Chapter 21 – The Eye Yet to Awaken
The world collapsed in silence.
The wind, once gently drifting, had turned to stone.
The sky seemed unsure—should it offer light or shadow?
Amid the ruins of the Council's will, Enver stood tall.
His shadow did not waver, even as five Hellseers struck him at once.
The card appeared from the air—slowly,
like a fragment of memory that refused to be forgotten.
The ten of clubs.
A symbol meaningless to ordinary men,
but fatal to those who dared stare too deeply.
The card did not burn.
It did not shatter.
It melted.
It blackened the earth.
It blackened the sky.
It blackened every thread of light ever understood by the Hellseers.
From the card, Enver's black blood began to drip,
and surged like a river toward the heavens.
It climbed—
a liquid veil forming a storm above not birthed by weather,
but by judgment.
From that blood, a power surged
that made three of the seven Hellseer Council shudder
—and step back.
Then they emerged.
Three eyes.
Not from Enver's body.
Not from any demon known.
But hanging above, within the dark sky made from his blood.
Two were open.
One remained closed.
They did not judge.
They did not see.
They did not decide.
They existed.
And their existence alone was enough to freeze time itself.
"Saelmir, Noveras, Dorvas…" whispered Elhara from behind the mist.
"What have we awakened? This is not purification… this is…"
"Severance," answered Kavdrin.
"Enver is not cleansing. He is cutting."
The blood dome hung above like a cathedral ceiling—then shifted.
From within the dome, there was motion.
A being.
One without form, without history, without dimension.
Known to no one—except one: Enver.
Thadric watched from afar.
Beneath the collapsed Tower of Judgment,
he gripped a piece of broken stone.
No prayers.
No noble intentions.
Only the quiet awareness
that even his life was just another string in Maxcen's web.
But he wasn't a fool.
He knew—
to escape that devil's design,
he had to become part of something greater.
A council.
A voice among powers.
Meanwhile, the five who had struck Enver
stood frozen.
Their strength, bound.
Not by seals.
Not by spells.
But because the world itself had rejected their will.
Tongues of dark light descended from the sky,
slow as the final curtain over a divine stage.
Not fire.
Not light.
Not darkness.
But a blend only fear could define.
Elhara tried to sing—
to shift the spiritual terrain.
But her voice vanished.
Vanished like a name wiped from a monument.
Kavdrin lifted his scale of sins,
but it froze.
Saelmir attempted to read the memory in the blood sky,
but his mind reflected back—
as though staring into a mirror without a shadow.
Enver did not move.
Yet with every passing second,
his body became the eye of a cosmic imbalance.
Zephyr watched from afar.
Not with rage—
but estrangement.
He knew now:
the world the Hellseers protected
was no longer strong enough to contain Enver's soul.
"One eye remains closed," he murmured.
And that alone was enough
to terrify the false gods who claimed to guard this world's morality.
Creatures from unknown dimensions began to manifest—
not in forms the eye could name,
but in whispers,
in shifts of air,
in presences that made spirits retreat
without being told to.
The remaining five Councilors—
powerless to act.
Bound in silence and hesitation.
And Enver?
He simply stood.
A human gaze could no longer read his expression,
for his face had vanished into the veil of his own blood.
The ten of clubs, now melted,
had stitched a new world atop the old.
"Purificazione… This is no ordinary cleansing,"
Elhara whispered.
"This is the erasure of the system."
But it was not yet finished.
The third eye in the sky—
remained shut.
And they all knew:
should it open,
the laws they had clung to would lose meaning.
The heavens began to rumble.
But not with thunder—
with whispers,
arising from within every soul.
Are you truly pure?
Do you deserve to judge?
Are you not part of the sin yourself?
The remaining Councilors stood still.
Miredan, keeper of ends, stared at Enver.
But said nothing.
For even the end could not sever what had yet to begin.
Thadric stepped forward.
His time had not yet come—
but he was watching.
Every sigil.
Every vibration.
Every being summoned.
He would trade them all later.
For a throne.
But for now,
the world remained in the grasp of Enver's black blood.
And two eyes still gazed from the sky.
The third…
…still slept.
And the world—
was not ready.