The air at the summit of the Frost-Spine Mountains was not meant for human lungs. It was thin, razor-sharp, and saturated with the scent of frozen iron. Every breath Kael Light took felt like swallowing a handful of needles. The "Stable Agony" in his marrow had shifted from a thrumming vibration to a localized frost, his bones groaning with a sound like timber snapping in a winter storm.
He stood on a narrow, wind-swept ridge, his tattered grey cloak whipping violently behind him. Below him lay a valley of ice, and at its center, carved directly into the heart of the peak, was Site-One.
It was a monstrosity of industrial architecture. Unlike the ornate towers of Blackwall, the Frozen Peak was a functional fortress of blackened steel and reinforced concrete. Six massive chimneys belched thick, grey steam into the blizzard, the heat of the internal reactors melting the surrounding glacier into a permanent, slushy moat. High-tension mana-lines, thick as a man's waist, snaked away from the fortress like the tentacles of a deep-sea parasite, disappearing into the mist to power distant cities.
THE HEARTBEAT IS WEAK HERE, KAEL, the God whispered, its voice sounding strangely muffled, as if the cold were encroaching even upon the void of Kael's soul. THE VESSEL IN THIS CRADLE IS OLD. SHE HAS BEEN FEEDING THE EMPIRE FOR EIGHTY YEARS. SHE IS NOT A SUN ANYMORE; SHE IS A DYING CINDER CLUTCHED IN AN IRON FIST.
"I can feel her," Kael whispered, his iridescent eyes fixed on the fortress's central spire.
The resonance was faint, a rhythmic pulse that matched the formula he had seen in Site-Zero: $\Delta E = \int_{t_1}^{t_2} (\Phi_{\text{Sun}} - \Lambda_{\text{Void}}) \, dt$ The "Source-Vessel" was being drained at a rate that defied nature. The child within—if she could still be called a child—was being kept in a state of perpetual near-death, her mana-core forced to regenerate and discharge in a cycle of endless extraction.
Kael began his descent, sliding down the icy slope with a speed that would have broken a normal man's ankles. He used the "Stable Agony" to reinforce his joints, his bones cracking and resetting in a rhythmic thud-thud-thud that mirrored the machinery below.
He was halfway across the moat of slush when the world went silent.
It wasn't the silence of the waste, which was filled with the whisper of wind. This was an absolute, unnatural vacuum of sound and mana. The 'Reforged Sun' on his finger didn't flare in warning; it went cold, the Star-Core's light suddenly turning a dull, muddy grey.
Kael spun around, his hand reaching for the dagger at his belt. He didn't see anyone. He didn't feel any mana-signature. But he felt a chill that was colder than the mountain air—a sensation of "emptiness" that was moving toward him.
"Out of the dark," Kael commanded, his voice a low thrum.
From the swirling snow, a figure materialized. It didn't "step" out of the mist; it simply was there, as if the shadows had coalesced into a human shape. It was clad in matte-black Void-Metal, the plates interlocking seamlessly. It had no eyes, only a smooth, visor-like surface that reflected Kael's own horrified expression.
This was a Sun-Eater.
Kael didn't wait for a greeting. He raised his hand, the Stasis Ring straining as he tried to summon a 4-Ring "White Sun" blast.
"Ancient Art: The Dawn's—"
The spell didn't just fail; it was erased. As the golden-violet energy left Kael's palm, the Sun-Eater simply stood there. The mana touched the Void-Metal and vanished, absorbed as if it had never existed. The hunter didn't flinch. It didn't even glow. It was a black hole in the shape of a man.
DANGER, KAEL, the God hissed, sounding genuinely alarmed. THIS ONE HAS NO SOUL FOR ME TO GRASP. IT IS A VOID-BORN. YOUR MAGIC IS JUST FOOD TO IT.
The Sun-Eater moved. It was faster than the 'Blood-Contracted' guards, its movements jerky and mechanical, propelled by the internal hydraulics of its Void-Metal suit. It lunged, a blade of blackened steel extending from its forearm.
Kael barely twisted aside, the blade carving a shallow furrow in his shoulder. The cut didn't bleed gold or violet; it felt cold, as if the metal had sucked the heat directly out of his blood.
Kael realized then that the rules had changed. Against the Academy's mages, he was a god. Against the Sun-Eater, he was just a boy.
"Fine," Kael growled, his jaw set. "If you won't take my light, take my weight."
Kael didn't try to cast another spell. He leaned into the "Stable Agony." He allowed the full force of the curse's physical reinforcement to flood his muscles. He ignored the screaming of his tendons as they were pushed beyond their limits.
