The soft murmur of rune-light pulsed gently in the infirmary walls, like a heartbeat mimicking the fragile thread of life it watched over. The sterile air hung heavy with silence and incense—herbal remnants of old Imperial healing rituals.
Kael Ryuu sat upright now, the white sheet sticking to his back with sweat. The pain had dulled from an inferno to a simmer, but his thoughts churned hotter than ever. Faint runes shimmered along his arms and collarbone, etched beneath the skin like starlight caught in veins. They weren't wounds. They were markings—new, living script carved by the String itself.
He hadn't been given these. He had become them.
Kurozan rested across his lap, dull and sleeping. Yet when he placed his hand over the blade, it thrummed softly—as if acknowledging his return. Or warning him.
Riven was gone. Arien too. The hour was late; even the night shift of medics had withdrawn. Alone, Kael pulled the thin curtain aside and stepped out. His legs trembled, but something deeper—something primal—kept him upright.
He had questions. And he wouldn't find answers lying in a bed.
---
Outside, the Academy was bathed in ghostlight. Ethereal lanterns floated like silent watchers above the courtyards, illuminating the white stone paths with an otherworldly glow. The night sky bled color—a deep indigo stretched with silver fractures where celestial Strings faintly shimmered through.
He passed no one as he moved, hood up, footsteps soft. Yet the Academy was never truly asleep. The Arx Memoria's runes pulsed high in the distance, and somewhere behind the training domes, the clash of late-night sparring rang out like distant thunder.
Kael's destination was older than either—the Sanctum of Reflection, a dome of obsidian glass veined with gold, hidden beneath the east wing. It was where Soulborne once came to meditate, to bind to their blades, or seek whispers from the String.
He'd never been allowed in before. But something in him now felt... drawn.
---
The Sanctum doors opened without resistance, despite the heavy seal and runic lock. As he stepped inside, a hum greeted him—like the String recognizing one of its own. The chamber was vast, circular, the floor inlaid with crest-runes that shifted and breathed.
And in its center hovered a statue. Not stone—crystal, suspended midair, shaped in the form of an armored warrior holding a broken sword. Its eyes were hollow, yet Kael felt them watching.
Then a voice echoed.
"Late to awaken. But not too late."
Kael spun around. No one.
The statue shimmered, and for a breathless moment, the entire chamber darkened. A vision swirled before him—a ruined throne room, a child left in blood-soaked swaddling, nobles turning away in silence.
Hushed voices.
"Crestless."
"Useless."
"Let the wilds take him."
Kael stumbled backward, breath caught in his throat. He had seen this before. Dreamed it.
Was that... him?
Then came another image—a flickering golden flame, a blade unshattered, a whisper reaching across years and wars:
"We buried the truth beneath ash. But even ash remembers the fire."
---
Kael fell to his knees, gasping. His hand clenched Kurozan's hilt.
Something inside the blade pulsed again.
This time, it spoke.
"You were never meant to be Crestless."
Kael's head snapped up.
"Who are you?" he whispered.
The voice, no longer booming or ghostlike, now seemed part of him. A presence woven into his soul. Kurozan's Soul Voice.
"I am the edge between life and truth. You carry the Void, Kael. Not empty—everything."
His mind reeled.
The Void Crest.
The rarest. The forbidden.
And yet it had chosen him—someone discarded at birth.
Why?
Before he could grasp the weight of it all, footsteps echoed behind him. Instinctively, he rose, blade half-drawn.
From the shadows emerged Selai.
She did not flinch.
"You shouldn't be here, Kael."
"You knew," he said flatly. "Didn't you?"
Selai's gaze softened, but her posture remained strict. "There are some truths the Empire fears more than any enemy."
"You mean me."
"No," she replied. "I mean what you represent."
She stepped into the Sanctum, the golden runes glowing beneath her boots. "The Strings have not chosen a Voidbearer in over a thousand years. The last one tore the world in two."
Kael's voice was a whisper. "What do I do with this?"
Selai looked toward the floating crystal warrior.
"You survive long enough to decide whether you'll become salvation... or the blade that ends us all."