I should have known that stepping into the Borderlands would be like diving headfirst into a cosmic blender set to "nightmare."
The moment my boot touches the shifting ground, reality decides to throw a tantrum. The surface beneath me ripples like water, then hardens into something that feels like crystallized starlight, then immediately transforms into what I can only describe as angry sand that seems personally offended by my presence. My enhanced senses are screaming warnings at me from every direction, trying to process a landscape that operates on rules I don't understand.
"This place is seriously messed up," I mutter, watching a tree in the distance slowly rotate upside down while its roots wave in the non-existent breeze. The crystal in my palm pulses frantically, its crimson veins now so bright they're casting shadows through my closed fingers.
Elara lands beside me with considerably more grace than I managed, her hunter's instincts already scanning for threats. "Define 'messed up,'" she says, then immediately answers her own question as a flock of what appear to be geometric shapes flies overhead, singing in harmonies that make my teeth ache. "Never mind. I see it."
The portal behind us seals itself with a sound like reality sighing in relief, leaving us stranded in this impossible landscape. Great. No pressure at all.
"The crystal's pulling that way," I say, pointing toward what might be a mountain range if mountains were made of liquid mercury and bad decisions. "But I have no idea how far 'that way' actually is in a place where distance seems to be more of a suggestion than a rule."
As if to prove my point, the floating mountains suddenly appear much closer, their surfaces reflecting images of places I've never seen but somehow recognize. One shows the sanctuary, another displays what looks like the dragon's monastery, and a third... a third shows Caleif, walking alone across terrain that shifts between desert sand and crystalline formations.
"There," I breathe, my heart clenching at the sight of her. She looks determined but tired, her ember-red hair whipping in winds that seem to blow from all directions at once. "She's really here."
"And she's moving fast," Elara observes, squinting at the reflected image. "Whatever she's looking for, she knows where to find it."
I start walking toward the mountains, following the crystal's increasingly urgent tugging. The ground beneath my feet cycles through textures and temperatures—ice that burns, sand that feels like velvet, stone that gives way like foam. It's disorienting as hell, but at least it's not actively trying to kill me.
Yet.
"Kamen," Estingoth's voice rumbles in my mind, carrying an edge of concern I rarely hear from the ancient demon. "This place... it predates my imprisonment. The magic here is from before the separation, before the rules were established. Be very careful what you touch, what you think too loudly."
"Think too loudly?" I ask silently, stepping around what appears to be a puddle of liquid starlight.
"In the Borderlands, intention has weight. Desire has substance. Your will can reshape reality if you're not careful—and so can your fears."
Perfect. As if navigating an impossible landscape wasn't challenging enough, now I have to worry about my own thoughts betraying me. I try to focus on finding Caleif, on the simple, clear goal of reaching her safely, but my mind keeps wandering to all the ways this could go wrong.
The floating mountains grow closer with each step, their surfaces now close enough that I can see the reflected images more clearly. Caleif is moving through what looks like a vast library, but not one made of books—the knowledge here exists as floating symbols, shifting equations, concepts given physical form. She's reaching for something, her face intense with concentration.
"She's close," I realize, the crystal now so hot it's almost burning my palm. "Whatever she's looking for, she's found it."
"Or it's found her," Elara says grimly, pointing to another reflection. This one shows shadows moving behind Caleif—not natural shadows, but things that exist in the spaces between thoughts, feeding on the boundary between known and unknown.
My pace quickens, the ground beneath my feet responding to my urgency by becoming more solid, more reliable. The Borderlands, it seems, can sense desperation and occasionally chooses to help rather than hinder. Though I'm not naive enough to think this cooperation will last.
The base of the mountain—if it can be called that—looms before us, its surface a constantly shifting mosaic of reflected realities. I can see dozens of different versions of events: Caleif reaching for a glowing orb, Caleif backing away from approaching shadows, Caleif turning toward something I can't see with an expression of wonder and terror.
"How do we get in?" I ask, pressing my palm against the reflective surface. It feels like touching liquid metal—warm, responsive, but utterly alien.
"The same way she did," Elara says, studying the mountain's base. "Look."
