The gate loomed ahead, half-buried in the obsidian wall, its ancient stone etched with a language lost to most of the world. Thick vines of molten-root had crept up its frame over the centuries, pulsing faintly like veins filled with slow-burning fire.
Kael stepped forward, Ashreign burning low and steady in his hand, its ember-glow casting flickers of light across the chamber. Dovren followed close behind, his hand resting on the hilt of his dagger, wariness carved deep in every line of his face.
"I've only heard stories," he whispered. "They say what lies beyond this gate was sealed away by the First Circle."
Kael nodded. "Then we're about to turn a myth into memory."
He approached the center of the door. The sword in his hand pulled gently, magnetized by something unseen. The runes carved across the gate began to shimmer in response to Ashreign's proximity. A hum—deep and ancient—filled the chamber.
The sword moved on its own.
Kael allowed it, guiding the tip into a recess in the stone shaped perfectly for its blade. As steel kissed stone, the gate trembled.
The carvings flared to life.
Symbols lit in a wave, spreading from the center to the edges, forming a circular seal now glowing white-hot. Ashreign's flame intensified, roaring silently with purpose.
A voice—mechanical, arcane, and female—echoed from nowhere and everywhere.
"Bearer of Flame. You are recognized. Passage permitted."
With a grinding of stone and a rush of air that smelled like lightning and dust, the gate cracked open. Not a door swinging wide—but a slow, circular parting of stone segments, like a flower blooming in reverse.
What lay beyond was darkness.
Not ordinary dark—but an absence of reality. It shimmered like oil on water, a barrier between the known world and something older.
Kael stepped through.
For a heartbeat, there was nothing. No sound. No light. No self.
Then—he emerged into a realm that defied logic.
Skies of shifting geometry, pillars floating in endless void, rivers that flowed upward in spirals of crimson and silver. The Forgotten Gate had led them into the Vestige, a pocket dimension created in the earliest days to hold what could not be destroyed.
Dovren stumbled in after him, eyes wide in disbelief. "By the gods... what is this place?"
Kael surveyed the impossible world before them. His voice was low, resolute.
"A prison... or a grave."
And as he stepped forward, a shadow stirred in the distance—massive, serpentine, and ancient. The guardian of the path ahead had sensed their arrival.
The trial was not over.
It had only just begun.
A deep tremor rippled through the impossible terrain as the serpentine shadow in the distance stirred. From the floating pillars to the rivers that defied gravity, the world of the Vestige responded to the awakening of its ancient warden.
Kael tightened his grip on Ashreign. The sword's flame twisted into a pale azure hue—cold fire, reserved for the old horrors. Behind him, Dovren readied his daggers, though his breath came short and fast.
"What is that?" Dovren whispered, eyes locked on the shifting mass slithering through the air like a dragon made of mist and starlight.
Kael didn't answer immediately. The thing was vast, its form coiling around invisible pillars in the sky. Its body shimmered like living glass filled with constellations. Eyes—dozens—flickered open along its length, blinking in alien rhythms.
"Vestigial Guardian," Kael finally muttered. "An Arkalith."
Dovren flinched. "Those don't exist anymore—"
"They do here."
The Arkalith let out a soundless roar. Light rippled from its open maw—like heatwaves through crystal. The dream-like terrain bent with the force, pulling Kael and Dovren from their footing. Reality itself seemed to hiccup.
Kael surged forward, leaping onto a twisting fragment of land. Ashreign ignited with a burst of cerulean flame, illuminating the dark canvas of the Vestige.
The Arkalith lunged.
Kael met it mid-air.
Sword and serpent collided in a cascade of light and shadow, shattering the floating fragments of terrain around them. The Arkalith's scales reflected memory, flashing images of Kael's past—his death, his rebirth, the betrayal that damned his kingdom.
It was trying to unmake him.
But Kael's grip held firm.
Ashreign, now whispering ancient battle chants through his fingers, drove into the beast's face. The blade didn't slice—it erased. Where it struck, the Arkalith's form tore open, leaking stardust and fractured time.
Dovren threw a dagger into one of the beast's blinking eyes. It popped like a bubble, and the Arkalith writhed.
"Now!" Dovren yelled.
Kael spun, drew the sword back, and plunged it into the Arkalith's core.
The realm screamed.
The Arkalith convulsed, then exploded into a storm of light and song, its death echoing across the Vestige in notes too ancient for words.
When the dust settled, Kael stood on a new platform—one shaped like a giant eye.
At the center, a floating sigil hovered—pulsing, ancient, and powerful.
Ashreign throbbed with heat.
"The First Seal," Kael said, voice hoarse. "It's here."
Behind him, the darkness stirred again.
Because in the Vestige... one trial always led to another.
The First Seal pulsed like a heartbeat suspended in midair. It radiated soft golden strands of ancient magic—calm now, though Kael knew peace in this place was only a breath before another storm.
He reached toward it. Ashreign remained unsheathed at his side, faintly humming as if wary of touching a power this old.
"Wait," Dovren said, stepping beside him. "We don't know what it will do."
Kael nodded, though his fingers did not hesitate. "We came here for this. Whatever it holds… I'll face it."
