Chapitre 3: 3; FORGOTTEN WARDEN
The world beyond the Citadel of Ashfall was nothing like the Warden remembered. As he trekked through the charred wasteland, the once-familiar landscapes had become alien to him. His steps were heavy, weighed down not by the physical fatigue of his immortal form but by the crushing sense of loss that seemed to hang over the land like a thick fog. The void had not merely crept into the world—it had consumed it in ways far deeper than he had imagined.
The earth beneath his feet crumbled like ash with every step. Trees that had once towered proudly were now twisted husks, their bark blackened and brittle. The sky above was an angry swirl of dark clouds, heavy with the promise of storms that never came. There was a stillness to the air, as though the world held its breath, waiting for the final blow.
But the Warden had no time to mourn what had been lost. His mission was clear: find the other Wardens, reassemble the fractured balance, and confront the growing threat of the void. He walked for what felt like days, though time had long since lost meaning for him. The world around him blurred into a monotonous expanse of black and gray, until at last, he saw something—no, someone—on the horizon.
A figure, shrouded in the haze of the distance, stood at the crest of a hill. The Warden's heart quickened, though he kept his pace steady. It couldn't be a coincidence. After so long in isolation, the odds of encountering anyone in these barren lands were slim. Could this be one of the Wardens? Could his search have ended so soon?
As he drew closer, the figure became clearer. Clad in armor, much like his own, but battered and worn from what appeared to be centuries of neglect. The once-glistening steel was rusted, the intricate designs of a long-forgotten age barely visible through the grime that coated it. A large, crackling axe was slung across the figure's back, its head embedded with shattered crystals of deep blue.
The Warden knew this armor. The symbol on the figure's chest—two intersecting waves etched into the steel—was unmistakable.
**"The Warden of Tides,"** he whispered to himself.
As if hearing the Warden's words, the figure turned slowly, its movements sluggish and strained, as though every joint had rusted from years of disuse. The face beneath the dented helmet was obscured, but the faint shimmer of blue eyes glowing from the darkness told the Warden that this was indeed one of his old companions.
The Warden of Tides, guardian of the citadel of water, had once been as mighty as the crashing waves. His power was unrivaled, controlling the seas, summoning torrents of water with a mere thought. But the figure that now stood before the Warden was a mere shadow of the man he had once known.
**"Tides,"** the Warden called out, his voice steady though tinged with concern. **"It's me, the Warden of Ashfall. We were—"**
Before he could finish, the Warden of Tides drew his axe, the sound of metal scraping against metal echoing across the barren landscape. His movements were slow, labored, but his intent was clear. He swung the axe with surprising force, the blade shimmering with a faint glow of water magic as it sliced through the air toward the Warden.
The Warden's reflexes were sharp, honed by centuries of battle. He dodged the blow easily, pivoting to the side as the axe struck the ground with a thunderous crash. Water surged from the impact, pooling around the Warden of Tides' feet, but it was weak, barely a ripple compared to the waves he had once commanded.
**"Tides, stop!"** the Warden shouted, his voice filled with urgency. **"What are you doing? We were allies!"**
But there was no recognition in the Warden of Tides' glowing eyes, no flicker of the man he had once been. Instead, there was only rage—deep, unrelenting rage, as though the very essence of the void had seeped into his soul. The Warden of Tides lifted his axe again, preparing for another strike.
The Warden's mind raced. Something had gone terribly wrong. The Warden of Tides was not acting of his own will. The void—it had taken hold of him, corrupted him, just as the fire god had warned.
But how far had the corruption spread? Were the other Wardens, too, lost to this dark influence?
He couldn't afford to dwell on these questions now. The Warden of Tides was coming at him with lethal intent, and he needed to act. Drawing on the power of the flame within him, the Warden summoned a surge of heat, the embers around his body igniting into a fiery glow. His blade, which had been sheathed at his side, sprang to life, wreathed in flames as he blocked the next blow from the axe.
The force of the impact sent a shockwave through the ground, but the Warden stood firm. He wasn't here to kill the Warden of Tides—he couldn't. But if he wanted to survive, he would have to subdue him.
