The sky had turned black—not from nightfall, but from the sheer pressure of what lingered beneath the earth.
At the heart of the Titan Scar, where time bent and fractured, and gravity twisted like shattered glass, Kael stood before the Gate of Origin. It was an ancient monolith, forged from primordial stone, its surface etched in runes older than the gods themselves, glowing faintly with an otherworldly radiance.
It pulsed, like a heart, slow and rhythmic, as if the universe itself was breathing through it. There was no keyhole. No seal. Just raw, unfiltered power—unsanctioned and unchained.
The winds howled around him, carrying the screams of long-dead civilizations, those who had once touched the void and paid with their souls. Kael's cloak fluttered behind him, but he did not flinch. Behind him, his chosen stood, unwavering in their loyalty:
* Elyndra, her divine aura now tainted, her once-blinding light now a shadow that lingered, barely holding back the darkness inside her.
* Seraphina, regal in her posture, wrapped in crimson and gold robes, her icy-blue eyes sharp and scanning the anomalies of this place with a cold, calculating gaze.
* Azareth, muttering incantations under his breath, his every step accompanied by the whispers of unseen demons, each eye twitching as if tasting the very air for ancient madness.
* Velayne, cloaked in black velvet, her fingers brushing the blade forged from the soul of a traitor priest, her resolve steeled, but a flicker of doubt in her eyes.
None of them spoke. Not a word was needed. They all understood the gravity of the moment. They had come this far, and they would either rise with Kael—or perish beneath the weight of their choices.
Then the Gate spoke, breaking the silence, its voice a low, tremulous hum that reverberated through the bones of the earth.
"Mortal. Not born of fate. Not forged by heaven. Why do you knock on the wound of creation?"
Kael didn't answer with words. His hand, steady and unyielding, reached forward and placed itself upon the stone.
The Gate screamed.
So did the world.
A blinding flash erupted from the Gate, and Kael's mind was pulled into the Origin Dream—a timeless echo where past, present, and future folded into one, intertwining like the chaotic crash of waves upon an endless shore. The dreams of the dead, the whispers of forgotten gods, the hopes and failures of the universe—all flooded his senses in a chaotic, suffocating flood.
He saw:
A being of light, vast beyond comprehension, burning in grief, its form unraveling, destroying stars in its sorrow.
A younger Castiel, kneeling before a council of Celestials, trembling as they implanted false memories into his soul, manipulating his fate before he had even realized it.
A demonic woman with Kael's eyes—Lilith—bathed in the blood of fallen gods, whispering lullabies to a child swaddled in abyssal roses, her voice an eerie lullaby.
A future Kael, crowned in cold silence, sitting atop a throne of broken archons, while a dying Elyndra weeps at his feet, torn between love and the consequences of their choices.
Kael's breath caught in his throat. The vision was overwhelming, but he did not resist. He welcomed it.
As the vision surged, he whispered into the void of the dream:
"I will not become your weapon. Or your consequence."
And the Gate, as if acknowledging his defiance, answered in a voice that shook the very fabric of his soul:
"Then become our reckoning."
Kael's eyes snapped open, and the Gate cracked.
Not opened.
Broken.
Reality itself splintered, tearing apart at the seams. Runes shot from the Gate like flaming birds, spiraling into the heavens, their light scorching the sky. A surge of voidlight spiraled upward, forming a stairway that led to a temple floating in the air—an ethereal structure that had been invisible to all worlds before now.
Velayne, her face pale and strained, fell to her knees. "What… is that place?"
Seraphina's voice was barely a whisper, but it carried the weight of centuries. "The Sanctum of the First Sin. It is said that the First God destroyed His own heart there, shattering divinity to give birth to mortality."
Kael stepped onto the first stair, his gaze fixed on the summit.
The others followed, though Azareth hesitated, his voice a low murmur. "We walk into the mouth of the beast."
"No," Kael corrected, his voice cold but unwavering. "We walk into its memory… to learn what devours gods."
Each step they took resonated through Kael's very being, each one pulling them deeper into the heart of creation itself.
With every step, they were shown visions, memories, projections:
* Kael, as a child, sitting alone in a cold room, learning how to lie before he ever learned how to speak. His heart, shaped by manipulation, was destined to be a tool long before it was ever his own.
* Elyndra, on her knees in prayer, asking the gods to protect Kael—never realizing that, one day, she would be the one kneeling before him, torn between loyalty and love, between the light of her past and the darkness of the man she had chosen.
* Seraphina, standing before her father, the Emperor, her marriage arranged for political gain, never knowing that the true king of the Empire had not yet been born, and would soon challenge the very foundations of her existence.
They ascended the stairway in silence, the weight of each vision sinking deeper into their bones.
Elyndra paused on the 33rd step, her gaze locked on the infinite expanse of the Sanctum above them. "Kael… when we reach the top…"
Kael didn't look back, his voice an icy certainty. "You'll have to choose."
"Between light and dark?"
"No." His voice softened, just slightly. "Between me and everything else."
Her gaze dropped to the steps below. "I already chose, Kael. I just don't know if the gods will ever forgive me."
Kael finally turned, his eyes meeting hers. There was no warmth there—only the cold fire of inevitability. "They won't."
At the summit, they reached the door. It was made of silver flame, a fiery barrier between them and the truth of the universe. Beyond it lay the First Sin—the origin of all magic, divinity, and damnation. The heart of creation itself.
Kael stepped forward and placed his hand on the door. It did not resist.
It welcomed him.
As the door swung wide, Kael whispered to himself:
"This is no longer about conquest. Or revenge. This is about rewriting the rules they forced upon us."
The door opened fully, revealing the truth that had been buried since the beginning of time—the forgotten heart of creation, where even gods feared to tread.
And Kael stepped through.
The silence that followed was deafening.
To be continued...