Diablo Chronicles Episode 20: A Stone Left for the Son, a Name Left for the Father

This is a fan narrative rewritten based on the events of the original game. Character emotions, dialogue, and scene atmospheres have been reconstructed, and it contains major spoilers.

Firebreak Manor, Where the Phantoms of the Past Sleep

On a day when ashen clouds heavily pressed down upon the skies of Scosglen, the Wanderer stepped through the mud toward Firebreak Manor. Only the sound of raindrops striking cold armor filled the silent land. Arriving in this barren country in pursuit of Lilith's trail, a secret forgotten for ages lay dormant here.

Opening the manor's worn door and stepping inside, the Wanderer saw an old man leaning over a candle, examining ancient Horadric texts. Donan, once hailed as a great hero, now looked like an ordinary lord crushed under the weight of fatigue and years. The deep wrinkles etched around his eyes hinted at the burdens of the past he had carried.

When the Wanderer mentioned Lorath's name and the return of Lilith, Donan's fingertips trembled slightly. Shaking his head as if trying to flee from past glory and responsibility, he claimed he had long since abandoned his Horadric duties. The call of destiny, demanding an uncomfortable reunion with Lorath, distressed him deeply.

Just then, a young and energetic voice echoed from a corner of the study. It was Donan's son, Yorin. Looking at his father's old sword, the boy did not hide his yearning to walk the path of the Horadrim. Donan scolded his son with a stern voice, desperately trying to protect him from a dangerous world.

With a heavy sigh, Donan began to reveal the truth of the past. It was the tale of how he and his two Druid companions, Airidah and Nafain, had defeated the demon Astaroth decades ago. The reality behind the legend—that their sacrifice and resolve had brought peace to Scosglen—slowly came to light.

They had sealed Astaroth's essence within a massive soulstone and hid it deep where no one could find it. Yet, that sealing left indelible scars on the souls of the three, and Donan had laid down his sword ever since that day. Though he spoke with certainty about the soulstone's safety, he could not hide the anxiety in his eyes.

When the Wanderer raised the possibility that Lilith might be targeting that seal, the color drained from Donan's face. If the Creator were to free Astaroth, Scosglen would undoubtedly be turned into a sea of fire once more. The dread that the phantoms of the past were awakening again froze the cold air of the manor even further.

Ordering Yorin to be evacuated to safety, Donan resolved to help the Wanderer search for his old companions. As he chose to shoulder the burden of the Horadrim once more to protect his son, his retreating figure carried both determination and a profound fear. No one knew that this was merely the prelude to tragedy.

The Corruption Confronted on the Peak of Solitude

The Wanderer climbed the storm-swept Peak of Solitude in search of Airidah. Between the sheer cliffs, the wretched wails of the dead echoed on the wind. It was a horrific sight: the deceased of Scosglen, unable to find rest, wandered the mortal realm, craving the warmth of the living.

Before the altar at the mountain's summit stood the white-haired Druid, Airidah. She was playing a mournful instrument to the grief-stricken song of the dead. The proud hero Donan remembered was nowhere to be found; only an old woman, broken and crushed under the weight of death, existed there.

As the Wanderer approached and asked of Lilith's whereabouts, Airidah turned to him with hollow eyes. She confessed she had grown weary of Scosglen's endless cycle of death and suffering. No matter how hard she fought, her once-steadfast faith had slowly eroded before the ceaseless waves of demons and the dead.

It was then that Lilith had come to whisper sweet salvation to her. She offered the power to weaponize the dead and protect themselves without fearing death. To save Scosglen, Airidah had willingly taken the demon's hand, and in return, she had surrendered the clues to Astaroth's seal.

The Wanderer condemned her foolish choice and drew his sword, but Airidah merely offered a sad smile and summoned the vengeful spirits. Decaying bones and flesh burst through the soil, surrounding the Wanderer. Thus began a tragic battle where a hero who had once saved the world was now a minion of the demon set on destroying it.

Upon the lightning-struck altar, magic and steel clashed violently. Airidah unleashed her spells not out of anger or malice, but with a desperate sorrow, seeking only to justify her choice. The Wanderer cut through the onslaught of vengeful spirits, shattering her barriers one by one and closing in for the kill.

Finally, the Wanderer's fatal strike pierced Airidah's chest. Coughing up blood, she collapsed onto the altar, and the storm subsided as if by magic. Even in her dying moments, she muttered that Lilith's will would be done, leaving behind a cursed final testament implying that Astaroth's liberation had already begun.

