Aftermath of a Murdered Magister
The silence after the explosion was louder than the blast itself.
Dust rained from the cracked ceiling of the Arcane Tribunal, veiling the shattered throne where High Magister Velamir once sat. His blood still hissed against the scorched marble floor. The obsidian Darksword, humming low with ancient hunger, rested in Kael's trembling grip.
Across the broken chamber, Elarin coughed weakly and dragged herself upright, her pale robes torn, white streaks of magic still twitching at her fingertips. "You weren't supposed to do that," she rasped, eyes wide.
Kael turned to her slowly. "He gave me no choice."
The air still shimmered with raw energy. Behind Kael, the shadows twisted unnaturally, drawn to the blade. The Darksword pulsed, darker than black, feeding on the death it had caused.
Elarin took a step forward, limping. "You don't understand. Killing Velamir wasn't the end. It was the seal. He was keeping it shut. You've just—"
A crack split the far wall. Not a physical one—no, this was deeper. A rift, pulsing violet, bleeding through reality itself.
Kael's heart dropped. "What is that?"
"The Burned Gate," Elarin whispered. "It's opening."
Underworld Murmurs
Miles beneath the capital, in the sunless caverns of Vorthar Hollow, a different kind of tremor was felt. The stones trembled with the scent of spilled blood and the awakening of old power.
Deep inside a circle of glimmering runes, a creature shifted. Half-forgotten by the surface, bound in the dark by vows no one remembered, the Dread Warden opened his eyes for the first time in a century.
"Something ancient stirs," he growled. "The Darksword has tasted a magister's soul."
A girl stood in the shadows nearby, hidden behind a mask of bone. She didn't flinch at his voice.
"The Gate is splitting," she said.
The Dread Warden chuckled, a sound like grinding stone. "So the prophecy was real after all."
The Boy With a Blade and a Deadline
Back in the tribunal ruins, Kael paced near the dying embers of magical fire. He barely heard Elarin's voice over the rising hum of the Darksword.
"I didn't mean to kill him," Kael said again, quieter now, like saying it softly might undo what was already done.
"You broke the pact," Elarin said. "The moment Velamir's heart stopped, you forfeited your protection. They'll come for you now—the Keepers, the Arbiters, the entire Order."
Kael ran a hand through his ash-streaked hair. "Let them come."
"No," she snapped. "You're still bound to the blade, and that means you're still useful."
He looked at her, and for a moment, she saw a flicker of what the sword was doing to him—his eyes glowed faintly, like embers ready to ignite.
"What do you mean, useful?"
She hesitated. "There's someone who can close the Gate. But she's hidden, and she won't come out for just anyone."
Kael narrowed his eyes. "Then we make her come to us."
Echoes in the Broken Sky
Thunder cracked through the sky even though no clouds stirred above. A line of unnatural lightning split the horizon as the Burned Gate widened in the heavens like a bleeding wound. Villages around the capital had already begun to feel it—livestock collapsing, children whispering in tongues not heard since the Descent.
At the Iron Spire, Commander Verin watched the sky from a cold balcony, his armor shining like wet bone.
"Velamir is dead," he said aloud.
The shadow beside him didn't reply.
Verin glanced at it. "We begin the purge."
A soft hiss echoed in the air, like a thousand knives being unsheathed.
Whispers from the Weeping Wood
They traveled under night's veil, avoiding the main roads and the eyes that watched from the sky. Elarin moved like someone who didn't trust the ground, glancing at every crooked branch like it might strike her. Kael followed, the Darksword strapped tightly across his back, still humming faintly with leftover power.
"This place gives me chills," Kael muttered as they entered the Weeping Wood.
"It should," Elarin said. "This is where they buried the last God-Eater."
The trees were gnarled and weeping sap like thick black tears. The wind didn't blow here — the air simply shivered, like something invisible breathed through the branches.
"Is this where she is?" Kael asked.
Elarin nodded. "She won't show herself unless the sword speaks."
Kael unsheathed the blade. The moment it left the scabbard, the air shifted. A low tone vibrated through the soil. The trees stopped moving.
And from the silence, a voice slithered out.
"You bring the cursed blade here… and expect kindness?"
The Keeper Who Wouldn't Kneel
She stepped from the roots like smoke — tall, robed in something older than fabric, eyes rimmed with fire. The Keeper of the Forgotten Path. The last witch of the Veil. Her presence made Kael's spine stiffen, and for the first time since killing Velamir, he felt like a child again.
"Why are you here, Elarin?" the Keeper said coldly.
"The Gate is opening."
"It was meant to."
"We need your help," Kael said.
The Keeper's head turned slowly toward him. "You hold the sword, but it holds you tighter. You think I will help you wield it?"
Kael met her gaze. "I think you don't want the world to burn."
She smiled — not kindly. "Then you don't know me at all."
The Shatterpoint
The Darksword trembled violently.
It wasn't a warning. It was anticipation.
Somewhere far away, across time or fate or memory, the Burned Gate flared with power — and something stepped through. Not all the way. Just a whisper of it.
Kael staggered.
The Keeper grabbed his shoulder to steady him — and froze.
"You've already been touched," she whispered.
Kael looked at her. "What?"
"You've seen the other side," she said. "Something crossed into you. You're marked."
Elarin turned pale. "That's not possible. He would've noticed."
"He didn't notice because it's not just touching him," the Keeper said slowly. "It's hiding inside him."
A Deal Stained with Shadows
The fire around the Keeper's hands dimmed. "If I help you, it won't be for free. The Veil demands a price."
Kael didn't hesitate. "Name it."
The Keeper paused. "You will not like it."
"I don't care."
She leaned closer, her voice colder than death. "When the time comes, and the Gate is nearly closed… you must open it wider."
Elarin gasped. "That's suicide!"
Kael stared. "Why would you want that?"
The Keeper's gaze hardened. "Because someone I love is on the other side."
The Beginning of a Second Ending
Later, as they made camp near a withered river, Elarin sat by the dying fire, her face unreadable. Kael stared into the coals, fingers twitching.
"Do you think she's telling the truth?" he asked.
Elarin didn't answer for a long time. Finally, she said, "Truth doesn't matter anymore. Only survival does."
Kael looked up at the stars. They weren't blinking tonight. They were watching.
And one of them fell — not a meteor, but a shadow — crashing into the far mountains, shaking the very bones of the earth.
The Gate wasn't just opening.
It was bleeding things into the world.
And Kael, no longer just a boy with a sword, felt his name being spoken in languages older than mankind.