The capital of Aerthalin burned.
Once a beacon of light, it now smoldered beneath a sky streaked with flame. Towers toppled like dying giants. Ash drifted like snow. Screams pierced the smoke, sharp as arrows. The city was not falling—it was bleeding.
Caelen and Elira stood at the edge of it, shadows cast long by fire.
The curse screamed.
Thousands of voices, one single cry of agony. It hit Caelen like a hammer to the chest. His knees buckled. He choked on the taste of sorrow.
Elira caught him, her grip like steel.
"We can't stop," she said, breath sharp with fear. "Eredan-Mir is here. The temple's ahead. We move."
Caelen's vision blurred.
The scar on his chest burned as if the void itself clawed at him. "I can't… It's too much. They're all screaming."
Elira's eyes shimmered with terror, but she didn't waver. "You have to. For them. For us."
He stood, barely.
One step. Then another. Then more.
Each one a rebellion against the flood.
They waded through nightmare streets—where Hollows stalked flame-lit alleys, their eyes dark as silence. Civilians fled, fell, cried for help. And Caelen heard them all. Every one.
The curse was wildfire.
He could not take their pain. There was too much. It would kill him.
But he walked.
They reached the temple. The ancient stones wept with the land's grief. Above them, the sky tore open—a bleeding rift where shadow poured like smoke.
Eredan-Mir had opened the door.
Caelen's heart raced. The Weeping Blade trembled in his hand. This was the end. This was everything.
And then—
A child stepped from the smoke.
Ten years old. Soot-streaked. Eyes full of a world too cruel.
"Help me," the boy whispered.
The curse howled. The boy's fear sliced deep.
Caelen moved without thinking—but Elira caught him.
"No," she said, voice breaking. "If we stop now—we lose."
He froze.
The boy's eyes widened. A betrayal without words.
Caelen's soul twisted.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
He turned away.
The boy's scream followed them up the steps.
It would never leave him.
But the temple loomed.
And behind its doors waited the final judgment—for them, for the city, for all of Aerthalin.