"When gods whisper, mortals scream. But when silence walks… everything listens."
– Kael
Three days after Kael's return from the Abyss, the northern sky split open.
Not like glass shattering. More like a forgotten truth forcing its way into reality.
Above the frost-cracked citadel of Durnhal, the sky peeled—revealing a void so vast, so absolute, that the sun itself turned away in dread. Then came the soundless surge.
Not thunder.
Not sound.
Silence. Not the absence of noise, but the obliteration of meaning.
People bled from their ears. Archmages screamed spells that turned to ash in their throats. Birds fell mid-flight, wings frozen in time.
And from that sky stepped a figure—tall, thin, wrapped in robes that shifted between stars and shadows. A single, silver eye glowed from beneath its hood.
The Herald of Silence had arrived.
Kael watched from the scrying pool as Durnhal was swallowed by calm annihilation. He didn't blink.
Behind him, nobles argued. Generals whispered.
Only Elyndra stood silent, arms crossed, waiting.
"The Herald is a myth," General Varkas muttered. "A creature of prehistory. A lie told by priests to make kings fear magic."
Kael finally turned.
"It is real. And it is here because I opened the door."
Gasps. Accusations.
Kael raised a hand.
"I made a pact with the Eidolon Realm, yes. To keep our world from being consumed by the Abyss. Now, they've sent their cost."
Varkas pounded the table. "And what cost is that?"
Kael's voice was quiet.
"Silence. Not death. Not fire. Something worse. Erasure."
The Herald did not walk.
It drifted, like thought without anchor.
Where it moved, people forgot who they were. Names fell from minds. Time fractured. One city reported a sunrise that lasted twelve hours. Another claimed their dead rose—but without faces.
The world was unraveling.
And yet the Herald spoke to no one.
Until it reached Kael's borders.
A Message From the Eidolon Throne
Kael stood at the edge of the Cradle Mountains, black winds howling around him. Beside him, Elyndra kept her sword sheathed, but ready.
Then—the Herald stopped.
The wind died.
Snow hung in midair.
Then… words.
Not spoken, but imposed.
"You have touched eternity, Kael of mortal name. The Eidolon Throne has watched. And it judges."
Kael's eyes narrowed. "Then let it speak clearly."
"You seek balance. But balance is not stillness. It is a blade. And you… are not its wielder."
Kael stepped forward. "Then give me the blade."
A pause.
Then the Herald tilted its head—and from the void behind it, a door began to form.
A ring of black stone, carved with alien runes, hovered in midair.
"Enter. Stand before the Triumvirate of Dissonance. There, your fate shall be decided."
Back in his sanctum, Kael moved like a storm in flesh.
Artifacts were gathered.
Ancient tomes, forbidden even by Abyssal law, were laid open.
Seraphina appeared without being summoned.
"You're going to them? To the Triumvirate?"
Kael didn't look up. "I have no choice."
"You always have a choice."
He finally met her gaze. "Not when the world is unraveling because of me."
She approached slowly, her eyes unreadable.
"If you die there—"
"I won't."
"But if you do… I will burn the Eidolon Throne to the void."
He smiled, faintly. "Then I go with an army at my back."
As night fell, Elyndra entered his private chamber, where Kael was binding his soul to a time-lock glyph—a precaution if time collapsed within the Eidolon gateway.
She didn't speak at first.
She placed something on the table. A locket.
Inside, a lock of her hair. And a rune of her blood.
"My soul. For yours. If they try to unmake you, this will hold your essence."
Kael looked at her, emotion breaking the surface for the briefest moment.
"I don't deserve you."
"No," she said. "But you have me anyway."
They embraced—not in lust, but in purpose.
Two blades. Sharpened by love. Tempered by war.
At dawn, Kael stood before the Eidolon Gate.
Seraphina, Elyndra, and a hundred loyal shadows watched him.
He turned only once.
"Whatever happens inside… do not follow. Not unless I return."
Then he stepped through.
And the world fell away.
There was no sky.
No ground.
Just geometry—impossible angles, colors that didn't exist, thoughts shaped like cities.
And floating in the center, three thrones made of screams and stars.
The Triumvirate of Dissonance.
One spoke in light.
One in gravity.
One in mirrored Kael's own face.
"You seek balance."
Kael stood tall. "I seek power to hold this world together."
"Then you must give up the one thing no mortal has ever relinquished."
Kael didn't flinch.
"Name it."
The Triumvirate leaned closer, as reality wept around them.
"Your memory."
To be continued...