The smoke still curled in lazy spirals from the cracks in the vault stones. It wasn't the heavy, choking kind that tells you something's still burning. No, this smoke hung thin, shimmering like a heat haze that warped the air, bending it slow and jittery. Time didn't behave right here. It dragged at the edges and pulsed fast in Verek's chest. Something deep inside the palace had torn loose, ripped free from whatever cage had held it for centuries. The stone walls groaned softly, like an old man complaining after too many days spent holding a weight too heavy for his bones.
The pulse—the one that had shattered the vault's wards—was like a hand smashing through glass. It had blown out three of the old seals, split two support arches so wide you could see the open sky beyond, and now the runes scurried back to life, flickering like they couldn't quite remember how to talk anymore. They stammered, not with the clean certainty of fresh magic, but like an old tongue trying to catch itself.
Ezreal was still down on his knees, right in the center of the wreckage, hands pressed to the floor where the egg had hovered before everything went sideways. The pedestal that had held it was cracked and crumbled, reduced to nothing more than dust and chalk. Around the crater, shards of the Crucible relics floated, as if stuck in some slow-motion fall. They spun hesitantly, almost embarrassed to obey gravity. They still held faint traces of power, faint glimmers, but they weren't listening anymore—not like they had before.
Caylen leaned back against a twisted, buckled stretch of wall. One arm rested on his ribs, like it hurt to hold himself upright. Ash streaked his face, and a shallow cut ran from his cheek to the corner of his mouth. His eyes stayed fixed somewhere distant, unmoving since the pulse had slammed through. He hadn't said a word. Just watched. Maybe waiting for something to break.
Dax prowled at the blasted archway like a restless dog pacing a cage. One hand rubbed harsh circles into his temples, scrubbing at the aftershocks buzzing behind his eyes. His voice came out rough and raw. "That wasn't just some crack in the vault. That was something waking up."
Ezreal didn't even glance up. His voice came low and steady, like he was admitting a bad truth without really wanting to say it. "It didn't get out. But it's not going back to sleep either."
The air in the chamber thickened, heavy and charged, and then she appeared. Kaelith.
Queen Kaelith Serpantwind stepped in without ceremony, her figure framed by the fractured light spilling through the broken ceiling. Storm-blooded, a serpent's heir, she looked like the storm itself had beaten her to pulp and spat her back just to settle a score. The glow behind her seemed reluctant, as if it wanted to run away from what she carried in her steps. Her armor was marked with a jagged black slash down the left shoulder, half-melted and still steaming faintly. Sweat, dirt, and blood tangled in her hair, and where her crown should have been sat a twisted circlet of vine and wire—thin threads of living metal etched with ancient runes and streaked with dried gore. She didn't walk like a queen. She moved like the edge of a guillotine, slow and absolute.
Tarrin dropped to one knee as if the weight of her presence demanded it, but Caylen didn't follow. His hand twitched toward the hilt of his sword for a fraction of a second before relaxing. His jaw locked so tight it looked like it could shatter.
Ezreal got to his feet slowly. His voice had lost the heat it once held, replaced by something raw and ragged. "Where have you been?"
Kaelith's eyes swept across the room, lingering on the shards spinning hesitantly around the crater, on the smear of ash where the pedestal had been, and finally on the Judgment shard. Her gaze was distant, as if reading a story she'd already known by heart.
"Beyond the veil," she said at last. Her voice had grit in it, like sand caught in a river's throat. "The fracture pulled me through. The Crucible was never meant to end quietly. And that egg… it wasn't just a prison."
Caylen's voice cut in, sharp and sure without waiting for an invitation. "You knew."
Kaelith didn't bother with a lie. "I suspected. But I couldn't say it out loud. The Spire Council would have buried it—or worse, tried to wield it. I trusted the Crucible to test you all. And if you survived, to change you."
Dax snapped back, frustration bleeding into his voice. "You trusted us with a god's heartbeat in a sack, and now it's listening."
Kaelith tilted her head slightly, weighing how much effort it was worth to reply. "Not listening. Aware. There's a difference."
The shards flickered in unison, the room shrinking in the wake of their pulse. It was a flicker, but enough to remind them that whatever they were dealing with wasn't done yet.