She points to a section where the reflections show empty space—a gap in the constant cycle of images. As I watch, the gap widens, revealing what might be an entrance or might be the mountain's way of digesting unwary visitors.
"That's not ominous at all," I mutter, but I'm already moving toward the opening. The crystal's pull is so strong now that ignoring it would be like trying to resist gravity.
The moment I step through the gap, the world explodes into sensation. Not painful, exactly, but overwhelming—like being struck by lightning made of pure information. Images flood my mind: Caleif as a child, but not in any place I recognize; beings of impossible beauty and terrible power; a moment of cosmic sundering that makes my own transformation look like a minor inconvenience.
And through it all, a voice—not Caleif's, but something older, speaking words in a language that bypasses my ears and writes itself directly onto my consciousness: "The daughter of two realms returns to claim her birthright."
I stumble forward, my vision clearing to reveal a vast chamber that seems to exist in multiple dimensions simultaneously. Caleif stands at its center, her hand extended toward a sphere of pure light that pulses with the rhythm of a cosmic heartbeat. Around her, the shadows I saw in the reflection circle like predators, but they're not attacking—they're waiting.
"Caleif!" I call out, my voice echoing strangely in the impossible space.
She turns, her eyes wide with a mixture of joy and terror. "Kamen? You shouldn't be here. This is—this is something I have to do alone."
"No," I say firmly, moving toward her despite the way reality seems to bend around my passage. "Whatever this is, whatever you're about to learn, you don't have to face it alone. We're partners, remember?"
Her smile is brilliant and heartbreaking. "Partners," she agrees. "But some truths change everything, Kamen. And I'm not sure I'm ready for you to see what I really am."
The sphere pulses brighter, and I realize we're out of time for discussion. Whatever cosmic revelation awaits us in this place between worlds, we're about to face it together.
"I..I was made by God… for you." She let's what she just said linger in the air. "What?" I ask as I'm picturing giant question marks over my head.
"What do you mean created for me?" I ask taking a step closer to Caleif amd a tear runs down her neck.
"I always wondered why I was so drawn to you, I couldn't understand why you felt so right in my heart, but now I know. God wanted me to be with you, so you wouldnt be alone anymore, which is mind blowing because I'm a demon and you were a human at the time before putting on the gauntlet and signing my pact." She starts blabbering as she breaks down into tears and runs towards me hugging me tightly.
"We were always meant to be together, Kamen. I can't tell you how happy this makes me, it also pisses me off but I'll deal with that feeling later, I'm just glad that I know that I'll always love you."
I hold her as she cries against my chest, her words echoing in my mind like cosmic aftershocks. Created for me. By God. The implications are staggering, terrifying, and somehow perfectly logical all at once.
"Hey," I whisper, stroking her hair as she trembles in my arms. "Whatever this means, whatever you are—you're still you. You're still the woman I fell in love with."
She pulls back to look at me, her golden-flecked eyes bright with tears. "But what if I'm not? What if everything I thought I knew about myself is a lie? What if my feelings aren't even real?"
The question hits me like a physical blow because I recognize the fear behind it. It's the same terror I felt during my transformation—the fear of losing myself, of becoming something other than human. But looking at her now, seeing the pain and confusion in her eyes, I know with absolute certainty that her feelings are real.
"Your feelings are real," I say firmly, cupping her face in my hands. "I don't care if you were created, born, or spontaneously generated from cosmic dust. The woman who stood by me through impossible transformations, who merged her essence with mine to save reality itself—that's who you are. That's who I love."
"But the implications," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "If I was created specifically for you, what does that mean for free will? For choice? For the authenticity of what we have?"
I glance around the impossible chamber, at the sphere of light still pulsing with that cosmic heartbeat, at the shadows that continue to circle us with patient malevolence. This conversation is happening in possibly the worst location imaginable, but I can't postpone it. Not when she's looking at me like her entire world has just been turned upside down.
"Look at me," I say, forcing her to meet my eyes. "Do you choose to love me? Right now, in this moment, is loving me your choice?"
She nods without hesitation. "Yes. Always."
"Then that's all that matters," I tell her. "I don't care about cosmic design or divine intervention. I care about you choosing to be with me every single day. That's what makes it real."
