Silence had weight in the Astral Divide.
It pressed like the deep ocean — endless, sacred, suffocating.
In that silence, they watched.
Twelve figures stood upon a bridge of light, their forms shifting between shadow and flame. Below them stretched infinity — an ocean of stars swirling through a lattice of symbols too vast to belong to mortal geometry.
Each figure wore a different mark upon their brow — sigils that burned with the language of creation.
They were the Guardians — the ones who had kept the Veil sealed for ten thousand cycles.
And tonight, it was breaking.
"The rift expands beyond containment," said one, his voice metallic, fractured by static. "The convergence threshold has been breached on multiple layers."
A second Guardian turned, her form woven from threads of starlight. "Earth's tether was never meant to bear the weight of two realities. The Architects will notice."
"They already have," said another, quieter voice.
The woman stepped from the shadows at the edge of the bridge — her presence dimming the light itself. Her golden eyes burned like molten suns, and streaks of blood still marked her hands.
The others bowed their heads.
Eryndra, the Last Sentinel.
The one who had gone below.
"You shouldn't be here," the first Guardian said. "Crossing the Veil is forbidden, even for us."
"I didn't cross," she answered softly. "I was pulled."
Her gaze turned downward — to the swirling vision beneath the bridge. Through the rippling layers of the Divide, she could see Earth.
The burning city.
The rift.
The boy.
Adrian Vale.
Or rather — what was left of him.
"Impossible," whispered a Guardian of storm and glass. "The Vessel was erased. Every trace destroyed."
Eryndra shook her head. "The mortal fragment survived. The Architects failed to find him before the Divide sealed again. And now…"
She extended a hand. The vision magnified — showing Adrian running through the wreckage, blue light pulsing through his veins.
"…he's waking up."
A low murmur rippled through the assembly.
"He's incomplete," one argued. "A half-soul without divine symmetry. He can't survive the Synchronization."
"He already has," Eryndra replied. "The System recognizes him — even in fragments."
"Then it will consume him."
"Or," she said quietly, "he'll consume it."
The silence that followed was absolute.
From the far end of the bridge, a new presence stirred — heavier, older. The light bent as a being of obsidian armor and wings of folded time stepped forward. His voice was deep enough to make the stars tremble.
"The prophecy was clear," he said. "If the Veilborn rises unbound, the Divide collapses. Both realms burn."
Eryndra met his gaze. "And if he dies, the imbalance remains. You know what the Architects are building. They're not preserving the Divide — they're rewriting it."
"Blasphemy."
"Truth," she said. "They fear him because he's the last link to the Source. The Veilborn isn't a threat to the Divide — he is the Divide."
Her words hung in the air, dangerous and luminous.
The Guardian of Storms hissed. "You speak as though you pity him."
"I do," she whispered. "He was born between worlds. Half of him divine, half human — and neither side wants him to exist."
She turned her eyes again to the image of Earth.
Adrian was standing before the Hollow Spire now — small, defiant, drenched in light.
Eryndra's voice softened. "He was meant to be the bridge. Instead, we made him the wound."
A ripple ran through the Divide. The bridge shuddered.
[System Notice: External Intrusion Detected]
[Architect Signature Confirmed]
The light fractured — and from the far reaches of the void came a voice older than memory.
Smooth. Calculated. Divine.
"Guardians of the Divide," it said. "Your failure has been noted."
The light dimmed. The Guardians fell to their knees.
"Containment protocols are no longer optional. The Veilborn must be erased."
Eryndra's head snapped up. "No."
"You have defied us before, Sentinel."
"I will again."
"Then you will share his fate."
The voice faded, leaving only silence and the slow hum of unraveling stars.
Eryndra stood alone now on the bridge of light, her form flickering, fading.
She looked once more at the world below — at the boy running toward a destiny forged in mistakes older than gods.
"Forgive us," she whispered. "We made you to hold the worlds apart. And now, only you can break them."
She stepped off the bridge.
Light swallowed her whole.