The Sun-Eater lunged again, a series of rapid-fire stabs aimed at Kael's vitals. Kael didn't dodge. He caught the hunter's wrist with his bare hand.
The Void-Metal hissed against his palm, trying to drain his mana, but Kael wasn't using mana to hold the wrist—he was using raw, kinetic pressure. He squeezed, the internal pistons of the Sun-Eater's suit groaning under the strain.
"Ancient Art: The Kinetic Hammer!"
He didn't release mana; he released the potential energy stored in his tensed muscles. He punched the Sun-Eater in the center of its visor. The force was enough to shatter stone. The Void-Metal didn't break, but the shockwave passed through the armor and into the pilot inside.
The Sun-Eater was thrown back into the slush-moat, the black iron of its suit clattering against the ice.
Kael didn't wait for it to recover. He ran toward the fortress's main intake vent. He knew the Sun-Eater wouldn't stay down for long—it was designed to be a relentless, unfeeling predator.
He reached the intake, a massive grate vibrating with the force of the steam exhaust. He ripped the iron bars out with his bare hands, the "Stable Agony" flaring in his chest. Crack-snap. Two ribs splintered. He ignored them and dived into the darkness of the vent.
Inside, Site-One was a labyrinth of noise. The sound of massive turbines spinning at tens of thousands of revolutions per minute was a physical pressure against his eardrums. He moved through the maintenance tunnels, his iridescence lighting the way.
He reached the "Core-Chamber."
It was a vast, hemispherical room lined with lead-glass and copper shielding. At the center, suspended in a pool of glowing, amniotic mana-fluid, was a tank.
Inside the tank was a woman. She looked ancient, her skin as translucent as paper, her long white hair floating around her like sea-grass. Hundreds of silver needles were embedded in her flesh, connected to wires that pulsed with a steady, rhythmic starlight.
She was the Source-Vessel. The "Aethel" of this era.
Kael stepped toward the glass, his hand pressing against the cold surface. He felt her resonance—it was a song of absolute, infinite exhaustion. She had been here since before Sam Willer was born. She had been the battery for Oakhaven's Golden Age.
"I'm here," Kael whispered, his voice cracking. "I'm here to take you home."
The woman's eyes opened. They were the same iridescent grey as Kael's. For a heartbeat, a flicker of recognition passed between them—a connection of blood and light that spanned eighty years of suffering.
"Run..." she mouthed through the fluid. "The... the Eaters... they aren't... alone..."
Suddenly, the 'Reforged Sun' on Kael's finger began to vibrate with a violent, high-pitched whine.
He turned around.
In the doorway of the Core-Chamber, three more Sun-Eaters stood. And behind them, a hologram flickered into existence.
It was Sam Willer. He looked even older than before, his face a roadmap of despair, but he was smiling a toothless, malicious grin.
"You found her, Kael," Sam's voice echoed through the chamber's speakers. "Your sister-in-light. Isn't she beautiful? She's the reason Blackwall has streetlights. She's the reason the King's carriages move without horses. And now, you're going to join her."
Sam leaned closer to the camera in the hologram. "The Sun-Eaters are tuned to your frequency now, Kael. They aren't just here to kill you. They are here to empty you. When they are done, you'll be the new battery for Site-Two."
Kael looked at the three black-clad hunters, then at the dying woman in the tank. He felt the "Stable Agony" reaching a crescendo. His bones were breaking and resetting so fast it sounded like a frantic drumbeat in the quiet room.
He realized then that he couldn't save her by being a healer. The extraction system was too integrated; if he broke the glass, the shock would kill her instantly. To save her, he had to destroy the entire facility. He had to be the Wraith.
"Sam," Kael said, his voice dropping to a low, vibrating octave that made the mana-fluid in the tank ripple. "You should have stayed in the dark."
Kael raised his hand toward the central mana-turbine. He didn't use a spell. He used the "Ancient Art" of the Supernova Feedback. He reached out and grabbed the mana-line feeding the tank.
"Primordial Art: The Reckoning of the Sun!"
He didn't pull the mana; he pushed his own corrupted, violet-marbled mana into the system. He was a 4-Ring High Mage, but his core was reinforced by a God. He was a virus entering the kingdom's nervous system.
The lights in the chamber didn't flare; they turned a dark, bruised violet. The turbine's hum rose to a scream.
"STOP HIM!" Sam's hologram roared, the image flickering with interference.
The three Sun-Eaters lunged.
Kael stood his ground before the tank, his iridescent eyes blazing with a light that was no longer kind. He was the Blood Weeper, and tonight, the Frozen Peak was going to cry.