The Archon

Kiara's daggers, their polished steel glinting faintly in the oppressive stillness of Xaraxis. The air was thick with the scent of dust and decay, creating an almost tangible weight that pressed down on their shoulders.

The cloaked figure remained motionless, its presence a chilling weight in the already heavy air.

The silence stretched, growing heavier with each passing second. Kiara's grip tightened on her daggers, their blades glinting faintly in the oppressive stillness. The air was thick with tension, a palpable force pressing down on them. Kiara took a step forward, her voice cutting through like steel.

"Are you going to say something or remain silent?" She asked, her voice firm.

The figure's head tilted slightly, an unsettling, jerky movement that sent a shiver down Kiara's spine. A low chuckle, devoid of humor, echoed from the depths of the hood. "Let's just say I'm someone who's been keeping an eye on you... and no, I'm not the Dreamwalker." the figure rasped, its voice distorted as if filtered through layers. It took a menacing step forward, the air around it crackling with unseen energy.

Kaidën stepped forward, his blade crackling with a vibrant blue light that illuminated the figure's outstretched hand. It was empty.

"Who are you?" Kaidën asked, his voice laced with defiance. "You know what we're here for."

The figure tilted its head, the movement unnatural, jerky. An unsettling feeling slithered down Kiara's spine. This was a dark entity.

"You're following a trail" the figure countered, its voice soft, laced with a dangerous edge. "You seek the Dreamwalker? But meddling in his affairs is a grave mistake."

Kiara's heart hammered against her ribs. This figure seemed to know much about the Dreamwalker.

Alora, ever the strategist, interjected. "Who are you, and what do you know about the Dreamwalker?"

The figure remained silent for a moment, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife. Then, with a flourish, it threw back its hood, revealing the face of a man both handsome and terrifying.

Perfect, ageless features framed by a cascade of raven hair – yet his eyes, two swirling pools of fathomless darkness, held a terrifying power. A cruel smile stretched across its lips, revealing impossibly sharp teeth.

"You stand before the Archon, god of Salakar. Some call me the Weaver of Dreams, others call me the Crafter of Nightmares that shatter the minds of mortals. I am known by many names, but you may call me, 'The Weaver'." the figure declared, his voice now smooth and powerful. "And the Dreamwalker is but a brushstroke in a grand tapestry, I weave. You cannot stop him."

Kiara, Alora and Kaidën exchanged stunned glances, their understanding deepened. An Archon? The revelation upended their long-held beliefs. They had thought the Dreamwalker was the source of all terrors. Yet, here stood the mastermind, a god claiming dominion over the all.

Alora's face paled, a stark contrast to her usual stoicism. She had always known that there were gods overseeing the affairs of mortals but she had always thought they were passive observers. She had never imagined that one would interfere with the affairs of mortals, Yet, as she met the archon's gaze, a flicker of determination ignited in her eyes.

The archon tilted his head, his eyes piercing.

"The people of Salakar, once worshipped me as their one true god. Their reverence sustained me, kept me powerful. But times changed. Their faith waned. They forgot the need for gods, they questioned my existence, they stopped the reverence. They forgot it was by my grace that they enjoyed the material world." His voice dripping with malevolence.

The weaver walked forward and then stopped, his eyes piercing with intensity. I adapted. I found new sustenance. Their fear, their pain, their despair. The Dreamwalker, my instrument of torture, extracts these emotions. Now I'm fed by the chaos that follows." He chuckled, a cold, mirthless sound.

With a flick of his wrist, a wave of inky dark energy surged towards them. Kiara and Kaidën barely had time to raise their defenses – Kiara's daggers glowing with a protective light, Kaidën's blade deflecting the bulk of the attack. The force sent them sprawling backwards, the air crackling with the weaver's dark energy.

A new wrinkle in their understanding occured. Now, not only had they encountered the mastermind, but they had unraveled a tangled web of motives behind the dreamwalker and the nightmares plaguing Salakar.

Kiara scrambled to her feet, her power thrummed through her veins. Kaidën was already on his feet, his blade humming with a fierce intensity, casting wavering blue shadows on the crumbling walls.

"A god that could be so hungry for power that he would go the extra mile to torment mortals just so he can stay in power is selfish. Do you enjoy the people's suffering? Do you know how many have died because of your actions? All because they didn't worship you," Alora rasped, her voice laced with anger but steady. "You and all the other gods are the same. You're not true gods, you're selfish, power-hungry tyrants."

