The sky of Polyester was never as vast as when seen from the southern terrace of the Waschbar estate. A sea of clouds swept across the mountains, and the orange light of dawn brushed against the blue slate of noble rooftops.
Stealus stood there alone, dressed in the pearl-gray uniform of heirs. He was only fifteen, but his gaze spoke of more. A gaze too stable, too lucid for his age. He contemplated the distance—not with hope, but with strategy.
Today was not an ordinary day.
"Lord Stealus," said a valet with a bow. "The marquis awaits you in the judgment hall."
He nodded and followed, without a word.
The judgment hall was neither tribunal nor torture chamber. It was a sacred place, forged in obsidian, its walls covered with ancient swords, funeral masks, and ancestral banners. At the center, a circular platform engraved with runes glowed with a faint white light. Before it sat the four clan chiefs of Waschbar blood.
Beside them: a priest of the Divine Church.
Dressed in an ivory mantle adorned with a golden eye, he held a scepter set with a crystal fragment. He was a White Inquisitor. His presence meant only one thing: the Revelation ceremony was about to take place.
"Bring the child," declared the patriarch.
Stealus stepped forward and climbed onto the platform alone. He did not tremble.
"Full name," requested the priest.
"Stealus van Waschbar, third son of Marquis Atharvan Waschbar."
The priest nodded, closed his eyes, and raised the scepter to the sky. The light in the hall flickered. The air became heavier, as if charged with meaning.
"On this day, we call upon Divine Will. May the God to whom you are bound manifest, and reveal your place in the Grand Chessboard."
A circle of light rose around Stealus. Wind blew. A wave of pressure crossed the room. The runes illuminated with gold. The blades hanging on the walls vibrated in unison.
Then... a voice.
"My name is Zeus."
Silence fell.
The priest stepped back, eyes wide.
"It's... impossible."
The golden light became lightning. A colossal silhouette took shape in the magic circle: laurel crown, lightning eyes, beard of flames. The shadow of a divine king.
"This child belongs to me. He is my apostle."
The words resonated like a sentence. The ground cracked slightly beneath his feet.
Stealus closed his eyes. Apostle?
He felt something awaken within him. A warmth in his chest. No... not warmth. A command.
Rise.
The magic circle extinguished abruptly. The presence disappeared.
The priest knelt. The clan chiefs did the same. Even the marquis bowed his head.
"One of the Four Primordials has chosen you," he murmured. "It is an honor... that surpasses our blood."
Stealus still stared at the place where the silhouette had vanished.
A voice still echoed in his head. "You have not yet seen me, Stealus. But you will see me. When thunder strikes one of the seven heavens... I will be there."
Later, in the silence of his quarters, Stealus observed himself in the mirror.
He did not tremble.
Apostle of a god. One of the most powerful. That meant... what?
He didn't quite believe it yet. And yet, in his mind, fragments of memories piled up. Images he had never seen. Battlefields. Lightning in an ink-black sky. Cries of titanic beasts.
He took a long breath.
Then, he closed his eyes.
That night, he dreamed.
He dreamed of a broken world. Of a dungeon beneath a blood-red sky. Of creatures with twisted faces, multiple arms, human but inverted bodies, crawling through corridors of black stone. He dreamed of an empty throne. And of a seated silhouette, headless, hands crossed.
And of a word. Carved into the wall of the dream.
Erevos.
The next morning, an official summons arrived at Waschbar manor. Sealed with the Seal of the Four Nations.
The Inter-Pantheon Academy of Cultivation and Dungeon Eradication, recently founded to combat the growing threat of primo-apocalyptic dungeons, was calling its ten prodigies for the opening of the first class.
Stealus was one of the names inscribed.
The marquis stared at him for a long time.
"You have no choice," he said.
"I never have," replied Stealus.
Then he went to pack his bags.