The hood that the legendary Deliverer wore to shield themself from storms. In actuality, it is probably nothing like what the bards describe.

The night fog of Oronyx entwines with laurel branches, as the hero of deliverance descends from beyond the sky into the Abyss of Fate, alongside a black box.

They came in response to the prophecy, yet in those times the priests feared to speak of what lay beyond the sky.
“Do not speak loudly of the sky, for the suspicious Aquila never hesitates to castigate with Daythunder.”
Hearing this, the confident Deliverer replied in fury:
“O diviner of calamities, you never considered that even the gods should fear punishment from the children of humanity.”

Upon the city walls, the Deliverer witnessed the rosy dawn rising on the horizon,
“First comes Nikador, who wields Strife,
I pray they bring me glory, not madness.”
The Deliverer pulled back their hood and hurled a spear, its swift shadow like a lone wolf in early spring, charging through the streets of Castrum Kremnos.

“In the name of Mnestia! If destiny's threads are broken, I shall weave a new chapter.”
The Mad King's roar echoed from afar, his spear heralding departure before his steps.
“My Chrysos Heir companions await me on this journey, I must set forth.”

Janus's priests looked at the Deliverer's fluttering gray hair and cheered loudly,
rejoicing like withered plants bestowed with nourishment.

The gauntlets worn by the legendary Deliverer as they blazed through adversities. In actuality, it is probably nothing like what the bards describe.

Phagousa's freezing seas engraved the vast shores of Styxia,
and the hero of deliverance has arrived at the crossing of the River of Souls, where a ghostly pale dragon transformed into a ferry to the netherworld.

Along the River of Souls, the spirits of the dead morph into sweet whispers, urging the hero to never return to the mortal realm.
“You have subjugated the Titans of that world. Why not leave your legacy to successors?”
Hearing these words, the sorrowful Deliverer replied in anguish:
“O fallen souls who linger here, you've never considered how my desire to save the world outweighs my longing for reunion.”

Aboard the ferry, the Deliverer recalled memories of their Flame-Chase Journey,
“Farewell, Thanatos of Death,
I pray you'll watch over my dearest friends, even though they never feared death.”
The Deliverer caressed their deerskin gauntlets, that still held the warmth of their fallen comrades.
They drifted with the warm and humid west wind, from the shores blooming with Antila flowers to the mortal realm.

“Cerces, please defend my rationality, so I need not face another shocking discovery.”
That experience of reviving from the dead was enough to prove to anyone that they had the makings of a hero.
“The wait won't be long now, my fellow Chrysos Heirs. I shall fulfill that unforgettable oath.”

The lands of Georios welcomed their return, as the Flame-Chase journey continued.
Like dark clouds parting in the night, the morning star shall sparkle once more.

The battle robe worn by the legendary Deliverer when they engaged in combat. In actuality, it is probably nothing like what the bards describe.

The boots worn by the legendary Deliverer when they trampled over mountains and braved through tides. In actuality, it is probably nothing like what the bards describe.