Behind us, Elara clears her throat. "Not to interrupt this touching moment, but we've got company."
I turn to see what she's talking about and feel my blood run cold. The shadows circling us have stopped moving, and they're no longer shapeless. They're taking form—tall, elegant figures with features that shift between beautiful and terrible depending on how the light hits them.
"The Forgotten," Caleif whispers, her grip on my arm tightening. "Beings who existed before the separation, who were cast out when the realms were divided."
"And they're here because?" I ask, though I'm already reaching for the power that flows through my veins.
"Because I am an anomaly," she says, her voice growing stronger as she pulls herself together. "A bridge between realms, like you were during your transformation. My existence proves that the barriers can be crossed, that the separation isn't absolute."
One of the Forgotten steps forward, its voice like wind through empty spaces. "The daughter of intention and accident. The proof that the Great Division was flawed from its inception."
"Great," I mutter, feeling Estingoth's presence surge in my mind. "More cosmic politics."
"You do not understand," the Forgotten continues, its form shifting like smoke. "She is not merely a bridge—she is a key. Her existence opens pathways that were meant to remain sealed."
The sphere of light pulses brighter, and I can see symbols appearing on its surface—not written, but carved into the very fabric of reality. They're similar to the ones I saw during my transformation, but older, more fundamental.
"What pathways?" I demand, stepping protectively in front of Caleif.
"The paths to what was lost," another Forgotten answers. "The realms that were destroyed during the separation. The places where beings like us were banished when the new order was established."
I feel a chill that has nothing to do with the temperature of this impossible space. "You want to bring back the destroyed realms."
"We want to restore what was taken," the first Forgotten corrects. "The cosmic order that existed before your Creator decided that separation was preferable to unity."
"And you think Caleif is the key to doing that?"
"She is proof that the barriers can be transcended," it says, its attention shifting to her. "If one such as her can exist, then others can be created. The pathways can be reopened."
"Over my dead body," I say, power beginning to flow through my veins like liquid fire.
The Forgotten's laugh is like breaking glass. "Your death would be... inconvenient. You are the architect of the new barriers, the one who reshaped the cosmic order. Your existence serves our purposes as well."
"How exactly?"
"You proved that the barriers can be changed. That the separation is not immutable law but malleable reality." The creature's form solidifies slightly, revealing features that are almost angelic but wrong in subtle ways. "Together, you and the daughter of intention could remake the cosmos entirely."
I feel Caleif stiffen beside me. "That's what this is about? That's why you led me here?"
"We led you nowhere," the Forgotten says. "The dragon pointed you toward truth. We merely... waited for you to find it."
"The truth that I'm some kind of cosmic key?"
"The truth that you are what you were always meant to be," it replies. "A bridge between what was and what could be."
I've heard enough. Power surges through me, the gauntlet on my arm blazing with crimson light. "Find a different bridge. This one's taken."
The Forgotten doesn't seem impressed by my display of force. "You would deny the cosmos its chance at restoration? You would preserve a flawed order simply because it is familiar?"
"I would preserve the right to choose," I say firmly. "The right for beings from all realms to decide their own fate instead of having it imposed by cosmic forces with agendas."
"Even if that choice leads to stagnation? To conflict? To the slow death of wonder?"
"Even then," I confirm. "Because the alternative is slavery dressed up as destiny."
The chamber falls silent except for the pulsing of the sphere. The Forgotten exchange glances—or what passes for glances among beings of living shadow and twisted light.
"You disappoint us," the first one says finally. "We had hoped that one who reshaped reality would understand the necessity of further change."
"I understand necessity," I reply. "I also understand manipulation. And I'm done being anyone's tool for cosmic renovation."
"Then you choose conflict," it says, its form beginning to shift and expand. "You choose to stand against the restoration of what was lost."
"I choose to stand against anyone who thinks they can use the people I love as keys to unlock their personal vision of paradise."
The Forgotten's attack comes without warning—not physical violence, but a direct assault on my mind. Images flood my consciousness: the destroyed realms, the beings who were lost during the separation, the cosmic potential that could be unleashed if only I would cooperate.
