The air grew heavier the deeper I went, thick with age and the scent of ash and stone. My fingers trailed along the carved walls—script in a language even the oldest mages had forgotten. But I hadn't.
I remembered every line.
This was where the old gods walked when they wanted to speak to the stars. Where time twisted, and voices from before the world began still whispered in the dark.
And tonight, it would open for me.
I stopped before the last threshold. The hallway ended at a massive stone archway, buried in layers of dust and centuries of silence. It was plain at first glance—just a ruined arch, broken and ancient.
But I knew better.
This was the Flame Gate.
A relic of the gods. A portal between divine realms. It only answered to true blood.
I drew my dagger—one forged in the dream-forge of my ancestors. I pressed the blade to my palm and sliced. Pain flashed white and sharp. Blood welled up, glistening silver instead of red.
My essence.
The truth of what I was.
