Word of the Sanctum raid spread like mana fire. The Arcanum mobilized, airships converging on Eldridge, accusing the Enclaves of relic theft. The Iron Dominion, sensing weakness, dispatched legions to "secure" nearby nodes, their steam-forged golems rumbling across borders.
Elarion and Lirael fled to an elven enclave deep in the Verdant Expanse, a hidden grove where ancient trees formed living barriers. But peace was fleeting—the Netherkin lord, empowered by stolen Aetheric shards, launched a assault, wraiths phasing through wards.
"The system calls to us," the lord roared, his form swollen with corruption. "It was born in the lower planes—a gift to unmake the Starborn's order!"
Elarion stood firm, Key in one hand, Kainos pendant in the other. Infinite mana surged, creating dimensional rifts to swallow attackers. Elves rained arrows infused with primal fury, but the cultists pressed, summoning rifts that birthed horrors.
In the chaos, Elarion probed the system:
[System Command: Reveal Origin.]
For the first time, it responded fully: [Origin Log: Forged in Genesis voids by exiled entities—neither Starborn nor Netherkin. Purpose: Balance restoration through a vessel. Warning: Overuse accelerates integration—user becomes conduit.]
Horror dawned: the infinite mana was a lure, turning him into a bridge for these "exiled" beings. He unleashed a cataclysmic wave, banishing the lord back to the shadows, but at a cost—his scars glowed brighter, veins pulsing with foreign energy.
The siege broken, Lirael bandaged his wounds. "You fight your own chains now. The Enclaves offer sanctuary, but the Starborn's return demands action."
Elarion gazed skyward, where stars twinkled ominously. Alliances solidified, but the leash tightened.
Weeks passed in the enclave, Elarion poring over glyph fragments and elven tomes. The system evolved, granting new abilities—dimensional manipulation beyond the Key, predictive analytics for battles—but each use deepened the "integration." Visions plagued him: cosmic voids where formless entities awaited, their whispers promising godhood.
News arrived via scouts: The Arcanum allied with the Dominion against perceived elven aggression, marching on Skyend's core ruins. Netherkin cults exploited the distraction, sabotaging Veins to hasten incursions.
Lirael urged a preemptive strike. "The Vault of Eternal Dawn holds the Starheart Scepter—a relic to commune with the Starborn. With it, we can end the Silence and expose the system's masters."
Elarion agreed, but doubt gnawed. In his pocket dimension, he experimented: forcing system overrides, glimpsing code that hinted at multiple "vessels" across planes—failed predecessors consumed by infinity.
As they prepared to depart, the system issued an ultimatum:
[Integration Threshold: 50%. Proceed to Vault for full synchronization? Y/N]
He hesitated, selecting N. But the pull grew stronger. Hubris loomed—would he master the leash, or become its puppet?
The journey to the Vault began, shadows lengthening as Terra teetered on the brink. The stars watched, silent no more.