As his hand made contact, the Seal burst into a sphere of light. The world around them vanished.
The sky, the shattered land, the gravity-defying rivers—gone.
Kael floated in a dark expanse. Silence reigned.
Then, voices—a thousand whispers, overlapping, echoing through the veil of time. They spoke in ancient tongues, fragments of forgotten prophecies, curses, names long dead.
Ashreign glowed fiercely in Kael's grasp.
Suddenly, one voice emerged from the cacophony—clear, thunderous, female.
"Wielder of Ashreign… Child of Ruin… Why have you returned?"
Kael gritted his teeth. "To reclaim what was lost. To destroy the one who betrayed me. To finish what death interrupted."
The voice paused.
"Then remember what you were."
In a flash, images flooded his mind: a golden crown in his bloodstained hands… the burning capital… his queen falling from a balcony with an arrow in her chest… a masked man laughing from the shadows.
Kael fell to his knees. The memories were daggers.
"You don't have to relive it," came Dovren's voice from beside him.
But Kael rose again. "I must."
The Seal responded to his resolve. Light burst outward, forming a staircase of stars beneath his feet. Ahead, a vast stone door appeared—etched with symbols Kael recognized from the vaults of old Aetheran.
The First Seal faded into his chest, embedding itself as a mark over his heart.
A new voice whispered in his mind:
"One seal claimed. Six remain. Beware the Echoed King."
Kael's breath caught. The Echoed King—once only a legend, now a warning.
Dovren stepped forward. "What now?"
Kael turned toward the door. "Now… we find the second seal. Before the Echoed King finds us."
He pushed the door open.
A howling wind greeted them, and beyond it lay a frozen wasteland under a blood-red sky.
The next trial awaited.
The wind hit Kael like a wall of knives.
He staggered forward, the crimson sky swirling above like a boiling ocean of fire. The land stretched into a frozen desert—cracked ice, jagged rock, and rivers of blood locked beneath sheets of crystal. The air crackled with ancient tension. This place had not seen life in centuries.
Dovren pulled his cloak tighter. "This... isn't marked on any map."
Kael's eyes narrowed. "It's not meant to be."
They descended the stone stairway from the Seal's door, now frozen in place behind them. Each step echoed with the creaking groan of old magic and long-buried sorrow.
"Look," Kael said, pointing ahead.
A monolithic spire jutted from the ice like a black tooth—carved with runes that shimmered blue against the red sky. Circling it were shattered statues, all kneeling, all headless.
"Monuments to devotion," Dovren muttered. "Or submission."
Kael knelt by one statue, brushing snow from its base. An inscription gleamed beneath:
"Here knelt the guardians of truth, who chose silence over betrayal."
Kael stood. "Then we speak nothing while inside."
The spire called to him. Not with words, but with hunger.
Ashreign pulsed against his back.
Suddenly, the ground trembled.
A scream pierced the air—shrill, hollow, and inhuman.
The ice cracked, and something massive stirred beneath.
Kael's sword was in his hand before he knew it. "Something's watching."
The ice exploded as a colossal creature burst forth—half skeletal, half shadow, its eyes two burning orbs of despair. Chains clung to its limbs, dragging fragments of ruined thrones.
"The Watcher," Dovren whispered. "The one who punishes the unworthy."
Kael stepped forward, Ashreign glowing gold-white. "Then let's prove we are not."
The Watcher charged.
And Kael met it head-on.
Ashreign met the Watcher's claw with a thunderclap that shattered the ice beneath them.
Kael was flung back, skidding across frozen stone. The blade hummed in his grip, burning with celestial fire—but the Watcher did not flinch. Its skeletal jaw opened in a scream that bent the air, sending arcs of red lightning across the sky.
Dovren hurled a warding sigil toward Kael, the glyph igniting a barrier as the creature's second strike fell. The ground erupted. Ice splinters sliced through the air like razors.
"This isn't just a beast," Dovren shouted. "It's a remnant—a soul cursed to guard the last gate."
Kael's eyes locked with the Watcher's. He saw it now: not hatred, but sorrow. Chains weren't just for containment—they were a crown.
"This thing was a king once," Kael muttered.
The creature lunged again, but Kael ducked under its arm, driving Ashreign into the Watcher's ribs. A burst of radiant fire tore through its form, causing it to shriek and recoil. But its shadows surged, reknitting its body like smoke pulled back into flesh.
"It can't die by the blade alone!" Dovren yelled.
Kael recalled the statue's inscription—those who chose silence over betrayal. He understood.
"I have to offer more than strength," he said, dropping Ashreign into the ice. The sword dimmed.
Kael stepped forward, arms raised, exposed.
The Watcher halted.
"I see you," Kael said softly. "Not as a monster. But as one who protected what mattered most, even after death."
The Watcher's burning eyes dimmed. The chains around it loosened. Then, with a haunting sigh, the great beast knelt.
The spire's runes flared to life. A doorway appeared at its base, carved from obsidian and flame.
"You passed," Dovren whispered. "Without fighting."
Kael retrieved Ashreign. "Not every battle is won with a sword."
They walked toward the door. Behind them, the Watcher faded into mist.