The Architect reeled not backward, but inward, its form fracturing slightly, as if Isolde’s words struck something real within it. No voice came this time. Just a vibration in the air, angry and ancient.Cael stepped up beside her, his breath ragged. “You just told me you remember being a god.”She didn’t turn. “I didn’t say I was one. I said they put one inside me.”The older Isolde limped toward them, her expression unreadable. “The child never consented. That’s the part the Fold never accounted for.”Isolde kept her gaze on the Architect. “Why me? Why choose me to hold something you were too afraid to face yourselves?”The Architect’s mask shifted, forming an expressionless mouth that did not move, and yet a voice spilled forth like oil and broken glass. “Because innocence has the strongest walls. And the most cracks.”That truth punched the air out of her lungs.“You needed something pure to seal something corrupt,” she murmured.Cael’s voice was hoarse. “So you poisoned her soul
The sky peeled apart like torn parchment, revealing not stars, not darkness, but eyes—rows of blinking, luminous eyes embedded in the firmament. They didn’t just see; they watched, studied, and measured. Judged.Isolde couldn’t move. Not out of fear, but something deeper—resonance. The sensation of being recognized by something so old it didn’t understand the concept of time.The older version of herself—this worn, battle-scarred woman standing before her—held Isolde’s gaze without flinching. “They see you now,” she said. “The real you. Not the mask you thought was your identity.”Cael took a step forward. “You keep speaking in riddles. What is she? What are they?”The older Isolde didn’t even look at him. “She is the echo. The memory the Fold wants returned.”“What does that mean?” Isolde asked, her voice shaking. “What am I?”The answer came not in words, but a sound-a—deep, thunderous hum that rolled from her bones outward. The trees leaned back. The wind stilled. And her younger s
The earth shuddered beneath their feet, not from tremors or tectonic shifts, but from something deeper, an unraveling of the boundary between what was and what should never be. Cracks split the horizon like veins pulsing with dark light, bleeding shades that had no name.Isolde tightened her grip on Cael’s hand. “Do you feel that?” she asked, her voice hoarse, the wind pulling at her coat like unseen hands.“I do,” he said, but his tone wasn’t confident. “It’s not just the world crumbling. It’s... waking up.”From above, the clouds churned unnaturally fast, spiraling around a point directly above the Watcher’s Citadel, the place they'd sworn never to return to. And yet here they were, drawn like threads back to the center of the curse.A shriek cut the air, not human, not animal, something worse. Cael looked toward the ridge.“They’re coming through,” he muttered. “Already.”The first of the wraithkind spilled through the fracture: spindly creatures, taller than men but thinner than s
The grass beneath Lena’s feet shimmered with dew, but the air was thick—not with mist, but with memory. As she and the entity walked in unison, the horizon shifted uneasily, bending with each step, as if the world itself were unsure how to reshape in response to her awakening.“You feel that?” Lena asked, narrowing her eyes at the horizon. “Something’s coming.”The entity—now fused with her like a mirrored shadow—nodded. “The breach is unstable. When you pulled me from the pit, it didn’t close. It opened wider.”Lena clenched her jaw. “We didn’t stop anything. We woke it up.”“No,” said a new voice behind her. “You woke them up.”Lena turned. A woman in a tattered gray coat stood there, her eyes ringed with deep circles, hair tangled like she'd just crawled out of a nightmare. She held a notebook clutched to her chest like a lifeline.“I know you,” Lena breathed. “You were at the threshold. You screamed my name.”The woman laughed bitterly. “I was trying to stop you. But you didn’t he
