The mess of sensations in Kieran’s body melted into a chaotic soup, threatening to overwhelm his mind.
The lower half of his body still felt like it was on fire. Jagged pebbles dug into his knees and hands. The clattering of his sword against the cold ground, followed closely by the melody of hundreds of crystalline fragments crashing onto the stone, triggered an instant and fierce headache.
Fighting against the pain to remain focused, he called on Mend. The cold energy spilling from his wrist provided relief twice over, dissipating the heat and closing his wounds.
Still, even through the agony and the healing process, all Kieran could think about was the pleasantly warm hand still clasped around his neck.
He couldn’t hold in a groan as he stood back up to his full height. Grabbing the crystalline hand, he struggled for a few moments to pry open the fingers. Then he simply stood there, looking down at the strange object in his grasp.
Constellations and stars still reflected beneath the hand’s surface. Their beautiful light was unhindered by the fact that the limb was no longer connected to its original body. Kieran traced the sharp edge of the arm stump, half-expecting to feel some sort of blood-type liquid, but finding none.
Then he started laughing. Just a weak chuckle at first, escalating quickly to raucous laughter that went on for several seconds.
As his mirth died down, he became aware of heavy footsteps coming up behind him.
“Kieran?” Rah’Na’s tone was cautious. “Are you… well?”
Kieran turned towards the old wolf, quickly regaining his composure. “Oh, never better,” he replied, calm as ever as he raised the divine hand. “I’m keeping this, by the way.”
Rah’Na’s concerned expression was quickly replaced by an amused grin as the old wolf shrugged. “I’ve seen stranger things… although not many.”
It was then that the realization fully sank in for Kieran. According to Gir’Amal, he had just slain the aspect of a god. It seemed wrong to him that the battle had ended so quickly, even though it was brutal.
“Rah’Na… I know that was only a ‘puppet’, but was it supposed to die that easily?”
“Do not make light of your work, Kieran. The gods may be cruel at times, but they’re not unfair,” Rah’Na assured him. “Gir'Amal’s power, defiance, lies in fighting insurmountable odds. While their power was lessened, it still takes guts and skill to overpower the vessel of a god. Although I wouldn’t expect the rest to be… quite this easy.”
“Hah. Others may have taken that as an insult, but frankly, I’m just thankful for the opportunity.” Kieran once again waved the disembodied hand.
Both of them turned towards the Vault door. The two lit circles remained, announcing those two gods’ approval of Kieran.
“Retrieve your sword and let’s go. It seems the gods are done with you for today,” Rah’Na announced after a few moments.
Her words drew Kieran’s attention to his blade. Still laid out on the ground after the killing blow, the simple steel tool was shimmering with prismatic light.
Kieran stooped to pick up the sword. As soon as the hilt was in his hand, a screen popped up in front of him, unprompted.




Sh-r- S-r--
Aaa re---le weapon fa@- by beginner ad-!-turers…
Lesser Foes Slain: Rebirth




The screen flickered for a moment, then rearranged itself.




Defiant Aphelion
To fight back against a god, even in lesser form, shows deep-rooted Defiance. Don’t let my sibling’s will force you onto a singular path, Worthy Contender.
Lesser Foes Slain: Reborn in Defiant Flame, its previous existence is wiped clean. It awaits your worthy hands, Contender.
Greater Foes Slain: Vessel of Gir’Amal, Flame Eternal
Weapon-Bound Skill:
Ashes to Ashes – When attacked, unleash a burst of searing light. The counter grows stronger proportional to the wielder’s wounds.




Kieran dismissed the screen almost subconsciously, appreciating the weapon’s prismatic glint as he inspected it again.
Turning defense into offense… a nasty little trick.
He sheathed the blade with a private smile of satisfaction. Then he rejoined Rah’Na, and the two started on their way back.
As they walked, Kieran pondered the meaning behind the sword’s name. He hadn’t even spared a thought to ‘Last Breath.’ As a gift from Death itself, its name was obvious. But Defiant Aphelion… that was a name with layers behind it.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.
While Kieran’s mother was learned in mythology and history, his father was almost an expert in astronomy. So, Kieran knew that an aphelion was the point in a celestial body’s orbit at which it was furthest from its sun.
As for the meaning of a ‘Defiant Aphelion’… he could probably spend days pondering the significance of that, but he didn’t have the time or the will at the moment.
Instead, his thoughts turned to the flow of energy within him. It was… warmer. The warmth was fading slowly, yes, but it was there. He could feel it tugging at his heart, urging him to scream defiance to the heavens and beyond.
Driven by sudden curiosity, Kieran summoned his spell screen.




General: Recall
Domain of Death: Mend / Maim, Form of Death (Basic)
Domain of Defiance: Shield Counter
Total: 1000 essence




The rearranged screen and the appearance of a new entry caught Kieran off-guard, but it also intrigued him. If earning a god’s favor always came with a fraction of their power…
He tapped on Shield Counter to bring up its description.




Shield Counter
Conjure a brief shield around the caster, capable of absorbing both physical and magical strikes for ten seconds. Once the shield is depleted, or the caster dismisses it willingly, the shield erupts using the full force of any absorbed strikes. The shield grows stronger proportional to the caster’s wounds.




