The air in the chamber grew colder, and the symbols on the altar burned brighter, like an ancient fire flickering to life. The low hum that had filled the room became a thundering pulse, vibrating in Dorian's chest, as if the very ground beneath him was alive with magic.
"Dorian!" Galen hissed, his grip tightening on Dorian's arm. "We need to leave. Now."
But Dorian didn't move. His gaze was fixed on the altar, his heart hammering in his chest, the voice echoing in his mind like a whispering command.
"You are not meant to change this world."
Dorian's body shook with the intensity of the voice, and he could feel it—something deep within him was stirring, answering the call. The pull was irresistible. The strange power that had awoken in him, the power he had been hiding all this time, was resonating with the ancient force before him. He wasn't sure if it was instinct, magic, or something else entirely, but he knew that this was the moment he had been waiting for.
The room seemed to pulse with energy, the air thickening around him. His hand moved of its own accord, reaching toward the altar once more. This time, when his fingers brushed the stone, the symbols flared to life, blazing with an intensity that made the walls shudder. A sudden surge of energy ripped through his body, and for the briefest moment, Dorian felt as if he were being pulled apart—torn between the realm of the living and something older, more primal.
His breath came in sharp gasps, and the room seemed to bend around him, the world distorting as though he were floating in a sea of light and shadow. A vision flashed before his eyes—brief but vivid.
He saw the Spire, but it wasn't the gleaming tower he knew. Instead, it was a dark, crumbling ruin, its once-proud spires broken and charred. The city around it was in ruins, its people scattered like ashes in the wind. And at the center of it all, Dorian saw a figure—tall, cloaked, with eyes that burned like embers. The figure was reaching out to him, beckoning him forward, its presence filled with ancient power.
"You have no choice," the voice whispered again, this time not from the altar but from within him, a part of him that had always been there but had never spoken before. "The path is set. You are the fire that will either burn or cleanse."
The vision vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving Dorian gasping for breath, his body trembling. His mind was a whirl of confusion, the words echoing in his ears.
Before he could process what had just happened, Galen's voice broke through the fog.
"Dorian, no!"
Galen had moved in front of him, his face pale with fear. "You have to stop this. Whatever you're doing, it's not you."
Dorian blinked, trying to steady himself. His heart was still racing, and the power that had surged through him felt foreign and untamed. It wasn't like anything he had ever felt before. But now, more than ever, he understood what the voice had meant. He wasn't meant to change the world. He was meant to destroy it.
"I... I can't stop," Dorian said, his voice hoarse. He looked down at his hands, the strange energy still crackling beneath his skin. "I feel it, Galen. I feel everything. It's like I've been waiting for this."
Galen stepped closer, his expression a mixture of fear and desperation. "Dorian, listen to me. This is not what you think it is. You don't control it. It controls you. If you let it—if you let this power consume you—there's no going back. The Spire won't fall. It will burn, and everything with it, including you."
Dorian's gaze hardened, and he shook his head. "I can't turn back now. You said the wards were failing, and that means everything is coming apart. Maybe this is how it's supposed to be. Maybe I was never meant to be nothing."
Galen's eyes widened, a flicker of realization passing through him. He stepped back, his breath quickening. "You can't be serious. You think that's why this is happening? That this power, this—" He searched for the right words, but his voice faltered. "This isn't some divine right, Dorian. This is destruction. And you're playing with something far older and darker than you know."
Dorian shook his head, his mind swimming. He's wrong. I have to keep going. There's no other way.
But even as the thought crossed his mind, a cold shiver ran through him, a warning. A voice whispered in the back of his mind, There is no turning back. There is only what you choose to become.
Suddenly, the door to the chamber slammed open, and a figure stepped inside. Dorian's heart skipped a beat as he recognized the newcomer.
It was a woman, tall and draped in dark robes. Her face was hidden behind a veil, but her eyes—cold and knowing—pierced through Dorian's soul. There was something unnervingly familiar about her, but he couldn't place it.
"So, it's begun," she said, her voice smooth and dangerous. "I knew it would be you."
Galen's face drained of color. "No..."
"What are you doing here?" Dorian asked, trying to steady himself as the power in the room swirled like a tempest. His breath was shallow, his fingers still tingling with the remnants of that strange energy.
The woman didn't answer immediately. She simply studied him for a moment, her gaze lingering on the altar and the power that seemed to radiate from it.
"I've been waiting for you, Dorian Keil," she said finally, her voice dark and heavy with an ancient weight. "And you have no idea what you're about to unleash."
Dorian's pulse quickened. "Who are you?"
She stepped closer, and a shiver ran down Dorian's spine. "I am someone who understands the power you've awakened. And I am here to make sure it doesn't destroy you."
"What do you mean?" Galen demanded, stepping between the woman and Dorian. "What is she talking about?"
The woman's eyes shifted to Galen. "She means everything is already lost, Galen. You've been trying to stop this. You've been trying to hold back the storm. But it's already here. And Dorian—he is the storm."
Galen's face hardened, a flicker of dread in his eyes. "No. This is wrong. This isn't the way."
Dorian's mind spun as the woman's words settled into him like an anchor. I am the storm. I am the one who will burn everything down.
But as the woman's gaze turned back to him, something else stirred within him, something deeper than the power itself.
"You're not the only one with a role to play, Dorian Keil," the woman continued, her voice carrying an unsettling promise. "But don't forget this: the storm you unleash will be your making, and your undoing."
The room grew colder, and the ground beneath Dorian's feet trembled as if it, too, was preparing for what was to come. The symbols on the altar flared once again, and Dorian could feel the pull of the power like a siren's call.
And in that moment, he realized the truth: he wasn't the only one who had been waiting for this.
The storm was coming.
And he had no idea if he could survive it.