TOTEM ASCENSION

The Grand General

Lord Daegan stood alone in his official chambers atop the Tower of Superiors, where the Citadel unfolded beneath him like a living mosaic of marble spires and radiant bridges. Beyond its shining walls stretched the horizon, where the endless blue sky dissolved into the distant world. For a moment, he allowed himself to breathe in the quiet.

Then the doors burst open.

Armored guards dragged Karl into the chamber.

Karl twisted in their grip, glancing back at them in irritation, before they hurled him onto the polished marble floor. He slid several feet before stopping. Rising quickly, he brushed the dust from his clothes, annoyance written plainly across his face, until his eyes found the figure waiting for him.

Lord Daegan.

He stood nearly as tall as Rodric. His long black hair, streaked with silver at the edges, was braided into a single plait that fell down his spine. His robe shimmered with woven blues and greens, silver threads tracing its seams like rivers of light. He appeared to be in his early sixties by human reckoning, yet there was no weakness in his posture, no tremor in his limbs. A long scar cut across his right eye, with smaller ones scattered across his face and neck, silent testaments to decades of war.

“Karl Wilhelm,” Daegan said.

“Yes, sir, I mean, my lord.” Karl bowed.

“No! Heavens.” Daegan chuckled, waving dismissively. “That won’t be necessary, child.”

Karl straightened.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here.”

“I’m more concerned about who you are.”

The two guards exchanged stunned glances.

Daegan’s lips curved faintly. “Sharp tongue.”

He began walking toward Karl, each step echoing through the vast chamber.

“I am Lord Daegan, Grand General of the Celestial Order. The organization you are currently occupied in. Which, if you’re still wondering, means I oversee this Citadel. And everything within it.”

“Okay…” Karl muttered.

“Your sudden appearance caused considerable upheaval,” Daegan continued. “Not only are you a human who crossed the dimensional rift without a hex gate, you also possess a very… dangerous artifact.”

Karl instinctively tightened his grip on the totem.

“I remember you,” Karl said. “You were one of the judges at my trial.”

“Obviously. And I recall telling you that we would tolerate your existence so long as you helped us understand your totem.” Daegan studied him closely. “So. What have you learned?”

Karl lowered his gaze. Thoughts of the system and Azareal tangled in his mind. He still didn’t know whom he could trust, what would happen once they decided he had nothing left to offer.

“Nothing yet, my lord.”

Daegan exhaled slowly, shaking his head.

“As expected. It seems the only way you’ll make meaningful progress is through… assimilation.”

Karl stiffened. “Assimilation?”

“You already possess the totem. You’ve begun training with the cadets. If you wish to unlock your abilities and learn more about your totem, you must grow alongside your society. But this requires belonging, so you must fit within our system.”

The last word sent a chill down Karl’s spine.

“I... I’m grateful, Sir, I mean my lord.”

Daegan laughed softly. “You’ll get used to it.”

Karl hesitated, then spoke again. "Can I ask a question?”

“Go on.”

He swallowed. “Is there anything I should know about my totem? About Azareal’s stone?”

Daegan’s expression shifted into something older, heavier.

“Let me tell you a story.”

He snapped his fingers.

The floor shuddered, then began to descend, carrying them deep into the tower’s lower levels. At last they arrived in a vast, shadowed library, its towering shelves fading into darkness.

“Over a hundred thousand years ago,” Daegan began, “Celestra was a peaceful realm. A world of magic, wonder, and beauty beyond imagining.”

A mural ignited along the wall, its light flowing into living images. Karl stared in awe.

“There were the land dwellers; elves, the gnomes, beast folk. And the sky kingdoms: the Angels, ancient heralds of magic. They cultivated mana and preserved the spiritual balance through the ancestral paths, the realm of the afterlife, where souls are returned to the circle of life.”

The mural shifted, becoming streams of luminous energy weaving across the heavens, like auroras dancing through an endless sky.

“Everything was perfect,” Daegan said quietly. “Until one angel fell into obsession.”

The colors darkened.

“He sought immortality. Transcendence. The creation of a flawless lifeform, one untouched by disease or death. That madness led him to forge something forbidden.”

The mural erupted into burning reds and abyssal blacks.

“Anti-mana.”

Karl’s breath caught.

“His name was Malachar. He was captured and executed, for the angels could not allow such corruption to poison Celestra. But death did not claim him. Malachar had already mastered resurrection through anti-mana.”

Daegan’s voice hardened.

“He returned to the world of the living as the first demon, the undead.”

“Whoa…” Karl whispered.

“With his new power, Malachar seized the ancestral paths, poisoning every spirit within them. He tore reality apart, severing those paths from Celestra and reshaping them into his own domain; the Underworld Abyss.”

The mural reformed into a blood-red castle rising from a wasteland of ash and sand. Karl felt a chill of recognition, it looked hauntingly similar to the desert where he had fought the serpent.

“To stop him, the angels forged a powerful weapon: the Sceptre of Brilliant Light. It is what protects our realm to this day. But Malachar’s rampage destabilized existence itself. Mana and anti-mana clashed across dimensions, and the universe responded by creating a neutral realm between Celestra and the Underworld, one without magic, to act as a buffer and stabilize the crisis.”

Daegan turned to Karl.

“That world became Earth.”

Karl felt as though the ground had shifted beneath him, realizing that his world was born from catastrophe.

“Little is known of Azareal’s life in Celestra,” Daegan continued. “Some scholars believe he was once Malachar’s close friend, who chose to serve him after death. It is the most accepted theory, given that Malachar never transformed him into a demon. The truth may be lost to time.”

He met Karl’s eyes.

“But you carry Azareal’s totem now. You may uncover answers we never could.”

Karl straightened, resolve burning in his chest. “I will. I promise.”

Daegan smiled.

“In the meantime,” he said, resting a firm hand on Karl’s shoulder, “the Citadel is divided into four facets. The sorcerers, who repel demon incursions. The technicians, who craft magical structures and equipment. The spirit media, who heal bodies and restore souls. And the scholars, guardians of Celestra’s knowledge.”

He paused.

“Which path will you walk, Karl Wilhelm?”

“Sorcerer!” Karl blurted. “I’ll be a sorcerer!”

Daegan winced, then turned away with a weary sigh.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t choose that.”

He glanced back over his shoulder.

“But I understand. The call of battle. The surge of power, it's a potent stimulant. Just remember this, Karl Wilhelm…”

His voice dropped.

“Heroism burns brightly, but briefly. Try not to die on me...”