The Weaver's smile widened, revealing a chilling glint set of teeth. "It was us who took the immortal souls of mortals and placed it in a mortal shell. We gave them a chance to experience something that beyond eternity. Something with purpose and beauty. A short life to enjoy, to evolve and to believe in. When created, mortals began to fuel our power with their worship as they acknowledged us as their creators. We also decided to help them return to the material world again and again by posing as their deceased loved ones and luring them back to this material world so their souls wouldn't escape into the higher dimensions and would reincarnate as we took away their memories."

The Weaver walked forward again and stopped, Torment? He continued. You misunderstand us. Our deeds awaken slumbering potential, expose hidden fears. It is a chaotic crucible, yes, but from it emerges strength, resilience, things that build or break mortals. It is important and also beneficial."

Kiara bristled. "Strength born from terror? People are suffering! You've killed more than you can imagine."

"Suffering is a catalyst for change, those who die will reincarnate and take on a new mortal shell." the Weaver countered, his voice smooth but laced with an unsettling coldness. "The minds of mortals are fertile grounds. I sow seeds of terror, reap harvests of anguish. The Dreamwalker ensure that mortals' deepest fears manifest. Their screams, their tears, the raw emotions, the primal fears… they help mortals see the need for a god and yes, they fuel my power. "

Alora spoke up, her voice calm. "Weaver, you claim your methods are necessary for growth. But, you create the problem and then you present yourself as the solution so that people may value you. Can't you thrive on positive emotions?"

The Weaver's smile falters for a brief moment, a flicker of surprise in its dark eyes. "No... Why? Because the worship of mortals is fleeting. Their love, conditional. But fear? Ah, fear is eternal. And with each nightmare, my power grows. Fear, however, is a constant. It is the fuel that drives people to their greatest achievements and fuels my power. A benefit to both the mortals and I."

"But fear can also be crippling," Kaidën counters, his voice firm. "Can't courage, resilience, and hope be just as powerful motivators and a source of power for you?"

The Weaver laughed and finally spoke, his voice regaining its smooth, powerful tone.

"The people of Salakar have known peace for thousands of years, long before the realms had guardians," He said, shifting his gaze to Alora. "Or even demons of primordial bloodline," he whispered, settling his gaze on Kiara and Kaidën. "And they have disregarded and forgotten the balance. They have basked in the warmth of joy and prosperity for far too long, neglecting the shadows that make the light possible and give both – the gods. I, and the dreamwalker, shall restore that balance."

Alora's brow furrowed in thought. "So, the Dreamwalker… He's simply… harvesting their fear so you can keep doing this." She replied, her voice steady.

The Weaver tilted his head, a gesture that sent shivers down Kiara's spine. "The people of Salakar wronged us when they decided to stop worshiping us, silencing our voice. Now, the dreamwalker and I have created the nightmares that they have suppressed, forcing them to confront the darkness within themselves. Their screams will be music to our ears, a symphony of fear that will awaken their souls to the truth, the fact that they need a god to make sense of their suffering.

A hint of amusement flickered in his dark eyes, "Salakar will burn with the fire of terror, and from the ashes, a new balance will arise. They will learn to appreciate the light we have given because they have faced the darkness we have also given.

The Weaver's eyes gleam with a malevolent intensity as it spoke. "And the Dreamwalker and I, will be the ones who brought this gift to them."

Kaidën tightened his grip on his blade. The Weaver wasn't just a malevolent entity, but a terrifying wicked force of nature, indifferent to the suffering it caused as long as it was necessary in his sight.

"We can't let you continue with this madness," Kaiden growled, his voice echoing in the decaying city.

A low chuckle rumbled from the Weaver's throat. "The people have no idea how much power the mind possesses. Everything can be manifested with a thought in the material world, all thanks to us who gave them that ability. Are you ready to face the consequences of a stagnant dreamscape if you even succeed in defeating us? To let the people of Salakar live in a world devoid of even the nightmares that spark their creativity, their resilience?"

Silence descended, heavy and oppressive. Kiara, Kaidën, and Alora exchanged a glance. The Weaver had presented them with a horrifying dilemma. Was the dreamwalker and the weaver's chaos truly necessary for Salakar' survival? Or was there another way.

Suddenly, a tremor shook the ground beneath them. Dust rained down from the crumbling buildings, and a deafening roar echoed through the city. The Weaver's amusement vanished, replaced by a flicker of happiness.

"It seems," the Weaver spoke, its voice laced with a hint of expectation for the first time, "that the dreamwalker is here."

A dark, swirling vortex materialized in the center of the ruined city square, tendrils of inky shadow reaching out like grasping claws. From its depths emerged a figure — the dreamwalker, his form shifting and morphing like a nightmare coming to life. The Dreamwalker had arrived, and the true battle was about to begin.