The next morning arrived cloaked in unease.
Dawn broke, but no birds sang. The wind moved, but carried no scent. The earth itself felt like it had paused—waiting.
Ael stood atop the shattered parapets of Ervis, watching the eastern horizon. A faint shimmer pulsed there, just beyond the visible edge of the world, like heat waves over broken mirrors.
"Something stirs beneath the soil," Vel said quietly behind him, arms crossed, gaze sharp. "Old magic. Ancient magic."
Ael didn't turn. "I can feel it, too."
Nirra joined them, the boy at her side. Her dream scrolls rustled from within her pack, parchment reacting to magic in the air like a compass to storms.
"I tried to trace the residue from the ritual," she said. "It's not just soul magic. It's imperial soul-forging." She paused. "The kind that predates kingdoms. From before the last silence."
Vel stiffened. "You mean…"
"Yes," Nirra nodded grimly. "Ael's first empire."
The name went unsaid—but it hung in the air all the same.
Vorthar.
Ael's kingdom of cold iron and colder laws. Where magic had been regulated, love was weakness, and souls were just resources with names.
"I destroyed that place," Ael said quietly. "With my own hands."
Nirra frowned. "You destroyed the surface of it. But what if something survived underground?"
Vel added, "Or someone."
Ael's fists tightened. "Who would be mad enough to revive a kingdom forged from heartlessness?"
The boy looked up, his voice soft but steady.
"Someone who never stopped believing in it."
—
They moved fast.
With Eiren left under the care of the Ervis wardens—his power broken but his soul slowly healing—the four descended into the eastern plains, where dry wind carried whispers and dead grass bent unnaturally.
For three days, they traveled through no-man's land.
The deeper they went, the heavier the air grew. Runes buried in rocks flared as they passed. Dead trees turned their hollow knots toward them like watching eyes.
And on the fourth day, they found it.
Or rather, it rose to greet them.
The ground split without warning.
From the cracked earth emerged a staircase of obsidian and bone, spiraling downward into a gaping chasm that had not been there moments before.
Vel lit her flames.
Ael drew his blade.
The boy touched the edge of the stairs and whispered, "It remembers him."
Nirra asked, "Who?"
The boy looked up.
"You."
—
They descended in silence.
The staircase wound through darkness that felt… unnatural. Not empty. Occupied. As if the very shadows remembered screams once swallowed.
Torches flickered to life without being touched. Walls bore murals in soul-etched gold—images of Ael's former life: crowning ceremonies, brutal trials, soulforging chambers.
Each painting showed him without emotion.
Without light in his eyes.
A king of law, not of love.
Nirra shivered. "These were carved like… like scripture."
"They made you a god," Vel said softly. "After you were gone."
"I never gave permission," Ael muttered.
"That never stopped zealots," Nirra replied.
—
They reached the lowest level.
A massive chamber opened before them, lit by veins of glowing soulglass. Statues lined the walls—each a perfect replica of Ael's old form, posed like saints and executioners both.
And at the center… was a throne.
Empty.
Yet the air around it thrummed with pressure. Magic. Memory.
A woman stepped from the shadows behind it.
Cloaked in silver and black.
Hair like woven starlight.
Eyes rimmed in tears that refused to fall.
She bowed.
"I've waited centuries for you to return, Your Majesty."
Ael stepped back, stunned.
"…Kiria?"
Vel turned sharply. "You know her?"
Ael's voice was tight. "She was my High Arbiter. The enforcer of soul-law. My most trusted judge."
Kiria rose slowly. Her voice never broke. "And your truest believer."
"You died," Ael said, not as a statement but a hope.
"I did," Kiria replied. "And was brought back. By your laws. Your will. Your legacy."
She spread her hands.
"All of this—everything you see—is not my creation."
"It is yours."
—
The chamber pulsed.
And beneath them, the earth breathed.
A machine made of bones and memory began to stir.
Ael stepped forward, sword lowered but eyes burning.
"I was wrong to build Vorthar."
Kiria's smile was sad… and cruel.
"And I was right to rebuild it. Only this time, without the weakness of your rebirth."
Vel's hand snapped toward her sword hilt.
Nirra whispered, "She's going to awaken it. The old empire. The core system."
Kiria's eyes flashed silver.
"You healed the silence. But can you silence your past?"
—
And then the ground erupted.
From beneath the throne rose the Heart Engine of Vorthar—a sphere of soulglass and iron veins, burning with the life force of thousands once consumed for law.
It opened like an eye.
And it looked at Ael.
Its creator.
Its king.
And it called him home.