Darkness. Not the absence of light, but a void—a silence that pressed against the skin, the mind, the soul.Lena stood alone in this nothingness, her breath the only sound. The world around her was undefined, a canvas awaiting form. Then, a flicker—a sharp and sudden memory.She was six years old, hiding beneath the staircase of her childhood home. Thunder rumbled outside, and the walls trembled with the echoes of raised voices. Her parents, locked in another argument, their words weapons that left invisible scars."You're never here!" her mother screamed."I work to keep this family afloat!" her father retorted.Lena clutched her stuffed rabbit, tears streaming down her cheeks. She wished for silence, peace, and the storm to pass outside and within.The scene shifted.Now, she was ten, standing in front of her school's principal. Her teacher had found her drawings—dark, twisted images of creatures that didn't belong in a child's imagination."Is there something you'd like to talk abo
“Whatever that is,” I said quietly, “it’s not a memory. It’s not part of me.”Maxwell unsheathed his blade again. “Then it’s something worse.”Barin muttered, “We broke the seal too deep.”And from the rift... something stepped through.Not a shadow. Not a reflection. A being.Tall. Vaguely human, but wrong in its proportions. Its face was blank—no eyes, no mouth, just a smooth expanse of stretched skin and veins that pulsed with light. It looked at me, without looking, and knew me.“I think,” I whispered, “we just woke up the real enemy.”The words barely left my lips before the world shifted again. A hum, deep and resonant, vibrated through the air, through our bones. Barin grunted, dropping to one knee, clutching his staff like an anchor. Maxwell stood firm, jaw clenched, blade raised. Nima tried to rise but collapsed again, blood trickling from her nose.The creature no, the presence stepped forward, and the very fabric of reality recoiled. Grass shriveled beneath its feet. The sk
The light didn’t feel like light; it felt like time, memory, and pain crushed into radiance. My body felt like it was unraveling and reforming all at once. I hit something solid, air? A barrier? My knees buckled, but I caught myself. When I opened my eyes, everything was white. Endless, shifting white.And she was there. The other me.No longer a shadow. No longer a voice in my mind. She stood across from me, whole and real, dressed in a twisted version of my armor, darker, sleeker, with glowing cracks like magma splitting through iron. Her eyes were mine, but colder. Older. Tired in a terrifying way.She smiled, almost kindly. “Finally. Just us.”I took a slow step forward, trying to steady my breath. “This isn’t your world.”“It could be. You let me out,” she said, folding her arms. “You cracked the shell. You gave me your grief. Your rage. You didn’t lock me away, you fed me.”“You manipulated me,” I snapped.“I am you,” she said simply. “There was no manipulation. You wanted justi
The sky wasn’t just red. It was wounded.Streaks of crimson tore across the heavens like veins rupturing in the fabric of reality. The clouds above the citadel convulsed, and from their shifting mass, tendrils of golden fire lashed downward, striking the earth like judgment made manifest.We stood on the cliff’s edge. Maxwell was beside me, silent for once. Barin paced. Nima had her hands pressed against the earth, her magic probing, struggling to understand what had changed.“It’s not just the seal breaking,” she murmured, her eyes wide with a fear I hadn’t seen before. “Something... ancient is waking up beneath us.”“Not beneath,” I corrected, slowly. “Within.”Maxwell shot me a glance. “You’re not making sense.”“No, she is,” Barin cut in. “This entire time, the seals weren’t just containing something external. They were... anchoring her. Lena, you—” he hesitated, swallowed. “You’re the vessel.”For a moment, no one spoke.I forced myself to breathe. My fingers trembled. “I saw it.
Words in a language none of us had ever spoken but all understood.“Come home, Gatekeeper.”I stepped into the dark. And it welcomed me.Not with warmth but with recognition. The shadows curled around my boots, not pulling me down, but carrying me forward, a quiet reverence in their movement. It wasn’t a fall. It was a descent controlled, precise. As if this place had been expecting me all along.The world above vanished in an instant.No light, no sound. Just pressure. Like the air here had weight. Like memories were embedded in it. I felt them—fragments of thought, of pain, of sacrifice—all whispering around me like a thousand voices buried beneath layers of time. None loud enough to understand, but all too present to ignore.And then, just ahead, I saw it.A gate—not made of stone or metal, but pure energy. It pulsed like a living thing, veins of crimson and gold coursing across its surface. It wasn’t shut. It wasn’t open. It waited.“Gatekeeper,” a voice echoed, not around me, but