The streets of Halgrith Citadel were cloaked in a permanent haze—smoke, ash, and the lingering glow of LED lights.
Siege walked beside his father, each step echoing down the towering avenues of grey skyscrapers and tarnished steel.
The ground shimmered with lines of dull blue circuitry that pulsed beneath their feet.
Surrounding the inner city like a ring was the outer one, the skeletal remains of old titans— buildings since decayed and long lost—peered down with broken eyes.
Watching as if judging the remnants of civilization they once protected.
His father, Garret, still wore the grease-stained denim of a trash man, though his slight limp seemed more pronounced now.
He didn't say much, just walked in silence, occasionally glancing at Siege like he might disappear again.
"You look... a bit dangerous now, huh. How do you feel?," Garret finally said, voice rough and cracked like old stone.
Siege chuckled dryly. "I feel good, unnaturally good."
"And thanks, Dad. You're looking... exactly as overworked as I remember."
Garret laughed. A tired sound, but real. "I didn't think I'd see you again, kid. I kept your room just as you left it. Even the dirty socks."
"Gods," Siege muttered. "That's crueler than anything Fafnir ever did."
"Fafnir?", his dad questioned.
"It's a long story", Siege grimaced as he explained.
Despite leaving out some of the more brutal parts, his father's face still twisted with horror.
They continued to pass through the inner rings of the Citadel, where architecture towered like altars— although still shorter than the trees of Mortar.
Buildings were like pillars twisted into the shapes of writhing serpents and rods piercing the sky.
Temples turned into factories. Statues wore scaffolding like shackles. It carried an ancient beauty, defiled by modern necessity.
"Feels... different," Siege said, glancing up at a hollow-eyed statue next to a restaurant.
"No," Garret replied. "You're just... bigger now. You've seen more. The city didn't change. You just grew past it."
They reached the Slag Quarter, where the structures lost their divine mimicry and turned into rusted steel and soot-stained concrete.
Vents belched steam. Children ran barefoot through puddles of biofluids. The air tasted of iron and dirt.
Their home still stood—a crooked thing of sheet metal and reinforced walls, patched more times than Siege could count.
Yet it welcomed him with a familiarity he hadn't felt since before the Trial.
Inside, everything was dim. A single flickering light hovered in the ceiling like it was struggling to remain conscious.
Siege sat down on the old couch that groaned under his weight. It hadn't been made to accommodate someone with dragon-born muscle.
Garret leaned against the kitchen counter, arms folded, watching him.
"So," he said, "you're going to Anatheon."
Siege nodded. "Yeah. Enrollment's automatic after a successful ascension."
Garret was quiet for a moment. Then: "I hate that place."
Siege looked up. "You've never even been."
"I used fix their transports. Rebuilt half their machinery before I got injured. Enough to know what kind of hell it is."
His father had once been a successful mechanic, but now to the city was nothing more than a wretch that picked up garbage.
Siege leaned back. "Guess I'll fit right in, then."
A silence stretched between them—comfortable, melancholic. A shared understanding that neither of them needed to name.
Garret broke it with a question, half-joke: "So what's it like? Fighting a dragon."
Siege smirked. "Killing it dragon is the easy part. It's surviving the mind games that hurts."
They both laughed, though Siege's was hollow. He remembered Fafnir's eyes—the endless cruelty, the twisted amusement.
He still felt the heat of that fire in his bones.
Garret poured them both a drink. It tasted like regret and cheap grain, but it was warm, and that was enough.
---
Later that night, Siege sat on the rooftop. The sky above Halgrith was a churning mass of stars and broken satellites.
Beyond the Citadel's walls, nothing moved but shadows. The monstrous world outside—the Outer Dark, as people called it—stretched on forever. A place where flesh and corruption danced in grotesque union.
Only ten percent of land was within mankind's control, huddled inside citadels like Halgrith. The rest had been consumed, twisted, or simply forgotten.
The gods had fallen or died. Now, remnants—Ascendants like Siege—were expected to fight back.
Anatheon Academy was the crucible.
Perched near the Citadel's spine, it loomed like a cathedral made of bone and memory. It trained gods—not in the poetic sense, but literally.
Those who survived their Trials were molded into divine weapons. Philosophy, combat, legacy-bond theory, dominion crafting, soul-anchoring—Anatheon taught it all.
But no one came out the same.
Siege had heard the rumors of instructors who weren't entirely human anymore. Students vanishing into black halls that no one dared speak of.
They said Anatheon wasn't a school. It was a test you never stopped taking.
Still, Siege knew he had to go. Not just because it was expected—but because something inside him craved it. A hunger he couldn't name.
He looked toward the Citadel's inner sanctum.
A gleaming tower pierced the heavens, crowned by burning light.
That was Lyssandra Maxwell's domain—the God of War and Wisdom, legacy of Kartikeya, the six-faced general of the gods, born to destroy the great demon Tarakasura.
A Rank 5 True God, Divine.
Her presence was rarely seen but always felt.
Her voice echoed through thought-screens, her decrees reshaped policies overnight.
She had ended three rebellions with a whisper and silenced an entire cult with a single glance.
Some said she rode an artificial peacock construct stitched with circuitry and divine code.
Others claimed she carried six minds within one body, each one speaking in ancient tongues when angered.
Some whispered she had outgrown even the concept of war itself, now obsessed with purifying the soul through battle, like Kartikeya once was—compassion through conquest, salvation through fire.
Siege wasn't sure what he believed.
---
"Still awake?" Garret's voice pulled him back.
Siege nodded, not turning.
"Just thinking."
His father joined him, groaning slightly as he sat. They looked out together.
"You scared?" Garret asked.
"Yeah," Siege admitted.
"Good. That means you're still human."
Siege smirked. "Not so sure about that anymore."
They sat in silence, two silhouettes against a flickering skyline.
"You'll do fine," Garret said after a while. "You always do."
Siege didn't answer. Somewhere deep in the city, a siren wailed. A Vault had failed. Another Ascendant had turned.
He closed his eyes and listened.