Chapter 21 – The Fall of the Scales' Throne
The sky had yet to find its peace. Two black eyes, open amidst the clots of blood in the heavens, still stared downward—bearing witness to the failure that had just unfolded. One more eye—the third—remained shut. But the world seemed to know: if the third were ever to open, nothing would remain the same.
The five Council members stood frozen before, one by one, stepping back. The astral chains coiled around Dorvas's hands had grown brittle, their glow extinguished. Noveras's fire died before it could touch the ground. Elhara's illusions dissolved like morning mist. Kavdrin's scales of justice lost their balance, and Ysera's mercy could no longer calm the sky.
They returned to their hall, leaving behind the trace of defeat and the weight of fear.
In the sacred chamber of the Hellseer Council—a place with endless pillars and a ceiling that turned like a fractured ancient clock—five majestic figures now sat, their bodies weary. Not merely weary in flesh, but in essence—as though their very existence had been shaken.
"What was that?" whispered Ysera. Her voice was no longer the voice of a guardian of mercy, but of a human who had lost her way.
"That power… it did not come from this world," replied Kavdrin, his tone heavy. His hands trembled as they reached for the sigil on his forehead—now cracked.
Noveras rose to his feet. "It was not merely forbidden energy. It was a mirror of both curse and judgment in one form. We have no defense against it."
Dorvas gripped his seat. "Since when did Enver possess something like that? When had he hidden it from us?"
Elhara lowered her gaze. "The question is not 'since when,' but who gave it to him. This is not magic of the Hellseer, not from the underworld, and not from mankind."
Silence. A suffocating quiet—not because no one wished to speak, but because none knew what to say.
"Our power… it isn't returning," Ysera murmured. Her gentle hands no longer shone with light. "It's as if… Enver took it."
Kavdrin stood, striking the stone table at the center of the hall. "He didn't take it! It was something that came with him! Those eyes!"
Elhara nodded slowly. "Three eyes in the sky. Two open. One closed. Each time one opens, we lose something."
Dorvas's voice was barely a whisper. "We are no longer a Council. We are only humans now."
The colors of the spirit world's sky began to fade. The blood of Enver, draping the heavens, slowly evaporated—yet it brought no peace. What remained was a dense silence no prayer or incantation could pierce.
Elsewhere, amidst the ruins of the battlefield where the confrontation had taken place, Enver still stood unmoving. His body was surrounded by the remnants of spirit dust and the glow of the Ten of Clubs—now petrified. He looked upward, toward the heavens where two black eyes lingered.
He did not chase the Council. He did not call out or strike again. He simply looked—as though waiting.
The eyes were not part of him. They did not cling to his body, nor were they born of his soul. But they existed because of his blood.
That blood—spilled not merely from a wound, but from a choice. Blood that had summoned something from beyond the world. Something older than judgment, colder than death.
Enver knew, from the moment the card was turned, that he was no longer just Enver. He was the door.
The sky did not wholly return to blue. In the distance, a faint sound emerged—not human, not spirit, not any being that bore a name.
Whispers from an uncharted dimension.
This chapter does not end in war.
It ends in not knowing.
And that… is far more terrifying.
Blood Trail, Origin Trail
Previously…
Enver once again purified a human soul. But this time, something was wrong. An unknown entity spoke from within the soul he cleansed—claiming to come from the deepest layer of the astral world. It uttered Enver's name… and called his blood "the key to an ancient awakening."
---
This purificazione was unlike any before.
Usually, the soul would tremble, weep, then burn into light. But today, the soul—belonging to a cold-blooded drug lord—shifted into a violet mist.
From within the haze, a heavy voice whispered:
"Your blood… has left its mark on every dimension."
Enver stared, unblinking.
His hands didn't move, but the ten coils along his body began to throb. Slow—yet painfully.
"Do you… know your own origin, child of the traded mark?"
In an instant, the mist vanished. The soul returned to normal, then scattered into shards of light as always. But the voice… still echoed.
---
Afterward, Enver isolated himself within the ruins of an ancient spirit temple.
The ten coils wrapped around him began to glow faintly, one by one.
They weren't mere symbols.
They were cards. And those cards began to reveal something Enver had never seen before.
One by one, the symbols surfaced:
Ancient script unreadable to ordinary humans.
An image of a severed hand.
A map of the dimensions… and a name long erased: The Astral Crossroad.
Enver drew a deep breath.
On the back of his hand, one card lit up. He knew this card—the soul of a woman he had once purified. But now, her voice was faint, as if calling him home.
---
Elhara appeared as night descended.
No sound. No trace.
She wore a thin robe like morning mist. Her eyes were soft silver—unlike the other Council members, whose gazes brimmed with menace.
"You've unlocked those coils more than anyone before," she said softly.
"It's time I told you the truth."
Enver turned. "About what?"
"Your cards. Your blood. And those who dwell within you."
---
Elhara stood before a small fire.
She explained: Enver's power did not come from spells, nor from the inherited strength of the Hellseer.
It came from the consent of sacred souls yet unsettled.
They chose not to move on to the afterlife, but to remain as power—taking the form of cards. As an act of love… or redemption.
"They are not your slaves, Enver. They are your companions," she said.
Some cards held astral beings, even ancient entities. But most were human souls. Souls Enver had purified… yet were not ready to leave.
They chose to stay.
To wait.
To follow.
And when their mission was complete, they would depart in peace.
"That's why your power is always different… warm, yet aching," Elhara whispered.
---
But Elhara didn't stop there.
She spoke of Enver's parents.
"They weren't ordinary humans," she said.
"Your father once refused to become part of the Hellseer. Your mother, a writer of soul-symbols, and above all—your mother was a balancer. They vanished… while trying to seal something in the dimensional crossing. The Astral Crossroad."
That place—one of the central points of the spirit world—had disappeared. Not destroyed, but hidden from every dimensional map. Even the Council couldn't find it.
Except… through Enver's blood.
---
Enver gripped a card.
Its color was dark red, almost black. This card had always been silent, never speaking. Now, it trembled softly—as if calling toward an unknown place.
"I… am of the blood that was lost," he murmured.
The night sky trembled.
In the distance, a whisper echoed. Not human. Not spirit. But something that felt… like a call to return.
---
Elhara stepped closer, touching his shoulder.
"Don't fight everything alone, Enver. But don't hand everything over to us, either. Not all in the Council seek the truth."
"But I… believe in you."
Then she vanished, like the shadow of a dream.
Leaving Enver with only the sound of wind carrying the dust of souls.
---
In his hand, one card began to burn slowly.
But it did not disintegrate. Instead, it changed color.
Turning into dark gold—a sign that it had found a new purpose. Not to attack. But to open a locked gate.
---
Enver rose to his feet.
Tonight, he would not perform purificazione.
Tonight, he would seek the place
where his blood began—
and where his trail would end.