenes with others, they kneel before him. No one stands beside him. Maybe the burden he carried was too heavy.”

Seth let out a low whistle. “Talk about a legacy. Saving the world, only to be forgotten.”

Star’s eyes lingered on the image of Alioth, her expression unreadable. “He wasn’t forgotten,” she said quietly. “We’re still telling his story. And if he gave everything for this world, it was because he believed in what he was protecting. Maybe he didn’t stay… because his part in the story was already done.”

Silence followed, heavy with thought. Each of them felt the weight of the story settle into place.

As they prepared to leave, Star cast one last look at the stained glass. The sunlight seemed warmer now, the golden hues lingering longer than before.

Alioth Castor, she whispered inwardly.

The name carried a quiet pull—something deeper than memory, as if it resonated within her, alive in a place she couldn’t yet understand.

They did not know it then, but this meeting with a forgotten legend was not an ending.

It was the beginning of a thread that would weave itself through their fate...
binding past and present, hero and successor,
in ways none of them could yet see.