Kieran dismissed the screen and rubbed his chin, already thinking up strategies with his new tricks.
“A personal favorite, that one,” Rah’Na said, cutting into his train of thought. “Shield Counter. Saved my fur more times than I can count.”
Kieran raised an eyebrow. “These are abilities you are capable of too, then?”
“Remember, I was Gir’Amal’s contender.” The old wolf nudged Kieran’s shoulder with her elbow. “Any trick they grant you, chances are it is also in my arsenal.”
Kieran nodded slowly. He kept forgetting that Rah’Na was one of the oldest Contenders on Lyruna, even if she was effectively retired.
“Of course,” he said. “That makes sense. Any tips on how to use it effectively?”
“Certainly. But not through words. When you feel like training, actively, let me know. I will share everything through action.”
Rah’Na’s tone left no room for argument. Kieran could tell she viewed training as something borderline sacred.
“Oh, and before I forget,” Rah’Na went on, turning towards Kieran with a grin. “That dwarf, Darrick: he’s a smith by trade. If you provide him with the instructions for your… special tools, he can make them.”
Kieran’s ears perked up as another wide smile spread across his features. How many times had he smiled recently? His face muscles weren’t used to stretching this way so often.
But he couldn’t help it. Master of emotional control or no, the joy he felt at the thought of being reunited with the right tools for dissection was uncontainable.
“Excellent,” he said, still beaming from ear to ear. “I’ll need to do some sketching when we get back.”
The pair spent the rest of the walk in comfortable silence, enjoying the gentle breeze and golden rays of morning light.
When they drew closer to the heart of town, Kieran began to hear music. The sound of a lute and singing became clearer with every step. Even at a distance, he could tell that whoever was singing was either very gifted or very well-practiced. Possibly both.
Kieran was surprised to find his heart lifting at the sound. He had learned to appreciate music at the front lines, where it could bring some semblance of hope to both the healthy and the dying. Still, it had been little more than a passing interest.
Now, though… after so many years spent in the morgue, and then the near-total isolation he’d initially experienced on Lyruna, it felt strangely good to witness something so lively.
“They seem to have made themselves at home,” he observed.
“Rather quickly, yes.” Rah’Na tried to sound neutral, but hints of nostalgia crept into her voice. In his periphery, Kieran could see the old wolf’s tail wagging. “It has been a long time since last I heard music…”
When the pair eventually arrived back at the street outside Rah’na’s home, they were greeted by quite the sight.
The survivors had used the various scraps of cloth and other materials they’d gathered on their journey to pitch a tent between the barracks and the buildings set into the mountain. Massive wooden and metal poles held up huge swathes of cloth. Seats had been made out of shabby pillows and whatever furniture the survivors could find nearby.
The three humans were sitting down while the two beast-folk danced around a makeshift fire pit. The flames sputtered cheerily against the morning light. Darrick and the other dwarf dragged out a couple crates and began passing bottles around. Kieran could only guess it was some sort of moonshine.
When they noticed Kieran and Rah’Na approaching, the two dancers rushed over and each grabbed Rah’Na by an arm. They dragged the old wolf into the fray, chatting merrily to her all the while. Neither spoke to Kieran, though he noticed a few sidelong glances cast in his direction.
If he was prone to emotions, he might’ve been hurt. As it was, though, he couldn’t care less.
Instead, he walked over to the wooden furniture where he had sat with Rah’Na the previous day and got comfortable, watching the scene unfold. It all reminded him of the stories of nomads from back home.
He listened as the singing picked up again. The lyrics spun the tale of survival in the face of seemingly insurmountable danger, of finding safety, and of sticking together as a family on the road. Even Rah’Na joined in at some point. By the song’s end, Kieran found himself touched by the message.
Running his thumb over the hilt of his sword, he thought how Gir’Amal must appreciate the tune of defiance these brave souls sang in the face of the invasion. Instantly, he felt that tug of warmth again, briefly dispersing the cold he’d grown so used to. That’s when he remembered the crystalline hand, still tucked into his sash.
Before he had the chance to see to it, however, Kieran noticed Darrick split off from the crowd and head towards him. The dwarf was carrying an unopened bottle and two rough mugs, an anxious smile plastered on his face.
“Good morning, Darrick.” Kieran put on his own best smile in an attempt to calm the dwarf. Instead, the act seemed to make Darrick slow his step.
“Mornin’, Master Hall.” Gathering his courage, Darrick managed the final few steps and sat across the table from Kieran. “Master Rah’Na tells me you need some tools made?”
Kieran was already surprised that the dwarf was willing to talk to him. His surprise doubled when Darrick expertly opened the bottle he was carrying and poured the liquid into the mugs while speaking, without so much as looking at his hands.
“Yes… but drop the ‘Master’ thing, please. I’m just Kieran.”
Darrick raised his eyebrows. “Huh. An’ ‘ere I thought ye Contender types would insist on some sorta… ceremony, or somethin’.” Darrick shrugged, sliding one mug towards Kieran. “Well, makes it easier anyway. There’s a forge in this ‘ere town, so jus’ tell me what needs makin’.”
Kieran took the mug, appreciating the dwarf’s bluntness. “The tools I need are… specific. Thin blades and contraptions to hold things open, a small and pointed hammer… I’ll draw up some sketches for you come noon.”
“Aye, that works best.” Darrick nodded and stood. “Well, enjoy yer drink then, lad. I’ll go serve some more.”