The wind screamed outside the Citadel, tearing across the cursed plain like a wounded god's wail. The sky—fractured by the Codex's fusion—no longer held a steady color. Instead, it shimmered between shades of storm-gray and blood-red, like a bruise forming across reality itself.
Mary stood at the altar, clutching the now-whole Codex. It had changed. No longer a jagged set of fragments, it had become a living artifact—its surface etched with symbols that shifted as she looked at them. Words older than written language crawled like vines across the surface, embedding themselves in her thoughts.
Behind her, Lela steadied herself against a broken pillar, her breath ragged. "You heard it, right?" she asked. "It spoke."
"It knew her name," Loosie added. "But not just her name. The way it said it... like it owned it."
Mary didn't answer right away. The Codex was humming in her hands, but deeper than sound—more like a heartbeat buried in the bones of the world. Her vision swam, not with fatigue, but with something far more dangerous: clarity. She could see layers now. Veins of truth beneath the world's skin.
"He is awake," Mary whispered.
Lela stiffened. "You mean the Broken One."
Mary nodded slowly. "Not broken. Not anymore."
The Codex pulsed.
"You see now, do you not? The shape beneath the world? The cage and its maker?"
Mary flinched. The voice wasn't hers. It came from the Codex—no longer just an object. It was aware. Possibly sentient. Or worse—possibly a vessel for his voice.
Lela stepped closer, her sword still drawn. "We need to get out of here. Now. We have the Codex. We finish this."
Mary turned slowly to face her, the glow from the artifact illuminating her eyes. "There's no finishing this, Lela. This is the beginning. The pieces were never meant to stay apart. That's what the Ancients got wrong. They didn't break him. They only scattered his thoughts. And now—he remembers."
A low rumble shook the Citadel. The floor beneath them cracked like ice. Fissures webbed out in every direction, glowing faintly with light the color of old wounds.
Loosie cursed. "I hate when places start falling apart. Never a good sign."
Suddenly, from the shattered archway behind them, a figure appeared.
Clad in robes of jet and fire, his face obscured by a bone-white mask, the figure strode forward with the unhurried grace of someone who had waited centuries for this moment.
Lela moved instantly, blade raised. "Who are you?"
The masked man stopped, head tilting ever so slightly.
"I am the Herald," he said. "His mouthpiece. His shadow before the light."
Loosie stepped between him and Mary. "You're late to the party."
"I'm right on time," the Herald said softly. "The Codex is whole. The Key has chosen. The Gate must now open."
Mary narrowed her eyes. "Gate? What gate?"
The Herald raised a hand, pointing toward the sky.
"The one in your blood."
A silence fell.
"What the hell does that mean?" Loosie hissed.
But Mary already knew.
Visions flashed through her again—her mother, pale and beautiful, whispering lullabies in a language no human tongue could mimic. Her father's absence, the shadow he left behind. The way fire and hunger had always danced too close to the surface of her skin.
She wasn't just a vampire.
She was a gate.
The Codex began to vibrate, its symbols igniting in sequence, as though recognizing the Herald's words.
Mary dropped to her knees.
"I can feel him," she whispered. "He's... pushing. Trying to get through."
The Herald knelt across from her. "Do not resist. Your blood remembers him. Your soul bears his mark."
Lela rushed forward. "Get away from her!"
With a motion like a flickering candle, the Herald vanished—only to reappear behind Lela, hand extended toward the ceiling.
"I am not your enemy," he said. "She is his vessel, yes—but she is also the only one who can stop him."
Loosie barked a laugh. "Then why are you helping him come through?"
The Herald turned. "Because if he doesn't come through now, he will come through something worse. A rift not guided by a soul—but torn into reality by rage and chaos."
Mary clutched the Codex. "There's a choice, isn't there?"
The Herald inclined his head. "Yes. Accept the burden—and control the opening. Or resist—and let the world split without mercy."
Silence.
Then Lela spoke. "We need time to decide."
The Herald didn't argue. He simply