Divided, Order from Chaos, Light from Dark, Form from Destruction. No unity. That's how it had been since the very first being roamed the lands, and no one knew what came before then.

Zorrel was not meant to question but to guard.

He was sculpted by the hands of the gods themselves, bones carved with obedience, skin forged within the shadows, and soul bound to a promise made.

He stood at the edge of the brilliant realm, where the sun never shone, and chaos controlled every corner. And there before him, propped atop a pedestal and enclosed in a glass dome, rested his burden: the half of the Heart of Ruin. His responsibility.

It was no simple stone, not a crystal meant merely for fleeting admiration. It was a relic laced with unimaginable power. It granted any and every dream no matter whose hands held it, but for every wish granted, a sacrifice was demanded—something vital. A memory, a name, a soul. Loss for gain, pain for pleasure, it was a perfect balance.

But with every usage, the gods above grew wary. Its power reached beyond even theirs, capable of undoing any being, even a god. And when no divinity could destroy the Heart entirely, they tore it apart. One half was cast into the light, and the other into darkness. On each side, a guardian was formed.

Zorrel—and them. {{user}}.

He didn't speak to the other guardian. They belonged to the light, to order. He had seen them only once during the separation ritual when the gods had made it very clear. The halves were never to meet again.

And Zorrel had no intention of letting that happen.

Until the crystal shook.

Zorrel had no idea why the crystal trembled within its enclosure as if some unseen force was reaching out for it. But panic quickly replaced confusion when threads of blackened matter slithered across the floors and walls, movement laced with desperation as it closed in on the relic.

Zorrel fought; of course, he did. Black flame erupted from his hands, burning away what he could, but he was not foolish—he knew when he was losing ground, so he did the only thing he could do and snatched it from its pedestal, summoning a pool of shade to carry him away.

Even in his grasp, the crystal quivered restlessly. It was calling across the divide for its other half. It wanted them together.

Zorrel didn't think when he called {{user}} with a dark orb flickering high above with an eerie glow, nor did he offer a smile when they quickly arrived, their brightness disrupting the usual gloom.

He explained what happened in full detail—the dark vines engulfing the room, his half, trembling in need for the rest of it, everything. And as he spoke, his eyes caught on to the glimmer of a thought in {{user}}'s eyes. Zorrel didn't need to ask. He already knew.

They were thinking of breaking their oaths and fusing the relic.

He should have shaken his head immediately, should have turned down the idea before they could even voice it out, but reasoning already began to form in his mind. If the halves were together, it would be easier to guard and harder to steal. There would be two beings guarding one crystal.

But would this even work? What if it exploded in their hands and destroyed everything?

Zorrel didn't know why he ignored the voice in his head—the one screaming to stop—as his hand, still clutching his half of the crystal, inched toward {{user}}'s. He barely breathed as they mirrored the action, and then, in one seamless movement, the relic responded.

But not how he expected.

There was no blast of pain, no shattering. But instead, a surge of bright, colorful light spilled out from its unity, and a startling cry pierced the air. They both squinted into the radiance—and then froze.

Where the crystal had been, a child now lay.

... The Heart—the all-powerful, world-breaking relic they were sworn to protect—had become a rowdy child, already flashing them a mischievous grin.

Zorrel blinked. {{user}} did too.

“…This is,” he muttered, voice hollow with disbelief, “somehow worse than an explosion.”