**"Tides, I don't want to hurt you!"** the Warden yelled, gritting his teeth as he pushed against the weight of the axe. **"Whatever's taken hold of you, we can fight it together!"**
But his words fell on deaf ears. The Warden of Tides let out a guttural roar, swinging his axe wildly as water surged around him, forming tendrils that lashed out at the Warden. The flames around the Warden hissed and sputtered as the water struck them, steam rising into the air. He could feel the heat within him dwindling, the flame struggling to maintain its strength against the relentless tide.
This wasn't a fight he could win by brute force. He needed to find a way to break through the corruption, to reach whatever was left of the Warden of Tides beneath the void's influence. But how?
As he dodged another strike, an idea began to form in his mind. The flames that burned within him were more than just physical—they were spiritual, an extension of the fire god's will. If the void had corrupted the Warden of Tides, then perhaps the fire could purify him, just as it had kept the void at bay within the Citadel of Ashfall.
It was a risky move. If the Warden failed, the fire could consume them both. But he had no other choice.
Summoning every ounce of power within him, the Warden slammed his hands together, focusing all of his energy into the flames that roared around him. The heat intensified, the embers that had once flickered around his armor now blazing like the heart of a furnace. He could feel the fire god's presence within him, guiding his movements as he reached out toward the Warden of Tides.
**"Tides!"** he shouted, his voice carrying the weight of the fire god's power. **"I know you're still in there! Fight it! Let the flame cleanse you!"**
The Warden of Tides hesitated for a moment, his glowing blue eyes flickering with something that almost resembled recognition. But then the void surged again, the corruption tightening its grip. With a furious cry, he swung his axe once more, the blade coming down toward the Warden's head.
But the Warden was ready. As the axe descended, he unleashed the full force of the flame, a torrent of fire erupting from his hands and engulfing the Warden of Tides. The water around him hissed and evaporated, steam billowing into the air as the two forces clashed.
For a moment, there was only the sound of roaring flames and crackling water. The Warden of Tides thrashed against the fire, his armor glowing red-hot as the heat intensified. But the Warden held firm, his eyes locked on his old comrade.
**"You're stronger than this, Tides!"** the Warden shouted over the roar of the flames. **"The void doesn't control you! Fight it!"**
The Warden of Tides let out a final, anguished roar, his body trembling as the void's corruption warred with the fire's cleansing light. And then, with a sudden, violent explosion of steam and fire, the Warden of Tides collapsed to the ground, his axe falling from his grasp.
The Warden stood over him, his breath heavy as the flames around him slowly died down. The corruption was gone, but the damage had been done. The Warden of Tides lay motionless, his armor charred and blackened, his body still as the grave.
For a long moment, the Warden feared the worst. But then, the faintest flicker of movement caught his eye. The Warden of Tides stirred, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.
He was alive.
The Warden knelt beside him, relief flooding through him as he placed a hand on his comrade's shoulder.
**"You're safe now,"** the Warden said softly. **"The void can't hurt you anymore."**
The Warden of Tides' eyes fluttered open, the faint blue glow returning to them. He looked up at the Warden, his expression weary but clear.
**"Ashfall..."** he rasped, his voice hoarse and weak. **"I... I thought I was lost."**
The Warden shook his head, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips**"His lips will speak again when he is ready,"** the Warden of Ashfall murmured, more to himself than anyone else, his voice gentle as a breeze over smoldering coals.
The Warden of Tides blinked slowly, his eyes reflecting the distant embers that still clung to the Warden of Ashfall's armor. He was conscious, though barely. His body had been through so much that it was a wonder he was still alive. The void had gripped him tightly, warping his mind and body into something unrecognizable. But here, in the presence of the Warden of Ashfall's purifying flame, there was hope—faint, but real.
The Warden of Ashfall rested his companion's head gently on the scorched earth and stood, gazing out across the wasteland. The fight had been brief, but it had left its mark on the landscape. Where water and fire had clashed, the land was torn apart, pockmarked with pools of steaming water and scorched earth. The swirling storm overhead seemed to part slightly, the oppressive weight of the void momentarily lifted.
He had to find the others. If the Warden of Tides had been corrupted, then surely the others were in danger as well. The Warden of Thunder, the Warden of Stone, and the Warden of Tempest—all could be wandering these forsaken lands, lost to the void's influence.
But first, he needed to save the Warden of Tides.