Ezreal pushed to his feet, looking older than before, weariness settling like dust on his skin. "We need to talk about Verek."
The name sucked the breath out of the chamber. The shards stilled, the light dimmed, and even the stones seemed to pause and listen.
Kaelith's jaw flexed hard. "He's still sealed?"
"For now," Ezreal said. "But the pulse hit his chamber hard too. Cracked three locks straight through. If something like that happens again, there won't be any chamber left to hold him."
Tarrin stood and his voice was sharp, biting the tension like a blade. "Then we tear it down. Bury him as deep as we can."
"He'll claw his way out," Caylen said, cutting through the talk with blunt truth. "And when he does, he'll come for the egg."
Kaelith stepped into the crater, moving with slow purpose. Her hand reached out to the floating Judgment shard, which drifted closer like it recognized its mistress.
"Verek Solheim was Arch Mage of the Morning Star," she said, voice low and steady. "When the gods fell, he held nations together with his bare hands. He stared down plague, shadow, collapse. But when the veil first split…"
Ezreal's voice was barely more than a whisper. "He tried to catch the falling."
"No," Kaelith said, turning without looking at him. "He tried to become it."
Dax made a bitter sound, dry and humorless. "How'd that work out?"
Kaelith's gaze sliced through him like a blade. "He burned bloodlines out of history. Walked into cities and they vanished. It took eleven seals, seven relics, and the last breath of a god to cage him."
Ezreal folded his arms across his chest, the weight of it settling over him. "He's no legend anymore. He's here. Below us. Listening. And if we don't bring him out on our terms, he'll do it on his own."
Tarrin's face went pale. "You're saying we make a deal?"
"I'm saying we prepare," Ezreal said. "Stop pretending he's still bound. He's not. Not really. The egg cracked it wide open."
Kaelith turned toward him, voice sharper. "You want to open the door and hand him the pieces of the god he couldn't become?"
"No," Ezreal said quietly. "We give him a choice."
Dax froze in place, disbelief clear in his eyes. "He tried to kill us."
"He didn't try to kill me," Ezreal said, and the weight behind that sank into the room like a stone dropped in a still pool.
Caylen looked up, words slow and bitter. "You think that means something? You think you matter to him? You're just another link in the chain. He'll drain you dry and smile while he does."
Ezreal met his eyes. "I've carried these shards long enough to know what they want. What they remember. They hum in me. Settle when I sleep. They trust something. So does he."
No one spoke. The shards drew tighter, spinning faster, the crater dark and deepening, glowing low with blue fire. Something moved beneath.
Tarrin cursed and stepped back. "We don't have time."
Ezreal's voice was flat, no room for debate. "Not for councils. Not for perfect plans. If we want control, we bring Verek out—not as a prisoner, but as something sharp, something aimed."
Kaelith's voice went flat, hard. "You trust a man who tried to rewrite the world in fire?"
Ezreal didn't flinch. "I trust he hates Torvald more than us."
Dax blinked. "He turned the Red Keep to glass when Torvald crowned himself."
Caylen gave a short nod. "Fine. Let's say we try. How do we stop him from tearing us apart the second he's free?"
Ezreal pulled the blue shard from his coat. It pulsed slow and steady, cold and alive.
"We give him what matters. Stakes. The egg isn't whole. Not godhood. A door. We tell him: help us stop Torvald, and we keep it closed. Turn on us, and we break it open."
Kaelith looked at him long, then the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth—no warmth, no refusal.
"You mean to wager the realm's fate on his pride."
"No," Ezreal said. "On his memory."
The floor groaned, dust drifting from the cracked ceiling again. Kaelith lifted her hand. Sigils crawled across her skin like spider lights.
"Then we walk in together. No half-steps. No secrets. If we free him, none of us come out the same."
Dax cracked his knuckles. "So. We're really doing this. Waking the fire king."
Caylen sheathed his sword. "Let's hope he's ready to talk."
Ezreal turned to the vault. His heart hammered in his throat, but his hands were steady. The egg pulsed still. It had never stopped.
Verek waited in the dark.
And they were going to meet him, ready or not.
Together, they stepped into the deep.