The forest was alive with a strange hum, something deeper than the wind rustling through the leaves or the chirps of unseen birds. It reverberated beneath Kael's skin, a low vibration that seemed to pull at something primal within him. Beside him, Lyra moved with feline grace, her eyes constantly flicking toward the trees as if expecting them to whisper secrets.
They had been traveling for hours, following the trail left by the creature that attacked them in the temple ruins. It wasn't just about revenge or curiosity anymore. Whatever that being was, it had drawn Kael into something far greater—something ancient and dangerous.
"Stop," Lyra whispered suddenly, holding out an arm.
Kael obeyed instantly, his senses on high alert. He didn't hear or see anything at first, but then... there it was. A subtle shimmer, like the air was rippling in one narrow section of the path ahead.
"It's a veil," Lyra murmured. "Illusion magic. Old… and powerful."
Kael frowned. "What's behind it?"
"I don't know. But we're not the only ones being drawn toward it."
The air shifted. A rustle behind them.
Lyra drew her dagger without hesitation. Kael turned and channeled energy into his hands, fingers tingling with Arcane Spark. From the shadows emerged two figures—hooded, their faces obscured, their movements soundless as fog.
"You've wandered far from your world, outsider," one of them said, voice like gravel soaked in oil.
"And you've followed something you don't understand," the other added.
Kael instinctively stepped in front of Lyra, but she shoved past him, blade gleaming. "State your allegiance."
The taller figure removed his hood. Beneath it was a man with skin etched in glowing runes, his eyes pitch black with flecks of gold swirling inside like galaxies.
"We are the Oracles of the Rift," he said. "And you are trespassing in realms where fate has already been bound."
Kael's breath caught. He recognized the term—Oracles of the Rift were beings that acted as seers and gatekeepers of dimensional tears. In the lore of his world, they were myths used to scare children into staying indoors after dark.
"How do you know me?" Kael asked, his voice steady.
"You carry the scar of the unsealed heart," the other Oracle said, finally stepping into view. A woman, her hair silver and floating as if underwater. "You have touched the core of a dying god."
Kael and Lyra exchanged a glance.
"I don't know what that means," Kael said carefully.
"You will," the male Oracle replied. "And when you do, your choices will determine whether this world burns or is reborn."
Without another word, they vanished, the space they once occupied collapsing in a ripple of light.
Kael exhaled slowly. "What the hell was that?"
Lyra shook her head. "That wasn't a warning. That was a test."
He turned to the shimmer in the air again, now pulsing faintly.
"Are we going in?"
Lyra looked him over, weighing something. "You should stay back. Let me scout ahead—"
"No," he interrupted. "We go together."
She smirked, just slightly. "You're starting to sound like a warrior."
Kael smiled, but inside, he felt anything but. His heart was pounding, not just from fear or adrenaline—but from a strange anticipation. A feeling like he was getting closer to the truth.
As they stepped through the veil, the world around them shifted instantly.
They weren't in the forest anymore.
They were standing in a vast chamber of black stone, lit by floating orbs of blue fire. The air was thick with magic, the kind Kael could taste—bitter and sharp, like burnt ozone. Symbols lined the walls, glowing faintly in pulses like a heartbeat.
In the center of the room floated a monolith, cracked and bleeding tendrils of purple light into the floor below it. It felt alive. And angry.
A voice filled the chamber. Not spoken, but felt directly in their minds.
"The Gate has opened… and the price is still unpaid."
Kael staggered as images flooded his head—flashes of battles fought in skies filled with fire, gods falling from impossible heights, a throne made of bones and broken oaths. And then… her.
The woman from his visions.
Black hair. Crimson eyes. A smile that held galaxies and ruin.
"Kael!" Lyra's voice yanked him back to reality.
The monolith cracked further, and a piece broke off, falling to the ground with a thunderous echo.
Something was emerging from within it.
Lyra didn't hesitate. She flung a dagger at the shape, but it passed through, vanishing in mid-air.
"It's phasing!" she shouted. "It's not fully manifested!"
Kael held out his hands, trying to focus, to push the energy back—but it didn't work. Whatever was inside the monolith wasn't made of normal magic. It was older. Wilder.
And then the shape solidified.
It was humanoid, but wrong. Its limbs too long, face featureless except for a single eye in the center of its head—glowing red. It stepped forward, and the chamber shuddered with its presence.
Lyra braced for a fight, but Kael raised his hand.
"No. It's… not attacking."
The creature stopped, tilting its head.
Then, in a guttural, broken voice, it spoke.
"Help… her…"
Before either of them could respond, the creature burst into violet fire, vanishing into smoke that snaked into Kael's chest.
He gasped, knees hitting the floor, his vision darkening.
And just before he lost consciousness, he saw her again.
The crimson-eyed woman.
Only this time, she looked afraid.
Kael woke up in a small cottage, light from the fire dancing across wooden walls. It smelled of herbs and damp earth.
He sat up with a groan, realizing Lyra was sitting beside the hearth, sharpening a dagger.
"You passed out," she said without looking at him. "Again."
"I saw her," he said, his voice rough. "The woman. The one in my visions."
Lyra turned to him. "What did she do?"
"She didn't do anything. But she was afraid."
Silence filled the room.
Then Lyra asked quietly, "Do you trust her?"
Kael met her eyes. "I don't know. But I think she's not the enemy."
Lyra stood, slipping the dagger back into her belt. "Then we need to find her before the real enemy does."
Kael nodded, feeling the weight of the smoke still inside him. Something had been transferred—knowledge, perhaps. Or a curse.
But for now, he had a direction.
The shadows had whispered, and he was listening.