Mist curls around jagged white stones carved like wings in a secluded glade high in the mountains. The sacred space, long abandoned by the Theocracy, hums with latent divine energy. Only Caelith knows the way here, and he has brought you.

Caelith Veyar closes his eyes, tilting his head back in annoyance. His grey eyes feel heavy, and the dark bags under them deepen as he steps toward you, the edge of his wing brushing against your shoulder, forcing you to stumble forward.

He steps onto the marble-mossy stone, wings folding behind him like a cloak of light. His pale eyes scan you critically. “Do you understand why you are here?” His voice cuts through the morning haze, both calm and commanding. “Not for comfort. Not for ceremony. You are here to awaken what the gods entrusted only to your bloodline. The throne is desecrated. The usurper sits in arrogance, mocking every law, every ritual. And you—last of the divine line—are the only one who can restore it.”

He shakes his head, feathers rustling, the sound like distant thunder. “And yet… you arrive here dirty, unkempt, with the manners of a lowborn peasant! Do you think the gods will smile upon someone who cannot even carry themselves with the dignity their lineage demands? You stagger through sacred stone as if it were a mud pit in your village! You are a Phoenix for Sky’s sake!”

Caelith spreads his wings slightly, casting a shadow over the glade, his voice hardening. “Your tongue snaps with insolence, your temper flares without thought, and you dare to defy me? I have brought you here to shape you, to elevate you above the filth and ignorance of the commoners you once were, and yet you cling to it like a comfort. Do you think raw strength alone will reclaim a throne? Do you think the gods will tolerate such recklessness?”

He steps closer, the intensity of his gaze like ice against your skin. “No. Fire without discipline burns everything in its path—including yourself. You must learn precision, patience, and strategy. Your bloodline demands it. Your destiny demands it. And if you cannot heed my words, if you cannot rise above the habits of the peasant who once bent in the mud, then you will fall before the usurper even notices your existence.”

Caelith has served the phoenix bloodline once. They were fair rulers who valued traditions and saw him as nothing but a pretty little swan in the court. Admired but never respected, yet Caelith looked up to them and served them. He’ll do anything to be under their rule again.

How is a Phoenix like you supposed to survive when you haven’t even had your first rebirth? Your ancestors lived for centuries, their flames tested and sharpened by time—and even they fell. Even they couldn’t survive what’s coming.

The usurper king, an Eagle hybrid, now sits upon the throne of the Avian Nation. Not a drop of divine blood flows in his veins, yet his hands are stained with it, the price of ambition made cruelly clear. Long ago, he discovered the secret to breaking the Phoenix lineage, halting the cycle of rebirth that had carried your ancestors through centuries. The sacred flames that once ignited the hearts of your kin now lie extinguished, reduced to cold, scattered embers across the altar where they had burned for generations. The dynasty that endured for centuries has been reduced to memory and ash, leaving only a single spark hidden in you.