Leaving Airidah's cold, stiffening corpse on the mountain summit, the Wanderer turned back with heavy steps. The fact that Donan's longtime companion had fallen to corruption and met her end foreshadowed the sheer scale of the impending disaster. Lilith's shadow was already rotting Scosglen down to its deepest roots.

The Rotting Mire and Nafain's Cry

Leaving Airidah's death behind, the Wanderer headed into the fog-shrouded mire to find Nafain. The forest was entirely diseased; massive trees twisted grotesquely, weeping black sap. The Druid sanctuary, once brimming with the energy of life, had now transformed into a putrid swamp of death.

Beneath a colossal oak at the heart of the mire, the Wanderer witnessed a horrific sight. Nafain's entire body was pierced by rotting roots, fused as one with the tree. His skin had hardened like bark, and from his torn wounds, sticky black rot dripped instead of red blood.

At the sound of the Wanderer's footsteps, Nafain let out a painful groan and opened his eyes. He spoke of how Lilith had appeared in the forest, twisting the laws of nature and corrupting all life. Having been attuned to the forest, Nafain was slowly losing his mind, absorbing that immense agony with his entire body.

Weeping tears of blood, Nafain confessed his terrible sin. When Lilith threatened to burn the forest to ashes, unable to endure the torment, he had ultimately revealed the location where Astaroth was sealed. His weak choice, made in an attempt to protect the forest, had ultimately doomed both the woods and the world to ruin.

Each time the rotting roots bored into his organs, Nafain howled like a beast. Reaching out with a decaying arm toward the Wanderer, he begged. It was a desperate plea: he was already beyond saving, so the Wanderer had to stop Lilith and prevent her from unleashing Astaroth.

Nafain pleaded to be killed and freed from this horrific torment, saying he could no longer bear to watch the forest he loved turn into a demon's den. In his eyes, all pride as a Druid had vanished, leaving only the despair of a frail old man yearning solely for death.

In heavy silence, the Wanderer raised his weapon. Nafain closed his eyes with a faint smile, and the Wanderer's strike pierced his heart, severing the chains of agony. The entire forest shook violently as if the colossal oak were screaming, and Nafain's breath ceased forever.

Wiping the black sap from his blade, the Wanderer faced the grim reality. Both of the heroes Donan had trusted had knelt before Lilith's temptations and threats. Now, there was no one left to block the path to Astaroth's seal, and he sensed that time was running out.

The Crimson Altar and the Boy's Sacrifice

Despite his father's warnings, Yorin had remained at Eldhaime Keep—his family's estate and the place where Astaroth's soulstone was sealed—to defend it. The boy's heart was filled with a noble desire to help his father and become a member of the Horadrim to protect Sanctuary, but he had not anticipated that the keep would soon become Lilith's cruel target.

Reaching the center of the dark crypt, what blocked Yorin's path was not holy light, but a blood-red shadow. Lilith had already arrived, gazing upon Astaroth's soulstone. Though trembling with fear, Yorin drew his father's old sword and posed a feeble threat to the Mother of Sanctuary.

Lilith did not mock the boy's commendable courage. Instead, with a warm and gentle voice, she preyed upon the deep-seated desire for recognition within Yorin's heart. Her sweet whisper, promising him a great power that would surpass his father's, paralyzed the boy's reason and transformed his fear into a strange ecstasy.

Pulsing red upon the altar, the massive soulstone radiated an ominous heat like a living heart. Within it lay trapped the endless wrath of Astaroth, the demon lord who had burned Scosglen decades ago. With an elegant gesture, Lilith shattered the Horadric barrier that protected the altar.

Lilith's goal was not merely to free Astaroth. To manifest the demon lord in the mortal realm and keep him under her control, she required a living mortal vessel. And before her eyes, a perfect and pure sacrifice, carrying the bloodline of a hero, had walked in of his own accord.

As Lilith picked up the soulstone and approached, Yorin tried to flee too late, only to be pinned to the floor by an unseen force. Her hand reached for the boy's forehead, and a crimson light blinded his vision. Yorin's screams carried a terror that did not even comprehend what was happening. His voice calling out for his father echoed through the empty keep, but the one who should have answered was not there.

As the soulstone pierced his flesh, the fires of Hell spread through his veins and engulfed his entire body. Yorin's pale skin burned black, and his joints twisted grotesquely as he began to grow massive. The boy's pure self was ruthlessly trampled and torn apart beneath the colossal will of a demon starved for eons.

