The skies over Vaelmir darkened—not with night, but with something far more ancient.
Jack stood at the edge of the Sanctum's balcony, gazing at the horizon. Storms churned unnaturally in the distance. The balance had shifted. The air itself felt thinner, tighter, like the world was bracing for impact.
Kael emerged from the Sanctum's inner chamber, brows furrowed. "I checked the ancient texts etched in the throne wall.
There's no doubt. That surge of power? It completed the Rite. You're not just aligned, Jack—you're chosen."
Jack didn't respond at first. "Then why does everything feel heavier now?"
"Because something else just woke up," Nyssa said from behind, her tone sharp.
"Something Isolde kept sealed until now."
Jack turned. "What did she do?"
Nyssa stepped forward, lips pressed in a thin line. "She summoned the Devourer of Realms."
Kael's face paled. "That's a myth."
Nyssa shook her head. "The council buried it as myth. The Devourer isn't a creature—it's a force. A storm given form. Born during the Sundering of the Realms. It consumes essence, collapses magic, erases worlds. Once awakened, it cannot be reasoned with. Only bound… or destroyed."
Jack's throat tightened. "And she summoned it here?"
"Not yet," Nyssa replied. "She's calling it.
Preparing a vessel. Once the storm over Vaelmir reaches full strength, it will descend."
Kael paced. "There's got to be something we can do. Some spell or—"
"No spell can stop it once it fully arrives," Nyssa interrupted. "But the Rite gave Jack power. He might be able to slow it. Or rebind it."
Jack looked up at the storm clouds coiling like serpents in the sky. "We need to get ahead of her. Find where she's calling it from."
Kael snapped his fingers. "The Black Summit."
Nyssa's eyes narrowed. "Of course. The only point in Vaelmir where the veil between realms is thin enough for something like the Devourer to breach. She'll open the rift there."
Jack turned to the Sanctum's heart once more. The artifacts now floated around him, drawn by his presence, feeding him strength—but also responsibility. The divine power surged in his blood like wildfire, but it wasn't limitless. And the Devourer… was.
"Then that's where we go," he said. "To the Black Summit. To stop her."
Before they could move, the sky screamed.
A rip tore open the clouds—thin at first, then wide, like a wound in the heavens. A shadow passed through it, miles wide, miles long.
Something with no clear shape—an endless, churning mass of dark essence.
Jack gritted his teeth. "We're out of time."
—
Far away, in a fortress of black stone atop the Black Summit, Isolde stood before the forming rift.
Her hands bled from the ritual sigils carved into her palms, but her face was radiant with triumph. Around her, ancient glyphs burned with red light. Behind her, thousands of spectral soldiers—wraiths, beasts, cursed guardians—awaited command.
"Come," she whispered to the rift. "Come, old hunger. I offer you a world ripe for feasting."
The Devourer howled beyond the veil.
Isolde smiled.
Let the realms tremble.