But I've been in cosmic mindscapes before. I know how to fight on this battlefield.
I push back with my own will, my own vision of what the cosmos should be—not perfect, not unified, but free. A reality where beings can choose their own paths, make their own mistakes, find their own meaning.
The mental battle rages for what feels like hours but is probably only seconds. When it ends, I'm still standing, still myself, still absolutely certain that some prices are too high to pay.
The Forgotten withdraws, its form wavering with what might be exhaustion or frustration. "You are stronger than we anticipated."
"I've had practice," I say, wiping blood from my nose. "Cosmic entities keep trying to recruit me for their grand plans. I've gotten good at saying no."
"This is not over," it warns. "The daughter of intention exists. Others will learn of her nature. Others will seek to use her as we sought to use her."
"Then they'll have to go through me first," I reply, taking Caleif's hand. "And I've gotten pretty good at disappointing cosmic entities."
The Forgotten fade back into shadow, their presence diminishing but not disappearing entirely. They're still here, still watching, still waiting for another opportunity.
"We should go," Elara says, her voice tight with tension. "Before they decide to try a different approach."
I nod, looking at the sphere of light that still pulses with cosmic energy. "Can you close this place? Seal whatever pathway brought us here?"
Caleif steps forward, her expression thoughtful. "I think so. The sphere—it's not just showing me the truth about my origin. It's offering me a choice."
"What kind of choice?"
"To accept what I am and use it, or to seal away that potential and remain as I am now." She looks at me, her eyes filled with love and determination. "I choose to remain as I am. To be with you, to make my own choices, to define my own existence."
She reaches out and touches the sphere. The moment her fingers make contact, light explodes through the chamber—not harsh or blinding, but warm, encompassing, final.
When my vision clears, we're standing in empty space. The chamber, the sphere, the Forgotten—all gone. Only the three of us remain, suspended in a void that somehow feels peaceful rather than threatening.
"Now what?" I ask, looking around at the nothingness.
"Now we go home," Caleif says, her voice carrying a note of finality. "And we live our lives. Together."
A doorway opens in the void—not one of the cosmic portals I've grown accustomed to, but something simpler. A way back to the world we know, the reality we've chosen to preserve.
As we step through, I can't help but smile. Another cosmic crisis averted, another attempt at universal manipulation thwarted. And through it all, the most important truth remains unchanged: I love her, she loves me, and that's a choice we make every single day.
"Always one to impress, aren't you, kamen?" The voice rings out next to me, I sigh and turn and Lucifer pops up instantly. "Peek a boo" He says with his hands up, I flinch and reel back and instinctively slap him across the head.
"I told you to fucking stop that damn it. I damn near ruined my underwear, atleast do it when I'm on the toilet." I say frustrated
Lucifer rubs his cheek where I smacked him, that perfect smile never wavering despite what had to be the most undignified assault he's suffered in millennia. "Well, that was refreshing. Most people are too terrified to lay hands on me."
"Most people haven't had to deal with your dramatic entrances multiple times in the span of a few days," I mutter, my heart still racing from the surprise. "Seriously, what is it with you and appearing out of nowhere? Do you practice that in front of a mirror?"
"Actually, yes," he says with genuine amusement. "The timing is crucial. Too early and you lose the element of surprise. Too late and the moment passes. It's an art form, really."
Caleif steps between us, her expression caught between exasperation and fondness. "As entertaining as this is, maybe we could save the comedy routine for after we're safely back at the sanctuary?"
She's right, of course. We're standing in what appears to be a cosmic waiting room—a space between spaces where reality hasn't quite decided what it wants to be. The void around us is stable for now, but I can feel it shifting, responding to our presence with the lazy curiosity of something ancient and not entirely benevolent.
"How did you even find us?" I ask Lucifer, though I'm already dreading the answer.
"I've been keeping an eye on things," he says with that casual tone that suggests 'things' encompasses roughly half the universe. "The Forgotten aren't exactly subtle when they start moving around. Their presence leaves... ripples... in the cosmic fabric."
"And you just happened to be monitoring cosmic ripples?"