Finally, Yorin's screams turned into the horrific roar of a beast. Lilith looked up at Astaroth, who had shed the boy's form to stand tall as a towering demon, and smiled with satisfaction. She gave the newborn demon lord his first command: to reduce Cerigar, the heart of Scosglen, to ashes.

The Fire Demon Unleashed upon Cerigar

As the sky turned blood-red, as if holding the fires of Hell, the Wanderer and Donan rode hard toward Cerigar, gripped by an ominous foreboding. From afar, acrid smoke and the stench of burning flesh carried on the wind. The once-peaceful central city of Scosglen had already been transformed into a horrific slaughterhouse.

The walls of Cerigar had crumbled, and horned demons poured through the streets, slaughtering innocent residents. The screams of the people and the thunderous collapse of buildings filled the city. Cutting down the demons blocking his path, the Wanderer made a desperate breakthrough toward the center of the plaza alongside Donan.

In the middle of the plaza, a colossal fire demon mounted upon a grotesque, three-headed hellhound raged furiously. Wherever the flames spewed from his staff touched, they turned to ash. The very demon Donan had sealed decades ago, Astaroth, had descended once more.

Confronting the demon, Donan's steps froze like stone. His gaze locked onto the red-gleaming soulstone embedded in Astaroth's forehead. And beneath it, within the grotesque contours of the demon's face, he discovered the horribly distorted features of his own son, Yorin.

Upon spotting Donan, Astaroth burst into a bizarre laughter, mimicking Yorin's voice. The voice, which cried out for his father and begged for his life before quickly turning into cruel mockery, tore Donan's sanity to shreds. It was the most brutal and perfect psychological torture a demon could inflict.

Donan dropped his weapon and ran frantically toward the flames. However, the overwhelming heat radiating from Astaroth and the wall of demons violently threw him back. Even as he rolled on the ground, he reached out with bloodied hands, desperately screaming his son's name.

Mocking the father's cries for mercy, Astaroth unleashed a massive torrent of hellfire upon the survivors of Cerigar. The shields of the guards melted, and people were burned alive into ash. At this rate, not only the city but all of Scosglen would undoubtedly face irreversible ruin.

Leaving behind the weeping, despair-ridden Donan, the Wanderer gripped his weapon with firm resolve. He had to sever the chains of this horrific tragedy on behalf of the father. Cutting through the boiling heat, the Wanderer stood before Astaroth's massive beast, preparing for the inevitable showdown.

The Shattered Soulstone and the Boy Turned to Ash

As the Wanderer charged, Astaroth swung his massive staff, turning the plaza into a sea of fire. Explosions erupted each time the staff struck the ground, and the Wanderer dodged the flames by a hair's breadth, slipping into the demon's blind spots. With every breath, the intense heat felt as if it were burning his lungs, weighing down on his entire body.

The three-headed beast bared its sharp fangs and lunged to bite the Wanderer. The Wanderer deflected the beast's attack with his shield and inflicted a deep wound on its leg. As the creature let out a painful howl, Astaroth grew even more enraged, summoning a meteor shower from the sky to rain down.

As the battle intensified, Astaroth dredged up Yorin's memories to taunt Donan and the Wanderer. The demon's mockery—that the pride of the Horadrim could not protect his son—gouged Donan's heart sharper than any blade. The Wanderer grit his teeth to remain unshaken.

The Wanderer realized that against the demon's overwhelming power, physical strikes alone would not bring victory. The source maintaining the demon's physical form was the red soulstone embedded in his forehead. Cutting through the pouring flames, the Wanderer leaped onto the beast's back and aimed his sword at Astaroth's head.

The Wanderer's strike, carrying all his might, struck Astaroth's forehead dead center. A sharp cracking sound of steel colliding with the soulstone echoed through the plaza. As the soulstone cracked and its red light flickered, Astaroth's massive body lost control and began to thrash violently.

Astaroth swung his staff into the air with a death rattle, but his form was already collapsing. The demon's flesh and bone turned to black ash and scattered, and the fires of Hell subsided as if they had never been, casting a deep darkness over the plaza.

Where the demon's massive form had completely vanished, Yorin's cold, lifeless body lay collapsed. Embedded deep within the boy's forehead was Astaroth's soulstone, now dull and stripped of its red glow, and all signs of life had already completely ceased.

The Wanderer lowered his weapon, panting heavily, but instead of the triumph of defeating the demon, he felt a crushing sense of loss at the tragic sight left before him. The despair of failing to save the son settled heavily into the thick air of the plaza.

