The air within the Shardborn Frontier shimmered like liquid light.
Kael moved through the ruins in silence, guided by the faint trail of glowing fragments left by the Watcher. Each step echoed too loud, too long—like the ground remembered more than his weight.
The deeper he walked, the thinner the light became. The sky was a pale wound above him, fractured by rising pillars of glass. Reflections bloomed on every side: thousands of Kaels, walking, turning, pausing just a heartbeat behind him—as if his own shadow no longer obeyed.
He tried not to look, but the reflections whispered.
They mouthed words he couldn't hear, faces shifting between sorrow and something hungrier.
He reached a sunken hollow. The fragments here curved inward like a crater frozen mid-explosion. At its center stood a ruin that defied time—a temple half-swallowed by molten glass, its structure still humming faintly with a power older than gods.
Kael stepped closer. His reflection in the slick glass looked wrong again—eyes hollow, light devoured. The souls inside him stirred, whispering like trapped birds.
> "The Architects built this place," one voice hissed.
"And unbuilt themselves," another answered.
Kael ignored them. He pressed his hand against the temple's entrance. The glass beneath his palm felt warm—like the skin of something alive.
The door pulsed, and for a breath, he saw a shape behind it: a tall figure carved in light, carrying a blade of mirrored flame. Then the image shattered, and the entrance opened in silence.
Inside, the air was heavy and still.
The walls were lined with countless sigils, engraved deep and glowing faintly blue.
Each rune sang a different note, and together they made a low, trembling harmony that seemed to breathe.
Kael's steps echoed as he descended. He could feel the glass underfoot shifting subtly, bending like the surface of water.
When he reached the inner sanctum, he realized it wasn't stone that surrounded him—it was frozen time.
The walls were transparent, showing moments suspended within them: battles, prayers, faces turning to ash.
And in the center, a single altar made of black crystal.
He approached it.
Atop the altar rested a cracked mask—the same design as the Watcher's—but older, rimmed with crimson veins that pulsed faintly.
Kael reached out.
The moment his fingertips brushed the mask, the world convulsed.
The sigils ignited. The air turned to sound.
He was no longer standing in the temple—he was inside the glass.
Flashes. Voices.
A battlefield under two suns.
A man wreathed in flame, his body carved with runes, devouring the souls of both gods and mortals.
Behind him, the world burned and rebuilt itself over and over again.
> "He was the first Devourer," a voice whispered in Kael's mind.
"The one who believed he could steal divinity. But every soul taken was another thread cut from his own."
Kael saw the man turn.
His eyes glowed red.
His face—his own face.
The illusion cracked. Kael gasped, stumbling backward into reality. The temple had darkened, shadows crawling across the walls like liquid night. The mask on the altar was gone.
In its place stood a figure, tall and skeletal, wearing a mantle of shattered glass and flame.
The first Devourer.
"You walk my path," the figure said. Its voice echoed like molten bells. "And you think you can end where I began."
Kael's hand went to his sword. "I didn't come to end anything. I came to understand it."
The figure laughed softly, the sound hollow. "Understanding is the first lie we tell ourselves before we're consumed."
It moved faster than thought. The air split as its blade struck; Kael barely raised his weapon in time. Sparks and light burst like dying stars. The impact hurled him backward into a wall of glass. Cracks spidered beneath him, and for an instant, the reflection staring back wasn't his own—it was the man's.
"Why show me this?" Kael shouted. "What do you want from me?"
The figure approached, steps slow and deliberate. "To remind you that hunger doesn't fade. It evolves. The more you feed, the less you remain."
Kael's breath came ragged. The souls inside him screamed, half in terror, half in ecstasy.
He pushed off the wall and lunged. Their blades met again.
The clash shook the air, echoing like thunder.
Each strike brought a flood of images—faces of those Kael had consumed, their eyes pleading, accusing, begging.
He faltered.
The figure seized the opening and slammed him into the altar. The blade's edge grazed his throat, warm blood spilling onto the glass.
"See?" the Devourer whispered. "Even your blood remembers."
Kael's eyes burned. A red light flared from within them. "Maybe. But I'm not you."
He thrust his palm against the Devourer's chest.
Light erupted—pure, blinding. The souls within him surged outward, a storm of white fire, and for a heartbeat, they weren't screaming—they were singing.
The sound tore through the temple.
The Devourer staggered, its body fracturing, shards of light spilling from its ribs.
"You think mercy will save you?" the voice roared. "Mercy is what damned me!"
Kael gritted his teeth, pushing harder. "Then I'll damn myself differently."
The figure shattered—exploding into a rain of embers that burned holes in the air. The temple's light faded, leaving only the echo of the scream behind.
Kael fell to his knees, gasping. His vision blurred, the world swaying like a fever dream. His blood shimmered faintly, not red but silver, pulsing in rhythm with the temple's dying glow.
When he looked down, a mark had formed on his forearm—a sigil shaped like a spiral of glass. It shimmered once, then burned itself into his skin.
"You are chosen," the voice of the Devourer murmured faintly from within him. "Or cursed. There is no difference."
He clenched his fist, breathing hard. "Then I'll decide what it means."
From the shadows, a soft rustle.
The Watcher stepped out, the glow of its mask faint but steady.
"You lived again," it said quietly. "You saw him."
Kael didn't rise. "You knew what I'd find here."
The Watcher tilted its head. "Everyone who enters sees what they fear becoming. Most do not survive it. You did."
Kael's voice was hoarse. "Did I?"
The Watcher paused, as if considering. Then it pointed toward the far end of the temple, where a faint light pulsed beneath the floor—something buried deeper.
"There are memories sleeping below. One of them still calls your name."
"Mira," Kael whispered.
The Watcher said nothing. But its silence was answer enough.
Kael rose slowly, his reflection in the shattered glass flickering red, then white, then gone. The air trembled around him. Outside, a storm was gathering again—the sky darkening as if the world itself awaited his next sin.
He turned toward the path that led deeper beneath the ruin.
The light beneath the floor brightened, pulsing in time with his heartbeat.
He took one last breath of the burned air and whispered,
"Then let it show me everything."
The glass opened like a wound.
Kael stepped through.
And the temple closed behind him.