Zenith Online: Rebirth of the Strongest Player

The past few days had not been the best for Kieran.

Though it wasn't filled with suffering, he did spend his days in mild discomfort — bodily, at least.

The problem stemmed from the Flame's inability to nurse his damaged eyes. Similar to how it stayed away from the power of the Furthered Scales of Balance, the damage his eyes accrued fell outside its jurisdiction.

Granted, Kieran didn't know if this was a concrete restriction or if the Flame simply didn't want to deal with the onerous task of having to expel the pure qualities of the mystic energy.

Returning to the Temple of War and Flame had been no issue in spite of his deteriorating condition. Cardinal Weiss was a powerful guardian, nearly unmatched throughout the realm of the Land of Ruin. That's how his combat power made him seem, at least. Kieran had yet to come across a person — or thing — capable of besting Cardinal Weiss in a battle.

He was a man of pure, brutal might.

Though the Cardinal of War and Flame was an exceptional protector, Kieran didn't feel all that safe. And that… was an issue from within, arising from his fading vision.

A look at the sky reinforced that feeling.

While the Land of Ruin's sky always seemed dismal and capable of inspiring wistful terror — like the sky had come to be a mirror of the devastation reaped across the lands — it seemed unusually disconcerting in Kieran's blackening vision. Almost like a dark omen was befalling them.

After crossing the threshold of the giant metal doors, where his impaired glimpse of the dreary sky disappeared, Kieran felt the security of the Temple. That was strange in itself, considering the events that took place here.

Then again, most of those atrocities occurred under the Temple's pristine floors, inside the barbaric Pit of Culling and the Stone Hold far beneath that floor of demise. The acts of evil beneath the surface could hardly be associated with the Temple's idyllic setting.

The Temple of the War and Flame seemed almost sacrosanct and worthy of worship… if sacrilege was worthy of reverence. What could a Fallen God be called if not one that had performed sacrilege?

Kieran shrugged at that thought.

'You do what you have to do sometimes. I guess.'

With enough time to think, consider, and judge came several subtle changes in Kieran's thought process. Good, evil — those words lost a bit of meaning to him. But that tended to happen with the acquisition of understanding.

'Understanding is sometimes a burden. But what do I really understand here?'

Kieran considered all that he knew.

There were fragments of the Flame's fascinating past, how much change was despised, and the desperation to keep order. All that was derived from the Flame's storytelling. But that story possessed many voids where logic vanished.

'The Flame isn't logical, though. It is self-serving.'

Whenever they had spoken, the Flame had always mentioned itself. Even when discussing others, it found a way to make itself the primary focus. How far would it go to serve itself then?

Kieran thought about the Trial's setting. He had learned that everything thus far was connected, which meant the Flame and the Land of Ruin were connected.

'Land of Ruin...'

It was his most pressing concern. Perhaps it was overthinking due to his depressive episode, which stemmed from the ennui of lacking his eyes, but Kieran frequently questioned the reason he had ended up in the Land of Ruin.

The loss of sight contributed to the mood.

Usually, Masters didn't require the eyes to see. They culminated the sense to form a sixth sense — the Mind's Eye. But as a Runemaster, Kieran's Mind's Eye had been dismantled and assimilated into the Mystic Gate.

That came at a great benefit and dire cost, though.

Having overworked his physical eyes and taxed his mind, the world itself seemed out of reach in Kieran's perception. It was a strange dissociating feeling that left him feeling strange, listless, and troubled.

Despite his low mood, Kieran upheld his inquisitive mind, bringing the full effect of Eni's precepts to bear. The tenets of his creed were invasive and persistent but also welcomed.

After becoming a Fiend, Kieran's body wanted less for food. He could sit in his Realm for days, winnowing the information until it gained structure.

Most of it was filled with minutiae that had no bearing outside the Wailing Sierra or during the terrible ordeal with the Bloodwights, but some of it… some of it spoke to some alarming findings.

For example, why was the miasma around the Wailing Sierra thicker than it was across the lands? It defied many principles that it should have adhered to.

The noxious concentration seeped upward when it could, coating the space between the sky and the mountain peak until it blotted out the twisted vista above.

More than that, the miasma near the Wailing Sierra felt purer and bore remnants of the Bloodwights' bizarre energy signature. Kieran didn't understand why, but he knew after feeling their bite, the Bloodwights were something he should eschew.

