The storm raged through the night, its thunder echoing like drums of war above the spires of the Celestial Palace. The rain fell in silver sheets, washing away the last traces of the day's light.
Under the cloak of that storm, two shadows moved swiftly along the palace's eastern wing.
Arka and Lysander kept their pace silent, steps echoing faintly on the damp marble. The corridors here were abandoned too close to the restricted section known as the Hall of Dawn, the seat of the ancient Council of Fajar.
"Are you certain about this?" Lysander whispered. His cloak fluttered, soaked at the edges. "If we're caught here, not even my rank will save us."
Arka's eyes glowed faintly in the dark. "If the Council is involved in summoning the Abyss, we can't afford to wait for permission."
They stopped before a sealed archway covered in golden runes. It pulsed weakly the kind of energy barrier designed to hide rather than protect.
Lysander studied it. "This ward is old, but layered. Only a council sigil can open it."
Arka smiled faintly. "Then let's make one."
He raised his hand, tracing the memory of the symbol they had seen on the servant's torn cloth. Silver energy flared around his fingertips. The mark of the Star Wolf appeared briefly, merging with the shape of the golden serpent.
The seal hissed, reacting violently then slowly dissolved into light.
The gate opened.
Inside, the air was thick with ancient dust and whispers. The Hall of Dawn was not what Arka expected. It wasn't filled with scholars or scrolls. It was a chamber of relics chains, weapons, and shattered runestones sealed in glass.
Lysander's gaze swept across the relics. "These aren't records of protection," he murmured. "They're containment devices."
Arka approached the largest one a crystal coffin suspended by black chains. Inside, faint black mist curled around something vaguely humanoid.
He stepped closer. The mist shifted. For a moment, he saw the outline of a face pale, with faint, silver eyes like his own.
He froze. "That's…"
Before he could finish, the crystal trembled. A low, distorted voice slipped through the cracks.
"Return… what was taken…"
Lysander reached for his sword, his aura flaring gold. "Arka, step back!"
But the coffin shattered before either could react. Black mist surged outward, cold and fast, circling the chamber.
From within the darkness, a tall figure emerged draped in rags, yet emanating a power that made the air hum. Its voice was layered, echoing through both mind and space.
"You carry the blood of the Star Wolf… and yet you walk beside the heir of light. How ironic."
Arka's eyes narrowed. "Who are you?"
The figure smiled, revealing faint, gleaming fangs. "I am what your blood once sealed away. The Abyssal Fragment a piece of the Beast King your ancestors feared to destroy."
Lysander's grip tightened on his sword. "You shouldn't exist."
"I exist," the fragment whispered, "because destiny repeats. And this time, the vessel is ready."
Before they could move, the shadow lunged forward, merging into the floor like liquid darkness. The entire chamber dimmed, runes flickering out one by one.
Arka's pulse raced. "It's gone."
Lysander turned toward him, his eyes fierce and urgent. "No… it's not gone."
He pointed to Arka's arm. A faint black mark, shaped like a claw, was spreading slowly across his skin.
The Abyss had found its vessel.