The chamber was wrapped in darkness, but not the kind Graxion controlled. This darkness was older, deeper—unmoved by his will. It swallowed light, consumed breath, and pressed against his skin like a second layer of flesh.
The hooded figure stood unmoved in the center.
Graxion gripped Umbra Fang tighter. "What do you mean, you're what happens when gods fail?"
The figure stepped forward. With each movement, shadows around him curled and slithered—not obeying, but reacting to his very presence.
"I once believed in order," the figure said, voice hollow, as though carried from the bottom of a crypt. "In balance. In justice. I fought for the gods… until I realized they weren't watching over us. They were watching themselves."
Graxion lowered the blade slightly. There was no hostility in the man's posture. Just immense weight… as if he had lived too long.
"What are you?" Graxion asked.
The figure pulled back the hood.
What Graxion saw wasn't monstrous—but human. A man, weathered by centuries. Eyes sunken but burning with power, veins glowing faintly with strands of violet-black energy.
"I was once called Kaen. A War Priest of the Old World. First Chosen of Primus. Last Exile of the Divine."
Graxion took a cautious step back.
"You served Primus? The First Flame?"
Kaen nodded.
"And I defied him."
For a moment, silence.
Then Graxion laughed—low, bitter, and tired.
"Good. Maybe you can teach me how."
Kaen's lips curled slightly. "You're already on that path. But you're not ready."
"I don't have time to be ready," Graxion replied. "They're watching me. I can feel them."
Kaen's face hardened. "Then listen closely. What I tell you now… they would erase from existence if they could."
He raised his hand. A tiny orb of darkness floated between his fingers—not shadow like Graxion's, but a void within shadow, colder and more absolute.
"Shadow is not a weapon," Kaen said. "Not truly. It is a doorway. A fracture between what is and what should have never been. That's why the gods fear it."
Graxion furrowed his brow. "So it's… forbidden knowledge?"
"It's older than knowledge," Kaen said. "The gods didn't create shadow. They found it—sealed it—tried to erase it from memory. But now, it's chosen you."
The orb hovered to Graxion, hovering above his hand. When it touched his skin, he saw flashes.
A realm of nothing but swirling dark. Screams without mouths. Cities swallowed by silence. And at the center… a chained creature made of smoke and teeth. Watching. Waiting.
Graxion snapped back with a gasp.
"What… what was that?!"
"Your legacy," Kaen said grimly. "And your burden."
"I didn't ask for any of this."
"Neither did I," Kaen said. "But that doesn't matter. You have two choices, boy. Serve the gods... or survive them."
Graxion stared at the orb, still trembling.
"I want more than survival," he whispered. "I want them to remember my name."
Kaen finally smiled. "Then come. There's more to learn. About shadow. About the gods. About what they buried… and what you're about to unearth."
He turned toward the shadows. They parted willingly for him, revealing a spiral staircase descending into pure night.
"Where does it lead?" Graxion asked.
Kaen looked over his shoulder.
"To the place even gods fear to tread."
And then they vanished into the dark.