The staircase twisted endlessly downward, carved from obsidian stone that pulsed faintly beneath Graxion's feet. There were no torches, no runes—only the soft glow of shadow itself guiding their descent. With every step, the air grew heavier, thick with ancient silence and forgotten screams.
"How far down does this go?" Graxion asked, already feeling the weight of the abyss pressing on his back like a giant hand.
Kaen didn't answer at first. His gaze remained locked ahead, as if looking at something beyond sight.
"Farther than even the gods dared remember," he finally said. "This vault was not made by them—but by those who existed before them."
Graxion frowned. "Before the gods? That's… impossible."
"No. Just inconvenient." Kaen stopped as the steps ended abruptly at a towering archway. Its surface shimmered with silver inscriptions that shifted like water. "This is the last barrier. Beyond this, we enter what the First Flame called The Denial—the place where truth was buried."
Graxion stepped forward. The markings on the arch pulsed as he approached, reacting not to him—but to the power within him. The shadows in his blood stirred.
Kaen watched him. "The vault won't open for me. I've tried a thousand times. But you… You carry the origin."
Graxion hesitated. Then, raising his hand, he placed it flat against the stone.
For a second—nothing.
Then, a deep rumble echoed through the chamber as the silver inscriptions exploded into blinding black light. The arch cracked open like a splitting tree trunk, revealing a spiraling void within.
As they stepped through, the air changed. It was no longer just heavy—it was alive. Whispers skittered across the stone floor. Walls moved when unobserved. The darkness here was not absence—but sentience.
Massive pillars held up an unseen ceiling, each one etched with alien symbols and bound in silver chains.
"This was once a prison," Kaen said quietly. "But they failed to contain what they feared."
In the center of the vault lay a pedestal. Upon it: a cube made of black crystal, humming softly.
Graxion felt his body pulled toward it—not by force, but recognition. Like two parts of something once whole.
He approached. "What is this?"
Kaen stepped back. "A fragment of Noctis. The original god of shadow. The first exile. The one they destroyed to ensure their dominion over light."
Graxion stared at the cube. "You said the shadow was a doorway."
"It is," Kaen said. "And this is the key."
Without thinking, Graxion reached out and touched the cube.
Pain shot through him like molten iron. His vision blurred, his veins burned, his thoughts shattered into a thousand screams—but he did not let go.
In the instant his fingers connected with the crystal, visions flooded his mind:
A world before time, where titans of light and dark clashed.
Noctis, a being of impossible form, betrayed and shattered.
A prophecy… of one who would inherit what even the gods feared.
And then, silence.
The cube dissolved into smoke, which spiraled around Graxion's arm, fusing with his skin, branding his very soul.
Kaen stepped back, eyes wide. "You… you didn't just survive it. You became it."
Graxion fell to one knee, panting. His shadow now stretched unnaturally, writhing with new life. His eyes shimmered with dark violet flame.
"What… what did I just unlock?"
Kaen knelt beside him, awe in his voice. "The final path. The legacy of Noctis. The last truth buried beneath the gods' lies."
He looked at Graxion not with pity—but reverence.
"You're no longer just a wielder of shadow, Graxion. You are its heir."