North of Eldholt, beyond the frost-draped cliffs of Vaelstrom and past forests that whispered in tongues no longer spoken, there stood a monastery carved into the bones of a dead god.
Here, no names were spoken.
Only titles.
And she—barefoot and cloaked in ash—was called The Pale Vow.
---
She stood before seven elders, each seated atop frozen thrones made of silence. Their eyes, blindfolded. Their hands, red with ritual.
A voice broke the stillness.
> "What do you remember?"
She answered plainly, softly:
> "Nothing before the blade."
> "And what have you become?"
> "A weapon for the Silence."
The eldest among them stirred.
> "Then you are ready."
---
Meanwhile, in Eldholt, Kairo sat in the archives.
His mind buzzed.
Not with thoughts. Not with memories.
But with questions.
The Fifth seal had shaken him, but it also gave him a compass: Hallowmere, the ruin to the north. The place where the Sixth Seal waited.
But before he could depart, he needed answers—and someone who could help him chase them.
---
Enter: Professor Deyla Moraine.
Scholar of Mythlost History. Dismissed as eccentric. Dangerous to some.
Her room was half-library, half-magic storm. Books floated. Ink swam in glass globes.
She looked at Kairo over monocle lenses that shimmered with arcane heat.
> "You want to find Hallowmere?"
> "Yes."
> "Then you need to understand what it once was."
She flicked her hand, and a floating tome unfurled.
Pages turned, glowing with sigils and sorrow.
> "Hallowmere wasn't a ruin," she said. "It was a court. A place where those with broken oaths were judged."
> "And you believe my next seal lies there?"
> "No," she said. "I believe your past self sealed it there—to keep your worst memory hidden."
---
Back at the monastery, The Pale Vow was handed a blade.
It shimmered faintly. Almost hesitant to kill.
> "This belonged to him once," one elder said. "The False One. The Betrayer."
> "Samhael," she said, almost tasting the name.
> "You will return it. Into his heart."
---
Lyra approached Kairo later that night.
> "You're leaving soon," she said.
> "Yes. Hallowmere. Alone."
> "You won't come back the same."
> "I never do," he replied.
She didn't stop him.
But before he left, she whispered:
> "I don't know who you were, Kairo. But I know who you are now. That should count for something."
He nodded once, as if anchoring that sentence deep inside.
---
In a forgotten chamber, the masked cultist stood before a fractured mirror.
> "The Knife moves north," he said. "As foretold."
> "And the girl?" another asked.
> "She walks behind him. Silent. Swift."
> "Will she kill him?"
> "Not yet. First, she must see him. The man. The monster. The truth."
He grinned beneath the mask.
> "Only then will the wound be clean."