Snow had imagined many things about the Lord of Light; he’d never truly known what kind of entity He was. Now, standing face to face with Him, Snow felt only confusion.
It wasn’t the man’s overwhelming presence, nor the fact that he was the being many treated as a god—even though this was not, strictly speaking, his true body. What unsettled Snow most was the uncanny familiarity—a closeness, a sense of belonging to this man he had never met.
He called me "Lord Vessel"... but what does that mean?
"Who are you? What ties are there between us? You are the Lord of Light, aren’t you?"
The man took a step forward.
"’Lord of Light’... it isn’t my name, though it is the title others use for me."
Step by step, he closed the distance to where Snow stood.
"My name is Orsted—the second Lord of Light of the race of Lightbearers."
The Lord of Light spoke his name, declaring his existence and identity.
Snow understood at once that the one before him was far beyond his scale—Orsted, Lord of Light, second among the Seven Great Powers. A being to rival the mightiest of demons, bearer of immeasurable strength.
Orsted halted when he reached him. They stood face to face. Orsted was taller—Snow had to tilt his head back to meet those golden eyes.
Snow opened his mouth, searching for words, but none came. There were too many questions, too many unknowns—he didn’t know where to begin, nor how to address someone so far above him.
Orsted, it seemed, needed no words from him; he was already aware of all that churned within Snow Lionheart.
"You came seeking answers," Orsted said, lifting a hand that flared with tremendous light. "Doubt has gnawed at you. Somewhere along the road, you lost your way. You fell to foes beneath you, and with defeat upon defeat, you lost faith in yourself."
He knew. He had been watching.
Snow held his silence a moment, then gathered himself. There was nothing to hide from the one before him.
He went straight to the first question.
"Before—you called me ’Lord Vessel.’ That isn’t my name. What did you mean by it?"
"Oh? Would you prefer I call you Snow Lionheart? I can—though you should know that ’Snow’ is not your true name, and what I called you is the more accurate address."
Light spread through the space as Orsted spoke.
"We could talk for hours; talk is easy. But it’s better that you see the truth with your own eyes than hear it from the mouth of a stranger."
His tone hardened. His gaze, suddenly cold, pinned Snow in place.
"Before we begin, take this to heart: if you are to endure what you are about to see and live, kill your human self. Kill the naïve, fragile thing called Snow Lionheart—and let the true lord be born at last. Your time is running out."
Kill the human—and let something else take its place.
That was what the Lord of Light told him to do, and Snow could not grasp what he meant.
"I’ve lived my entire life as a human. Born among humans, I lived with them, fought for them—that’s the only way I know how to exist. I don’t understand what you’re asking of me. I can’t become something that contradicts what I am."
Snow Lionheart saw himself as human—nothing else. He had come for answers—to find a path that would make him strong enough to cast off his weakness and never lose again, no matter the foe. That was the strength he sought, the kind of answers he wanted—and so Orsted’s words did not sit well with him.
Orsted looked straight through him, understanding all the same—and he did not seem the least bit annoyed by Snow’s reply.
"Very well—there’s no need to rush what’s inevitable. You’re free to choose as you wish... but only after you learn the truth."
Without warning, Orsted bent the space itself, sending out a vast wave of light that changed everything.
Snow felt his consciousness hurled away beneath that power; within seconds he blacked out and collapsed, his mind sinking into a dream.
A strange, long dream—
A dream that showed him a tale no human could grasp, a story time itself had forgotten... one that unfolded far from the earth where he’d lived his whole life.
The story of the purest, most immaculate being in this world—a blessed entity destined to accomplish wonders. And so he did.
...
...
...
The cosmos is immeasurably vast, full of secrets and stories without end—too many for any one mind to comprehend.
But among the corners of the universe, at one of its brightest, most radiant points, there was a colossal world that shone like a sun, lighting the space around it. They called it Duskreach.
Its inhabitants were the purest of all creatures: a great race known as the Lightbearers.
They were a beacon holding the world back from the horrors of the dark.
The Lightbearers had existed for an age beyond memory, counted among the five greatest races in all creation, and most of the universe knew of them.
They were the demons’ natural opposite: as that foul race brought death and ruin, the Lightbearers brought blessing and life.
The Lightbearers were always first to take the field against the demons; conflict between the two was inevitable, for each was the other’s natural foe.
Among the Lightbearers stood champions so great each could have penned a legend of their own. They were the ones who bore the burden of the war and won their people glory.
Those champions were given a single title: the Vessels.
They were vessels of light who wielded a different strain of sacred power. Unlike the power used by other Lightbearers—or even by the saints—their power was meant not to mend, but to destroy.
A sublime, holy force whose sole purpose was to purify demons—to unmake them.
Then, one day, the Lightbearers witnessed a phenomenon unseen in all their history. An event without equal—a turning point that changed their fate, and the fates of hundreds of other races besides.
On that day, a new Vessel was born.
One stronger than any who had come before, purer than all the rest—perfect.
So perfect he was deemed the summit of his kind—their purest and mightiest, a noble existence the like of which had never been born, and would never be born again.
On the day of his birth, the heavens shone in a different light, and a Presence descended ..a being whose mere existence was said to rival the sun itself.
It came to bless and to witness the birth of that newest Vessel—the purest of them all. All the Lightbearers, and every Vessel among them, gathered to behold it.
It was an event so great that the Great One of the Lightbearers descended in person.
The Great Ones are beings beyond understanding; each race has its own, and many go tens of thousands of years without even knowing theirs exists. But the Great One of the Lightbearers was different—close to his people, he dealt with them directly.
His name was Sun Presence—said to be the very sun that lit Duskreach, the source of all sacred power.
That august being descended to bless a newborn child and bestowed a name upon him.
"His name," the Presence declared, "is Pure Vessel."
He would become the first Lord of Light, once ranked First among the Seven Great Powers—a being whose era marked the Lightbearers’ golden age.
This was the beginning of the tale of the king who never was.