The wind howled like a wounded beast as Kael pushed open the heavy doors of the ruined temple. Moonlight streamed in through shattered windows, casting fractured beams upon the cracked marble floor. Dust floated in the air like ghosts of forgotten prayers.
They had traveled for two days through the Serathian Marshlands, guided by the ever-flickering compass Elira had salvaged from the ruins of Castle Myr. It led them here—to the Temple of the First Flame, a forgotten place hidden deep within the overgrowth of time and myth. According to legend, this was where the Ancients had once tethered the veil between realms.
Elira stepped inside beside Kael, her cloak damp from the mist, her hand tightly clutching the orb of Liraen—the artifact that pulsed faintly as if it recognized this place.
"This is it," she whispered, her voice reverent. "The Mark should be here."
Behind them, Riven scouted the perimeter, his daggers drawn. Though skeptical of anything remotely spiritual, even he had to admit there was something... alive about the place. The very stones seemed to hum beneath their boots.
Kael stepped forward, his eyes drawn to a mural on the far wall—half-covered in ivy and soot. He reached out, brushing the grime away to reveal a sigil, carved with such precision it seemed to glow faintly in the dark. It was shaped like a crescent intertwined with a star, the same symbol that had appeared on his wrist after his awakening.
"It's the same," he muttered. "Exactly the same as my mark."
Elira stepped closer, examining it. "The Mark of the Ancients. It wasn't just metaphorical. You were chosen by the realm itself, Kael."
He frowned. "Chosen for what?"
A rumble answered.
Stone grated against stone as the floor behind them shifted. Riven sprinted inside just as a hidden platform descended in the center of the temple, revealing a circular chamber bathed in a soft, golden glow. The air turned warmer, denser, filled with energy that made the hairs on Kael's neck rise.
"I have a really bad feeling about this," Riven muttered.
Kael didn't respond. His legs moved before his mind could catch up, carrying him down the spiraling staircase that had unfolded. Elira followed, with Riven cursing under his breath and taking the rear.
The chamber was vast, lined with pillars carved with runes that pulsed like heartbeats. At its center stood a pedestal, upon which rested an obsidian mirror—oval, smooth, and perfectly still. Not a speck of dust marred its surface.
Kael approached cautiously. "This is the conduit," Elira said softly, her eyes wide. "It connects to the Astral Realm."
"The place where souls are reborn," Kael said, repeating the line he had read from the Tome of Liraen.
Riven frowned. "And we're just going to stare into it until something happens?"
"No." Elira raised the orb.
It pulsed.
The mirror rippled.
And a voice echoed.
"Bearer of the Mark… you have come."
Kael staggered back, heart pounding. The voice didn't come from the chamber—it resonated inside his skull, like a memory that had waited eons to be remembered.
Elira grabbed his arm. "It's speaking to you. Let it in."
The mirror shimmered again, and this time, a figure emerged. Tall, cloaked in starlight, their face hidden behind a veil of energy. The figure did not step forward—it simply was, a presence more than a person.
"You walk in two worlds, Kael of Aerith. The blood of mortals flows through your veins, but the breath of the Ancients pulses in your soul."
Kael opened his mouth but no words came.
"You bear the Mark of Severance," the figure continued. "A bond severed, a gate closed, a cycle broken. But you, child of the rift, may yet restore what was lost."
"What… what do you mean?" Kael finally asked. "Restore what?"
The figure extended an arm, pointing toward Kael's chest. A searing pain ignited where the mark was.
In a flash of agony, images overwhelmed him—
A tower collapsing into the sea.
A woman cloaked in moonlight, holding a blade of fire.
A great beast made of shadows devouring stars.
Then—a pair of hands reaching toward him, not in aggression… but hope.
Kael collapsed to one knee, gasping. Elira caught him, her eyes burning with fear and awe.
Riven swore. "That's it. We're leaving. This is too much."
"No," Kael rasped, shaking his head. "I need to know more."
But the figure had begun to fade.
"The mark will awaken further," it said. "Each test will strip away your illusions. And at the end… you must choose which realm survives."
And then it was gone.
Silence fell. The mirror dulled. The runes stopped pulsing.
The chamber felt dead again.
Kael breathed heavily, trying to steady his thoughts. "That… thing said I have to choose which realm survives. What does that even mean?"
Elira's face had paled. "I think it means exactly what it said. There's going to be a war, Kael. Between worlds. And you're the one fated to decide the victor."
"But I didn't ask for this," he said quietly.
She met his gaze. "Fate doesn't wait for permission."
Hours later, they set camp at the edge of the temple grounds. The stars above were unusually bright, as if watching. Kael sat by the fire, staring at his hands.
"What if I make the wrong choice?" he asked, mostly to himself.
Riven, sharpening his blade nearby, didn't look up. "Then we all die, probably."
"Thanks," Kael muttered.
Elira sat beside him, her gaze on the flames. "What the figure showed you—what did you see?"
Kael hesitated. "A beast of shadows. It… it ate light, swallowed it whole."
Her expression grew solemn. "That's the Devourer. It was sealed away millennia ago when the Ancients closed the first rift. If the veils between worlds are weakening…"
"…then it might return."
They sat in silence, the weight of prophecy pressing down on them.
And then Kael asked the question that haunted him most:
"What if I'm not strong enough?"
Elira turned to him, her hand finding his. "Then we become strong together."
He looked into her eyes, and for the first time, he realized that she wasn't just his guide, or his protector, or even his friend.
She was his anchor.
And he would need her—more than ever.
Because the next trial wasn't going to wait.
And neither would fate.