The obsidian seal cracked in Valerian's grip like brittle bone. Shards of red wax scattered across the polished desk, its ancient glyphs vanishing as if burned away by unseen fire. The parchment underneath seemed to breathe—old, cursed, and too heavy for simple hands.
The Obsidian Conclave.
A whisper woven into the darkest corners of noble halls. A place where truths turned men into monsters and monsters into kings. It wasn't a summons. It was a sentence.
Valerian didn't flinch.
He folded the letter and tucked it into the lining of his coat, movements practiced and deliberate. Behind him, Umbra stirred in the gloom—massive, silent, the horned knight wreathed in a darkness that bent candlelight away from its form. A loyal shadow awaiting the storm.
"We ride tonight," Valerian said, voice low but resolved.
> [Quest Activated: "Summons of the Deep Court"]
Objective: Reach the Obsidian Conclave alive.
Warning: All teleportation and sigils disabled. You must traverse the Vale of Lost Names.
Recommended Level: 35+
Penalty: Death and Soul Fragmentation
Reward: Access to Forbidden Lore and Class Upgrade Opportunity
Valerian's breath slowed. His eyes narrowed.
"No time to waste."
---
By dusk, he stood at the gates of the Academy—hood drawn, obsidian cloak flowing in the cold wind. The rain hadn't started yet, but the scent of it lingered, sour and metallic. Just one figure waited in the gloom—Mila, arms crossed as she leaned against the weathered statue of the First King.
"You're really going?" she asked, her voice a raw whisper.
"I don't have a choice," Valerian replied.
She stepped closer, her boots crunching against the gravel. "You always have a choice. This one just... sucks."
Valerian didn't look at her. His eyes were on the horizon. "If I don't go, I lose everything—my control, my future. Maybe even my mind."
"And if you do go?"
He turned to face her.
"Then I learn what I truly am."
Mila's throat tightened. She reached out but stopped just short of his hand. "If they try to break you—"
"I'll kill them." The words were simple. Not anger. Not ego. Just truth.
She stared. Then nodded.
"Come back alive, Valerian," she whispered. "The story doesn't end without you."
---
The Vale of Lost Names wasn't a road—it was a wound. A canyon carved by forgotten wars, where the land bled memory. The wind carried voices not its own, and the stones wept with every step. True names had been stripped here. Souls lost identity. And the dead spoke them back, like curses.
Lightning danced overhead. Rain fell in sheets, heavy and unnatural. Each drop buzzed with unstable mana.
Valerian walked forward, cloak soaked, eyes hard. Umbra took point, his form resisting the storm like an immovable monument. They pressed onward through the storm, wind screaming through broken spires and jagged rock formations shaped like twisted hands reaching skyward.
At first, it was the air that whispered.
"You were never meant to be."
Then the trees.
"They will all turn against you."
And finally—the ground itself.
"You will end this world."
But none of those chilled him like the one that echoed from within.
His own voice. From some impossible place. Fractured, older.
"You were me. And I left you behind."
> [Mental Fortitude Check… Passed.]
[Corruption Level: Stable.]
Valerian pushed onward, jaw clenched. Every footstep echoed like a drumbeat of fate.
---
Night three.
The storm broke—shattered by something deeper. The earth beneath them split with a crack that echoed like thunder. Umbra halted. A rumble vibrated through Valerian's boots.
From the fissure surged dark figures, shaped like armored knights, their forms flickering like candlelight. Their armor bore no sigil. No name. Only hunger.
> [Field Boss Encounter: "The Name-Eaters" (Level 38 Elite)]
Valerian drew his weapon—an obsidian blade, curved and sleek, its core burning with the lingering gift of the Hollow Flame. Fire licked the edges as he held it in both hands.
"Umbra. Guard the flank. I'll carve the path."
He charged.
The first knight lunged—a blur of steel and dark magic. Valerian twisted mid-run, ducking low, and slashed across its midsection. The creature hissed as its form unraveled into dust. But for every one he cut down, two more came forward.
Steel clanged in rapid succession. Fire blossomed around him. His cloak tore, blood splashed his boots, but he moved with precision—an assassin sculpted by death.
For minutes, it was pure chaos.
But then—a change.
One of the Name-Eaters stopped mid-swing. Its helm turned toward him, head cocked unnaturally. A voice cracked through the storm, guttural and wrong.
"You… are the key."
Valerian halted.
"What did you say?"
The creature dropped its weapon and smiled—if a wraith could smile. Its face cracked open, revealing something ancient and knowing.
"You're not here for the Conclave. You're here… to awaken."
> [System Interruption Detected.]
[ERROR: Access Conflict—Multiple Hosts Detected.]
Valerian's vision blurred. The sky above twisted, and the wind stopped. The remaining Name-Eaters blinked out of existence, erased like shadows at dawn.
Only the speaker remained.
And now—it changed.
Its form stabilized. Flesh took shape. Armor reformed.
Valerian stared in disbelief.
It was him.
Older. Sharper. Scarred. With colder eyes, wearing a darker, corrupted version of the Blackthorn Academy uniform. A cracked obsidian crest over his chest. His system interface was branded into his flesh, pulsing like living code.
"Hello, Valerian," the figure said with a smirk.
Valerian gripped his blade tighter, blood still dripping from his coat. "Who are you?"
"I'm the original," he said calmly. "You're the splinter."
> [System Override Protocol Initiated.]
[Splinter Host Confirmed.]
[Warning: Primary Host Approaching.]
The air turned heavy, like reality itself resisting what it was witnessing.
"You're me?" Valerian whispered.
"No. I'm the you that survived. The one who broke the system first. The one who started the chain reaction. And you?" He pointed his sword at Valerian. "You're the failsafe. A backup. In case I failed."
Valerian staggered back, fury and confusion battling in his mind.
"All of it—the system, my power, my resurrection—it wasn't random. It was a contingency."
"Exactly," the original said, walking closer. "The Conclave doesn't want to test you. They want to trigger you. Open the Final Gate. End the world. Bring back the old gods."
Valerian's breath caught. "And you let them?"
"I planned it," the original said. "You think we were ever real? We're weapons. Designed to open a door."
Valerian's rage burned. "I refuse to be used."
The original smiled darkly. "Then cut your strings."
He lunged.
Their blades collided in a thunderclap of flame and obsidian. Sparks danced into the storm as the earth split further beneath their feet. Lightning struck the canyon wall behind them, fire erupting.
Two versions of the same soul.
One forged by rebellion.
One born as a weapon.
And above them—the sky split in two.