"I monitor everything interesting," he replies, straightening his suit jacket. "And you, my dear architect, have become quite interesting indeed. First reshaping reality, then negotiating with dragons, now rejecting offers from entities that predate creation itself. You're building quite the reputation."
I feel a familiar chill of cosmic dread. "Reputation for what?"
"For being incorruptible," he says, and for once his perfect smile seems genuine rather than calculated. "Do you have any idea how rare that is? How many beings would have accepted the Forgotten's offer if it meant gaining power over the fundamental forces of existence?"
"I didn't want power over anything," I say, taking Caleif's hand. "I just wanted to keep the people I love safe."
"Precisely why you're incorruptible," Lucifer observes. "And precisely why every cosmic entity with an agenda is going to want to either recruit you or eliminate you."
"Great," Elara mutters. "As if we didn't have enough problems already."
The void around us shimmers, and I feel the familiar tug of dimensional transition. We're being pulled back toward normal reality, though I can't tell if it's by our own will or something else's design.
"Speaking of problems," Lucifer continues as we drift through the dissolving space, "you might want to prepare for some interesting developments when you return to the sanctuary. Your little adventure in the Borderlands has attracted attention from more than just the Forgotten."
"What kind of attention?" I ask, though I'm already bracing for the worst.
"The kind that involves official delegations, formal inquiries, and several very concerned archangels who want to know why cosmic anomalies keep clustering around you like moths to a flame."
"Anomalies?"
"Caleif's revealed nature, your continued existence despite channeling enough power to level a small dimension, the fact that you've now personally offended entities from at least four different cosmic hierarchies..." He ticks off points on his fingers. "You're becoming quite the collection of impossibilities."
I look at Caleif, who's listening to this exchange with growing alarm. "Are you going to be okay? I mean, if they know what you are—"
"They can't do anything about it," she says firmly. "I made my choice in there. I chose to be exactly who I am, nothing more, nothing less. If that makes me an anomaly, then so be it."
"Such confidence," Lucifer murmurs approvingly. "Though I should warn you—cosmic entities aren't particularly fond of anomalies that refuse to be classified or controlled."
"Then cosmic entities can get in line behind everyone else who's disappointed in my life choices," I say, surprised by my own vehemence. "I'm done being afraid of what powerful beings think about my existence."
"Careful," Lucifer says, though he sounds more amused than concerned. "That attitude is exactly what's going to make you either a legend or a cautionary tale."
"I'll take either over being someone's puppet."
The void finally dissolves completely, and we find ourselves standing in the sanctuary's central courtyard. The familiar sight of the doorway cycling through its connections to the three realms is almost jarring after the impossible geometry of the Borderlands.
"Home," Caleif says softly, and I hear the relief in her voice.
"For now," Lucifer adds, because of course he does. "Though I suspect 'home' is about to become much more complicated."
As if summoned by his words, Valen appears from the main building, moving with the kind of urgent purpose that usually means crisis management. Behind him, I can see figures I don't recognize—beings in formal robes that suggest official capacity.
"Kamen," Valen calls out, his burning eyes bright with what looks like barely controlled panic. "We need to talk. Immediately."
"Let me guess," I say, feeling exhaustion settle into my bones. "More delegations?"
"More like tribunals," he corrects grimly. "Representatives from the Celestial Council, the Demonic Courts, and the Human Supernatural Authority. They're calling it an 'inquiry into cosmic irregularities,' but..."
"But it's really a trial," I finish. "They want to determine whether I'm a threat to cosmic stability."
"Among other things," Valen confirms. "They're also very interested in recent reports of unauthorized contact with entities from the pre-separation era."
I glance at Lucifer, who's watching this exchange with obvious amusement. "Any chance you could help with this?"
"Oh, I wouldn't dream of interfering," he says with that perfect smile. "This should be far too entertaining to interrupt."
"You're the worst," I tell him.
"I'm the best," he corrects. "I'm just not on anyone's side but my own."
As the official delegation approaches, I squeeze Caleif's hand and try to summon whatever reserves of diplomatic patience I have left. Another cosmic tribunal, another chance to explain why I won't be anyone's tool for universal renovation.