Why did he feel he was fated to meet even more of them? As if they were an inevitable opponent.

'No damned good at all. What was it again?'

The Place of Bane.

He remembered the Flame having something to say about that. According to the Flame, the Place of Bane was as much a Fiend's home as it was the Bloodwight. They were disturbing, far-removed relatives of one another.

'Then… what isn't the Flame telling me about the Bloodwights?'

Not long after his return, Kieran had asked the Flame several questions, and unlike his previous behavior of warming up to the young Fiend and referring to him as its child, the Flame adopted a reticent attitude.

Since when had the loquacious Flame that didn't stop its word vomit become a taciturn entity? It didn't. The Flame only acted this way when Kieran's questions were too acute.

Meaning…

'That damned Flame is cooking up something nefarious. And it involves those Bloodwights!'

Come to think of it, Kieran had also acquired more information from his surroundings that he ignored at the time — and that information rose from within the great depths of the Screaming Night.

'What were those serpentine tendrils? And… why did they connect to the miasma and seemingly disappear? But that's not entirely true, I sensed those tendrils flowing in several directions. One of those directions…'

Kieran looked down and remembered the grand doors of ornate, heavy metal. If he wasn't mistaken, the terminus of those tendrils should have been the gate leading outside the catacombs beneath the Temple.

That connection is why Kieran greatly suspected the Flame was up to something vile. If that were true, though… why had the Bloodwights attacked Kieran? He had roused them from their enjoyable slumber, but if they were indeed under the Flame's control, wouldn't it have stopped them?

He was the Flame's Great Firebearer, after all.

Kieran considered the point, then shook his head.

'No, we can never think logically regarding the Flame. I may be its Firebearer, but it had sacrificed too many pawns for me not to be wary of it.'

There was a chance the Flame gave the Bloodwights carte blanche to help strengthen Kieran through desperation. As Kieran thought about it, a chill cascaded down his back.

If any of his assumptions of the Flame were true, it was a truly cunning entity, capable of subverting attention through imperceptibly deceitful theatrics.

Kieran sighed.

The miasma was terrible enough, but his actual concern was those tendrils… like fine, resilient threads belonging to a puppeteer. Their potential to do unspeakable things was undeniably high.

…If they served the purpose that Kieran suspected they did.

The state of the Land of Ruin and the Flame's potential dishonesty was not the only matter Kieran had focused on. Without the stress of the Wailing Sierra weighing against his thoughts to make them critical and petulant, Kieran had time to review the catalyst of the Bloodwight situation.

'Perhaps she didn't hang up on me.'

Kieran could recall the event even with keen detail. The Sacred Inheritor on the other side of those translucent, ethereal chains sounded extraordinarily crisp as if she possessed exquisite sound equipment. Such a strong connection shouldn't have been severed abruptly unless by a force it couldn't withstand.

Neither Kieran nor the Sacred Inheritor could achieve the needed force.

'The Flame?!'

Soon, Kieran shook his head. The Flame had not once tampered with the Anchor and its abilities.

If not the Flame, then…

'The Anchor? Had the Anchor forcibly cut off the connection? Why give me the ability if you're going to interfere before I can use it? Unless… is it only the Sacred Inheritor that can communicate through the chains?'

Curious, Kieran focused inside his Realm until he could gather enough Will to amass a Master's Presence. Then, he activated the Call of the Anchor to see if it'd allow him the privilege again.

Shockingly enough, it worked.

The Anchor did not sabotage Kieran's attempt to activate its secondary purpose. Those six translucent chains once more appeared in his grasp, and like last time, he singled out the Sacred Chain.

But he didn't immediately make contact with it. Instead, he stared at the Anchor silently, waiting to see its next move.

No action happened. The chains sat there, motionless and taut as they had been in the beginning.

'Using the ability isn't the problem. So what is it?'

He touched the Sacred Chain, poured his intent into it, and received a response from that enchanting voice.

"Hello? It's you again… who exactly are you?"

With that question, Kieran could feel the connection beginning to falter. It was being encroached upon by something significant.

Last time, his response came naturally, compelling him to speak his name. This time, he remained silent, and after a few seconds, the faltering sensation passed.

'Is that what it was?! No names? We have been forbidden from speaking our names… maybe?'