The wind howling through the shattered archway of the lower gates suddenly ceased, dropping the courtyard into a vacuum of absolute stillness. Chris stepped past the crumbling piles of ash that used to be his men, his standard vanguard blade raised. But he wasn't relying on the steel. Deep within his chest, the freezing reservoir of the negation of magic hummed, creating a shimmering, distorted pocket of reality around his body that forced Malakai's creeping frost to recede.Malakai watched the distortion ripple through the air, his pitch-black eyes widening slightly. The arrogant smirk faded from his blue-tinted lips, replaced by a cold, calculating curiosity. He lowered his gnarled wooden staff, letting the tip rest lightly against the stone floor."You control the void," Malakai murmured, his smooth voice echoing without the aid of air or wind. "The ability to strip the fabric of reality down to nothingness. My master told me you would be an anomaly, Astana. A being who should not exist.""I told you to stop calling me that," Chris said, his voice dropping into that terrifying, resonant baritone. He lunged forward.He didn't use a standard royal form. Driven by pure instinct, his body shifted into a blur of motion, a physical shadow tearing through the twilight. He swung the vanguard blade with a speed that should have shattered his own bones, aiming cleanly for Malakai's neck.Malakai didn't try to dodge. He simply raised his left hand, intending to catch the blade and shatter it into glass just as he had done to the border scouts.The moment Chris's sword met Malakai's palm, the air fractured with a deafening crack. But the steel didn't break.The shimmering pocket of negation magic surrounding Chris violently collided with the dark, immortal energy anchoring Malakai to this plane. For a fraction of a second, the traveler's pale skin rippled violently, the illusion of his human form tearing away to reveal the hollow, swallowing blackness of the Ashen Realm beneath. Malakai let out a sharp, guttural gasp—a sound of genuine, unadulterated pain.Chris twisted his wrist, pressing the advantage, but before the blade could bite deeper into the traveler's flesh, Malakai struck back. He didn't use his staff; he slammed his open palm against Chris's chest.A shockwave of raw, unmitigated kinetic force exploded between them. The impact sent Chris flying backward across the courtyard, his boots skidding over the stone before he crashed heavily against the base of the defensive walkway. The vanguard blade flew from his grip, clattering into the dark.Chris groaned, coughing up a copper taste of blood as he tried to push himself up. The cold reservoir in his chest was thrashing wildly, fighting to stabilize his fractured ribs.Malakai stood in the center of the courtyard, cradling his left hand. A deep, jagged wound marred his palm, but instead of blood, a thick, smoking black vapor dripped from the gash, turning the stones beneath him into crumbling gray dust. He looked up at Chris, his expression no longer amused. It was deadly serious."You actually managed to wound a servant of the Undying Lord," Malakai said, his voice losing its smooth cadence, fracturing into a chorus of harsh, scraping echoes. "The prophecy did not understate your danger. But you are fighting for a lie, boy."General Duwall began to step forward, his sword raised to protect his fallen king, but Malakai leveled his gnarled staff at the general, freezing him in place with a glance."Do you know why your father was slaughtered, Chris?" Malakai asked, stepping closer, his boots crunching on the ash-littered floor. "Do you know why your uncle Marcell spent seventeen years digging potatoes in the mud, hiding you like a coward?"Chris grunted, forcing himself to his feet, leaning heavily against the stone wall. "He was protecting me from monsters like you.""He was protecting you from the truth," Malakai countered, his voice booming like thunder. "Seventeen years ago, your father realized what the High Council of Alced truly was. They are not protectors. They are wardens. The Ancients introduced magic to this world not as a gift, but as a tether to harvest the life force of your bloodline. Your father attempted to break that tether. He wanted to collapse the dimensions to free humanity from the eternal cycle of the Sages."The traveler stopped ten feet away, the dark vapor from his wounded hand coiling around his staff."And do you know who betrayed your father to the Sages?" Malakai whispered, his black eyes boring directly into Chris's soul. "Do you know who led the executioners to your mother's doorstep to ensure the crown remained intact? It was your beloved uncle. Marcell. The man who raised you on bedtime stories to ensure you would grow up docile, ready to take the throne and maintain the very prison your father died trying to destroy."The words hit Chris harder than the physical blow. The world seemed to tilt. In his mind, the fragmented memories Sarata had unlocked began to shift, recontextualizing the deep, quiet pain he had always seen in Marcell's eyes. It wasn't just grief. It was guilt."He lied to you, Lord Astana," Malakai whispered, extending his uninjured hand toward Chris. "He raised a weapon for the kingdom that slaughtered his own brother. My master, Valakor, does not wish to destroy Alced. He wishes to complete your father's work. Join the Vanguard of Old. Help us tear down the Temple of Time, and let the realms finally be free."Chris stood paralyzed in the freezing twilight, his hand hovering over the empty air where his sword had been. The king was awake, but the boy's heart was shattering.