"Is it… over?" someone whispered.
But no one dared answer.
The people of Nareth'Mir—thousands of them—stood scattered across the desert dunes, miles from the city. The place they had always called home was now a broken silhouette against a cracked sky. The statue that had stood at the center of their lives for generations now knelt in ruin before the woman of void.
Children wept without understanding. Elders knelt in the sand. Soldiers, nobles, merchants—none moved. They had not run. They had been taken, in the blink of a paradox, away from the city's annihilation.
And still, no one dared speak.
Until a woman, elder and frail, whispered, "He kept us safe… all these years…"
Another added, "Not just a statue. He was more than stone. He was… kindness made into silence."
A soldier dropped to his knees. "Then why did he kneel?"
A boy stared at the distant shape. "He didn't die. But he stopped moving."
The murmurs grew heavier. Not despair. Not panic.
Reverence.
The silence of grief for a protector who had asked for no thanks.
Others began to pray—not to a god, but to a memory. For some, the statue had always been something sacred, even if no temple bore its name. It had watched over them. It had endured. And now, it had given everything.
Kael stood apart from the crowd, his back to the wind, his eyes locked on the city in the distance—on the ruin Elura had left in her wake.
The mark on his hand—dormant for days—began to pulse.
Once.
Twice.
A slow thrum of gold, like something waking inside him. Not just a call. Not just power.
A plea.
He clenched his fist.
And for the first time, he knew: the statue had not fallen because it failed. It had passed on a burden.
The rest would be up to him.
"I'm going," Kael said quietly, turning toward the city.
"You're not going alone," Graveth replied, already shouldering his blade.
Ayra stepped forward, her eyes dark. "We saw what she did to the statue."
"That's why I have to go," Kael said.
Sylvi moved to his side, voice unsteady. "And that's why we're not letting you go without us."
"She'll kill anyone in the way."
"Then we get in the way," Fenric muttered, gripping his weapon. "We're past turning back."
Saerion stood nearby, silent until then. He turned to his sister, who had just approached. "Niera. You stay."
She stared. "Saerion—"
"You stay," he said firmly, his tone gentler than his words. "You have to protect the people."
Niera hesitated. Her eyes darted to Kael, then to the broken skyline, then back to her brother.
But she nodded.
Kael looked at her one last time. "We'll come back."
She didn't answer. But her silence carried hope.
The group turned toward the collapsed skyline—toward whatever waited in the heart of the broken kingdom.
Behind them, Niera stood beside King Seridorn, who had emerged from the crowd.
His voice was low. "Do you believe in them?"
Niera glanced sideways. "I have to."
Seridorn looked up toward the sky. "Then let the legacy of the First King rest in their hands."
Kael walked the ruined city alone at first, ahead of the others.
The ground was cratered. Buildings lay in ruin. The air was heavy with the scent of scorched paradox and memory. Each step brought him closer to the vault—the heart of everything—and the woman who no longer wept.
Elura hovered before the crystal tomb. Her strikes had carved molten streaks into the stone around it. She raised her hand again—another blow, another scream torn from silence.
But the crystal would not shatter.
"Why won't you open?" she hissed. Her voice trembled, not with weakness, but something older. Something starved.
Another strike. And another. Destruction echoed through the ruined court like drums of a war no one wanted to remember.
Kael stepped forward. "Elura."
She stilled.
For a moment, she did not turn. As if the name scratched something buried too deep.
And then—slowly—she faced him.
His breath caught. There was something human in her expression. Something just on the edge of remembering.
Then her lips curled.
"You shouldn't be here."
"You're trying to break the seal," Kael said. "But he's not waking up."
Elura's voice dropped. "He needs to see what's become of the world he left behind."
"He already knows," Kael said. "He saw you. And he made his vow—for them. Not you."
"I am not the enemy," she growled.
Kael didn't flinch. "Then why do I feel like I'm the only one left to stop you?"
In a blink, she was in front of him.
Kael barely saw the strike.
A torrent of void-born force hurled him through the shattered archway. His back cracked against stone, breath torn from his lungs. He slid down rubble, coughing, his vision swimming.
"Kael!" Sylvi's voice.
Footsteps thundered.
Elura raised her hand to strike again—raw force coiling at her fingertips.
But before the blow could land—
A massive clang of steel.
Fenric dropped between them, blade braced, feet buried into the cracked floor. The force struck his sword with a shockwave that shattered glass far beyond the plaza.
He growled, pushing back with all his weight. "You want him, you go through me!"
The impact flared against his weapon, and still he held.
Elura's expression didn't change. She tilted her head. "Still standing? Impressive."
Kael coughed, trying to rise.
More footsteps.
Ayra and Sylvi rushed forward. Sylvi skidded beside Kael, checking his wounds.
"Don't you dare black out," she whispered, voice trembling.
Kael's fingers twitched. His mark burned brighter—gold flaring faint beneath torn fabric.
Elura lifted her arm again.
But then Saerion stepped in—silent as a shadow.
He moved past Sylvi and Fenric, his cloak flicking ash from his path.
The force around Elura surged again.
Saerion didn't flinch.
His boots pressed into the earth. One hand rested on his sheathed blade.
His voice was cold as a sealed gate: "Enough."
Elura narrowed her eyes. "Another one?"
"You've done enough damage for lifetimes," Saerion said. His tone was low, flat, and firm. "Leave now. Or try me."
Elura gazed at him, as if peering past the cloth tied around his eyes. "You're afraid," she said. "But not for yourself."
Saerion stepped forward again—shoulders braced, voice sharp, with fury pulsing beneath the blindfold.
"I'm not here to be remembered," he said. "I'm here to make sure they live."
Another pulse of tension split the air.
Elura's expression changed—something cruel and sorrowful all at once.
She struck.
A second blast roared forward.
Saerion moved. So did Fenric. But it was too fast.
Kael watched it happen—slow and helpless.
A light burned across his vision.
And then everything went black.