**"Rest now,"** the Warden whispered as he knelt once more, placing his hands on the battered chest plate of his companion. He channeled a soft, steady heat into the Warden of Tides, careful not to overwhelm him. This was not a battle of strength but one of patience. The fire must heal him slowly, like embers nurturing life after the flame.
The Warden of Tides' breathing steadied, his chest rising and falling in a more regular rhythm. The blue glow in his eyes flickered but held steady this time, no longer a mere echo of who he once was.
**"You fought well, old friend,"** the Warden of Ashfall said, allowing himself a moment of vulnerability. **"I thought I'd lost you."**
The Warden of Tides' hand twitched as if attempting to respond, but no words came. It was enough to see him stable for now. The Warden of Ashfall stood once more, scanning the horizon. He would need shelter, a place to lay low until the Warden of Tides regained his strength.
As he surveyed the barren land, his sharp eyes caught a faint glimmer in the distance, like light reflecting off polished stone. A structure, maybe? Something built, a remnant of the old world?
There was no telling if it was safe, but it was the best option they had. He scooped the Warden of Tides into his arms, the weight of the armor and his companion's unconscious form almost nothing to his battle-hardened strength.
**"Hold on, Tides,"** he whispered, taking off toward the glimmer in the distance.
The journey was grueling. Each step crunched beneath his feet, the brittle ground crumbling away as if the world itself were hollow. He could feel the weight of the void's corruption lurking just beyond the edges of perception, a darkness gnawing at the corners of the reality he walked.
The glimmer grew closer, revealing itself as a large, imposing structure—a towering fortress, long abandoned and falling into disrepair. Its walls were cracked and scorched, as though the land itself had tried to consume it. Yet, there it stood, a monument to a forgotten age.
The Warden approached cautiously, his senses attuned to any sign of danger. The void often used such places as traps, luring in those seeking refuge only to devour them when they let their guard down. He pushed the massive doors open, the creak of ancient wood echoing through the silent halls.
Inside, the air was stale, heavy with the weight of centuries. Dust coated every surface, and the faint remnants of long-dormant magic clung to the stones, like the fading scent of a fire long since extinguished. This place had once been alive with power, but now it was just another casualty of the void.
Still, it would do for now.
The Warden laid the Warden of Tides down on an old, weathered slab of stone, once a ceremonial altar but now little more than a flat surface in the vast empty hall. The Warden of Tides stirred slightly, his eyes flickering open once more, though his strength had yet to return.
**"We... were supposed to protect it,"** the Warden of Tides rasped, his voice barely audible, the weight of centuries pressing down on each word. **"We failed."**
The Warden of Ashfall's heart sank. He had feared this—that the void's corruption had not only taken his friend's strength but had broken his spirit as well.
**"It's not over yet,"** the Warden said, his voice firm, though not unkind. **"We can still set things right. But we need to find the others. We need to reassemble the Wardens and restore the balance. You're not alone in this."**
The Warden of Tides shook his head weakly, his eyes distant, as though seeing something the Warden could not. **"The others... I don't know if they can be saved. The void... it's too strong. It consumes everything."**
The Warden of Ashfall knelt beside him, his hand resting on his old friend's armored shoulder. **"We won't know until we try. I saved you, didn't I? There's hope for the others. We just need to be strong enough to fight it."**
The Warden of Tides was silent for a long moment, his breath shallow, his eyes focused on some distant point in the past. Finally, he nodded, though it was more an acknowledgment of his friend's words than a sign of belief.
**"Rest now,"** the Warden of Ashfall said, standing. **"I'll keep watch."**
The Warden of Tides closed his eyes, his breathing slow and steady, the faint glow of his eyes fading as sleep overtook him. The Warden of Ashfall turned away, his mind racing.
He had saved one, but there were still others out there, scattered across the desolate world, each facing their own battles against the void. He couldn't save them all alone, but together... together, they could stand a chance.
The Warden walked to the entrance of the fortress, staring out at the bleak horizon. The void was everywhere, an omnipresent force that threatened to engulf everything. But he wouldn't let it. He couldn't let it.
For the first time in centuries, the Warden felt a flicker of hope, small but steady, burning within him like the embers that clung to his armor. The void had taken much, but it hadn't taken everything.
And as long as that flame burned, he would keep fighting.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone