The Oracle’s lessons shifted in tone. Where before Bjorn’s days had been filled with the clash of steel and the roaring weight of Mjolnir’s Bane, now they were filled with silence, words, and thought.
They sat atop the cliffs of Varldspire, overlooking the endless horizon. Below, the sea boiled with mist, and the sound of crashing waves echoed like a hymn to forgotten gods. The Oracle, cloaked in white and gold, sat cross-legged on a slab of stone. Bjorn, scarred and restless, mirrored her reluctantly.
“Strength without wisdom,” she began, her voice carrying like a hymn, “is the weapon of tyrants. Wisdom without strength is the song of martyrs. You must be both wrath controlled, not wasted.”
Bjorn grunted, impatient. “Words won’t slay demons.”
“No,” the Oracle said calmly, “but words shape worlds. Look closer, Bjorn Tyrfingr. This world does not run on mere muscle it runs on Laws.”
With a wave of her hand, runes carved themselves into the air. Glowing diagrams unfolded around them spirals, constellations, and shifting rivers of light.
She spoke of the Three Pillars of Magic:
Aether, the primal current drawn from the cosmos.
Mana, the personal reservoir within every living being.
Runes, the ancient language that bends the first two into form.
She traced a rune in the air, and a flame flickered into life not wild and ravenous like fire demons, but contained, precise, beautiful.
“The demons you face are slaves to raw Aether. But a true warrior bends both strength and knowledge, sword and spell. You must not only kill Bjorn you must understand.”
Bjorn clenched his fists. For once, he did not argue.
The Oracle then told him of the history of this world of the Dragon Rebellion, when the firstborn wyrms turned against the gods, sundering continents with their breath. She spoke of the Fractured Realms, mortal kingdoms that rose from the ashes, each clinging to scraps of divine knowledge. And she spoke of the Veil War, a war that had never truly ended, where fire demons pushed through cracks in reality, feeding on mortal blood.
As the lessons sank into Bjorn’s mind, something changed in him. His wrath no longer boiled aimlessly; it sharpened, like a whetstone against his soul. For the first time, he saw the battlefield not just as an arena of slaughter, but as a vast game of fate, rules, and meaning.
The Oracle ended the lesson with a question:
“Tell me, Bjorn Tyrfingr do you wish to be remembered as a mere weapon, or as a warrior who shapes the age?”
Bjorn looked at the burning horizon. For the first time since his rebirth, he hesitated.
And then he answered, his voice heavy with resolve.
“…A warrior who shapes the age.”
The Oracle smiled faintly.
“Then your true training begins.”
YOU ARE READING
Game Over, Reborn: The Final Save File
AdventureOrion was once a legend at least online. In his twenties, he was a pro gamer with a devoted fanbase, crushing tournaments and streaming to thousands. But that was a lifetime ago. Now at forty, he's single, broke, working a soul-crushing fast-food jo...
