Chronicles of The God Slayer of Shadows-Chapter 48 - Forty Eight

The wind was silent.

Adrien stood alone in a field of black sand, beneath a sky strewn with stars that pulsed like heartbeats. The air felt heavy—thick with memories that weren't his. No sound. No scent. Just the pull of something ancient... something waiting.

A shadow passed before him.

Not a figure at first, but a presence—tall as the sky, deep as the void between stars. Slowly, the dark took shape: a man cloaked in shadow and starlight, his eyes two glowing slits of amethyst fire. A curved crown of obsidian adorned his brow, and his voice came like thunder veiled in whispers.

"You've walked far, Adrien."

Adrien tensed. His hand drifted to his side—no sword.

"Who are you?" he asked, his voice calm but wary.

The figure stepped forward. Each step left ripples of starlight in the sand.

"I am what they buried and tried to forget. The last breath before silence. The blade in the dark when the gods grew proud." The figure paused, then offered a slight nod. "I am Ardonis, once called the Celestial of Shadows."

Adrien's mouth was dry. "You're dead."

"So they say. But death is fickle with shadows." Ardonis looked past him, at something only he could see. "You carry a spark of what I was... and what they feared. The world trembles not because of who you are—but who you could become."

"Then tell me. What am I supposed to do?"

Ardonis's form flickered—half-light, half-mist.

"You were not meant to be a pawn. Not for gods, not for demons. You were forged to cut through what binds the world." His voice grew sharper. "The first crystal fragment is but a door. Beyond it lies memory. Mine. Yours."

Adrien stared up at him. "Then guide me."

Ardonis gave a faint smile. It wasn't warm—but it was real.

"Find the old path, hidden beneath Dawnfire. Where my voice first vanished. There, your shadow will begin to remember its shape."

The dream began to unravel—stars falling like ash, sand slipping upward.

"Wake, Adrien. The game begins."

---

Adrien sat up with a start, breath shallow, heart hammering.

Damien snored lightly across the room, oblivious.

Moonlight spilled through the window, but Adrien felt something colder. A hum beneath his skin. A whisper clinging to the edges of his thoughts.

Ardonis wasn't just a myth.

He was watching.

And he had called.

The arena was a coliseum of sun-polished stone and cheering chaos. Banners fluttered in the breeze, and the crowd roared like an ocean as Adrien stepped into the circle of sand once more.

Damien gave him a firm clap on the shoulder before heading to the viewing stands. "Try not to vaporize this one. The healers are already tired of your 'accidental restraint.'"

Adrien smirked, eyes scanning the arena floor. "Can't help it if they keep throwing squirrels at me."

The gate across the ring creaked open.

This opponent was different.

Clad in light plate mail etched with swirling runes, the fighter moved with a hunter's grace. A spear gleamed in her hand, its head shaped like a crescent moon. The crowd quieted—this was someone known.

"Lyssa Moonveil of the Halcyon Steppe!" the announcer cried.

Adrien raised a brow. "She's got a title. I feel underdressed."

Lyssa gave a short bow. "No shame in walking away before your pride gets split open."

He gave a dramatic sigh, hand resting lazily on his sword. "And here I thought we'd be friends. Guess I'll just have to disappoint you gently."

The gong rang.

Lyssa was fast—blindingly so.

She closed the distance in a blink, spear thrusting with pinpoint precision. Adrien barely tilted his head to avoid it, parrying with the flat of his blade. The crowd gasped as sparks danced.

Her strikes were relentless, each movement fluid, trained, almost beautiful.

But Adrien was no longer just a man with a sword.

He ducked low, letting her spear graze past him, then twisted and let his blade hum forward. She blocked it, but the force sent her sliding back across the sand.

He didn't chase.

Instead, he tapped the tip of his sword to the ground and gave her a lazy smile. "You swing like a dancer. Are we fighting, or is this some kind of audition?"

Her eyes narrowed, but she smirked. "You're holding back."

Adrien didn't reply. Shadows curled faintly around his boots.

The battle resumed, more fierce this time, each strike testing the edge of what Adrien was willing to show. He won—not through raw power, but through unnerving control. He disarmed her with a single feint and offered her spear back after the match.

She took it with a nod, eyes still locked on his.

"You're not what you seem," she said quietly.

Adrien's grin returned, crooked and knowing. "I get that a lot."