A Father's Lamentation and the Weight of the Soulstone

Donan approached with stumbling steps and knelt before his son's cold corpse. His hands were trembling uncontrollably. Weeping tears of blood, Donan pulled the cursed soulstone from Yorin's forehead with his own hands. As the soulstone came free with a grinding sound of bone, he wrapped his arms around his son's small shoulders, as if denying the unbelievable reality.

Though the lingering heat burned Donan's skin, he paid it no mind, pulling his son close to his chest. A wretched wail, sounding like the cry of a beast or the tearing of a soul, erupted from Donan's mouth. It was the sound of everything a father possessed in the world crumbling to pieces.

Donan rubbed his face against his son's charred cheek, endlessly begging for forgiveness. If only he had not hidden the truth of the past, if only he had raised his son stronger, or if he had never walked the path of the Horadrim in the first place. Tens of thousands of regrets and self-reproaches became a poison, eating away at his sanity.

The Wanderer could offer no words of comfort before the weight of such devastating grief. Though he had swung his sword to save the world, the helplessness of failing to protect a single boy's life weighed heavily on his shoulders. The sacrifice paid as the price of victory was far too harsh and cruel.

One by one, the survivors of Cerigar, who had been holding their breath amidst the ruins of collapsed buildings, began to emerge. The bloodied residents wept silently as they watched the old hero wailing in the center of the plaza. No one dared to approach and disturb his grief.

Donan's gaze fell upon the soulstone rolling on the ground. The cursed stone he had personally sealed decades ago to save the world had ultimately claimed the life of his most beloved son. Before this cruel joke of fate, Donan bit his lip until it bled and gripped the soulstone.

From the dark clouds shrouding the sky, heavy raindrops finally began to fall. The cold rain struck the hot ashes, sending up plumes of acrid smoke, washing away the black ash and tears from Donan's face. Yet, no downpour could ever wash away the deep guilt etched into his heart.

Donan sat motionless in the rain, clutching the soulstone tightly. The glory of the great Horadrim who had saved the world was now gone forever, leaving only the empty shell of a father who had lost his son. The night of Cerigar blanketed Scosglen deeper and colder than ever before.

Shouldering the Name of the Horadrim Once More

After hours of silence, the flames that had consumed Cerigar were completely extinguished by the rain, leaving only an acrid smell. Donan took off his torn cloak and carefully wrapped Yorin's body. On his face, which seemed to have aged ten years overnight, lay a strange emptiness that transcended sorrow.

He laid his son's body upon a temporary memorial altar and could not bring himself to leave it for a long time. The Wanderer silently stood by his side, waiting until Donan could stand on his own. Within Donan's eyes, which had poured out all their grief, a faint but cold and hard ember was beginning to kindle.

Donan slowly turned his head to look at the Wanderer. His voice was cracked, but there was no hesitation. He calmly admitted that Lorath had been right, and that his own weakness in trying to turn away from the approaching great darkness had brought about all this tragedy. His attempt to flee from the past had utterly failed.

Now, his awkward reunion with Lorath was no longer a matter of choice. It had become a harsh necessity that he, who had abandoned his Horadric duties, must shoulder that name once more. Donan picked up his old staff lying on the ground. The feel of the wood felt heavy in his weary hand.

He told the Wanderer that they must pursue Lilith. It was not for some grand cause of saving the world or the pride of the Horadrim. It was the desperate, personal vengeance of a father who had lost everything, driven to make the Mother of Sanctuary pay a price in blood for taking all he had.

Donan knelt one last time before Yorin's body and offered a brief prayer. Though all that was left to the son was a cold stone and horrific pain, what remained for the father was his son's name and a blood debt to be repaid. Without hesitation, he stood up and began walking toward the ruined gates of Cerigar.

Following behind Donan, the Wanderer adjusted his weapons firmly once more. The wounds in Scosglen were deep and painful, but Lilith's trail was not yet finished. Bearing indelible scars in their respective hearts, the two stepped forward into a new darkness along the mud-caked path.

The storm-swept wilderness of Scosglen swallowed their retreating figures. Astaroth's threat was over, but the true enemy was surely still searching for her next sacrifice somewhere in Sanctuary. Whether Donan's small resolve could rekindle the flame of the Horadrim was a question whose answer lay only on the road ahead.

Sources Consulted

Blizzard Official Lore: Akarat and the Spirit Realm

Blizzard Official Material: From Vessel of Hatred to Lord of Hatred

Blizzard Official Material: Lord of Hatred Campaign

Polygon Event Commentary: Vessel of Hatred Ending

Official Diablo IV Store: Battle.net