Chapter 164: The Gate Opens with Blood

The winds changed before the first sword was drawn.

From her perch at the edge of the Spire, Serena felt it—a shiver in the fabric of the world. It wasn’t natural wind that moved through the valley. It was laced with the Gate’s breath, a surge of magic that bent time and space with every pulse.

“It’s starting,” she murmured.

Beside her, Elias tightened his grip on his sword. He didn’t need to ask what she meant. They both felt it.

Below, the valley churned with approaching shadows.

“They’re coming,” Kael shouted from the northern wall. “Ten—no, twenty in the front, and more behind.”

Mira climbed up beside Serena, her cloak already soaked with sweat and blood. “It’s not just a raid. This is an offensive.”

“They waited until nightfall for surprise,” Caine said, emerging from the shadows. His silver-flecked eyes glowed. “But something’s wrong. This energy—it’s muted. Controlled.”

“It’s him,” Serena replied. “Darian is holding it back on purpose. He wants us to know he can unleash hell but chooses not to. Not yet.”

Beyond the outer perimeter, the Gate glowed like a jagged moon, its surface rippling with unnatural light. Black-armored soldiers marched in disciplined rows. No shouting. No horns. Just the cold sound of boots against stone.

“They’re too quiet,” Mira said.

Serena nodded. “Because they’re not here to fight yet. They’re here to send a message.”

She stepped forward and raised her hand. The sigils carved into the Spire’s floor ignited in waves of blue and gold. The protective wards shimmered, casting a dome of light over the entire plateau.

As the soldiers approached, the first line crossed the threshold—

And burst into flames.

The ward’s fire roared up in a perfect circle, cutting through the front line with surgical precision. Soldiers screamed, bodies disintegrating into ash before they hit the ground.

Kael grinned. “Witch fire. Still works.”

“Don’t get cocky,” Mira warned. “That was the opening act. They’ll adapt.”

And they did.

Seconds later, the next wave marched forward—not human anymore. Their forms shimmered, flickered, twisted. Shadows in armor. Magic-fed monsters with no faces beneath their helms.

Lyra stood at the eastern flank, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. She hadn't drawn it yet. Not since returning.

She watched Darian’s soldiers approach the line—fast, precise, and merciless.

She glanced toward Serena in the center of the Spire.

“You’d better be worth it,” she whispered.

The second wave hit like a hammer.

Steel clanged against enchanted wards. Mira launched burst after burst of concussive magic into the crowd. Kael and Caine flanked the south, blades slicing through corrupted armor.

Elias fought beside Serena—his strikes fluid and brutal. But she was the storm’s center.

Serena moved like the flame itself, her magic pulsing in time with the Spire’s energy. Her hair whipped around her face, her arms glowing with threads of golden fire. She summoned a wall of flame that curved around her allies, shielding them and striking forward in alternating bursts.

But the more she gave, the more the Gate demanded.

Her mark glowed so bright it burned through her sleeve. Her veins felt like they’d been set alight. But she didn’t stop.

Not when Elias stumbled.

Not when Caine fell to his knees with a gasp.

Not even when she saw the Gate ripple again—and Darian finally stepped through.

He wore no armor.

Just dark robes, flowing and silent, and a silver circlet across his brow.

The chaos of the battlefield stilled as he passed.

He moved like royalty—untouched, unharmed, unchallenged.

Serena froze, chest rising and falling in labored breaths.

Elias took a step toward her. “He’s coming.”

“I know.”

“Let me—”

“No.” She turned her gaze to Darian. “He’s here for me.”

Darian stopped just beyond the final ring of fire. His hands were at his sides, empty.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t have to.

The Gate behind him pulsed—its light dimming slightly.

And suddenly, the battlefield froze.

Literally.

Time stopped.

A soldier mid-swing. A fireball mid-arc. Caine mid-turn.

Only Serena, Elias, and Darian moved freely.

“What did you do?” Elias whispered.

Darian’s voice was calm. “I borrowed time.”

He turned his eyes to Serena. “You’ve held back.”

“I’m still standing,” she replied. “That should tell you everything.”

He smiled.

But it wasn’t mocking.

It was… admiring.

“You’ve grown. The Spire chose well. But that doesn’t mean you’re ready.”

“I don’t need your validation.”

“No. You need to understand what’s coming.”

He raised a hand—and Serena flinched as the Gate behind him pulsed.

Not outward—but inward.

Into her.

A vision tore through her mind.

The Spire, shattered. Elias, dying. Caine screaming. Lyra kneeling before Darian.

And at the center—Serena, on the throne.

Alone.

Crowned in fire.

Weeping.

She gasped, staggering.

Elias caught her. “What did he show you?”

“An ending,” she breathed. “But not the truth.”

She looked up, eyes blazing.

“You can twist fate, Darian. But you can’t rewrite me.”

The moment broke.

Time resumed.

The battlefield roared to life.

Darian turned without a word, stepping backward toward the Gate.

But his voice carried.

“If you wish to end this, Serena… meet me in the Realm Between. Let the Gate choose.”

Then he vanished into the light.

Silence followed.

Only the wounded groaned.

Only the dying bled.

Serena looked at her people. At Elias. At Lyra, who had stepped forward finally, blood on her blade, head held high.

She turned to the Spire’s flame again.

She no longer trembled.

Because the next step wasn’t about surviving.

It was about claiming her place.

And if she had to walk into the Gate to do it—

So be it.