The gateway swallowed me whole.
One moment I stood in the grand hall of the Council. The next, I was falling through a tunnel of shadow and fractured light, the world around me cracking and splintering like glass under a giant's fist.
Then, with a violent lurch, I landed.
The air here was sharp, filled with the scent of burning stone and old blood. A red sun, broken and flickering like a dying heart, hung low in a sky that bled darkness. The ground was a wasteland of shattered ruins, where the bones of fallen titans rose like monuments to a forgotten age.
At the center of it all, half-buried beneath rubble and twisted metal, stood the First Pillar.
Or what remained of it.
Once, it must have towered into the heavens, a perfect obelisk of pure light and order. Now, it was cracked and leaning, its surface crawling with black veins that pulsed with sickly energy.
The Harrowers were here.
I could feel their presence in the tremor of the ground, in the hiss of the corrupted wind. They were not hiding. They were waiting.
I drew the relic-sword.
The blade flared to life, casting a pale blue glow that pushed back the encroaching gloom. As if in response, the shadows around the ruined pillar shifted and moved.
Creatures emerged.
They were unlike anything I had ever seen. Twisted forms, part beast and part nightmare, their bodies stitched together from sinew, bone, and dark energy. Their eyes burned with cold hatred. Dozens of them, maybe more, slithered, crawled, and stalked forward, surrounding me in a tightening circle.
At their center stood something larger.
A Harrower Lord.
It was massive, towering three times my height, its body a writhing mass of tendrils and jagged armor. A gaping maw split its chest, filled with rows of gnashing teeth. From its back sprouted wings made of shadow and broken chains, dragging against the ground with a metallic screech.
The Lord spoke, its voice a low rumble that shook the stones beneath my feet.
"You are late, little Warden. This pillar is already ours."
I raised the relic-sword, channeling my will into the blade. Runes flared along its length, ancient words of power spoken by those who came before me.
"I am the last," I said. "And I will not fall."
The Harrowers howled and charged.
The battle began.
The first wave came fast. Smaller beasts hurled themselves at me, claws flashing and mouths snapping. I moved through them like a blade through silk, the relic-sword humming in my grip. Each swing released arcs of light that seared through flesh and shadow alike.
They fell, but more took their place.
The ground became slick with black ichor. The air grew thick with the stench of burning corruption.
The relic-sword responded to my will, shifting its form with each strike. One moment it was a longsword, the next a spear, then a hammer of light that crushed the abominations into the dust.
Still, it was not enough.
The Harrower Lord watched from the base of the broken pillar, unmoving. Its eyes, if it had any, bore into me with a hunger that chilled my soul.
I knew its game.
Wear me down.
Batter me with endless waves.
Strike when I was broken.
I had to end this quickly.
Summoning the power newly etched into my veins, I unleashed a burst of energy. The ground exploded outward, throwing the lesser Harrowers back in a wave of force. Their broken bodies rained down like hail.
I charged toward the Lord.
It reacted with surprising speed, its tendrils lashing out to meet me. The first struck the ground beside me, shattering stone. I dodged the second and severed the third with a sweeping cut.
The Lord roared, the sound tearing at the very air.
It lunged forward, swinging one massive claw.
I met it head-on.
The impact rattled my bones, sending me skidding backward across the ruined ground. Pain flared in my arm where I had blocked the blow, but I gritted my teeth and pushed forward.
This was the true test.
Not strength alone, but will.
I fought with everything I had, driving the relic-sword deep into the beast's armored hide. Black ichor sprayed from the wound, sizzling where it touched the ground. The Lord bellowed in rage and struck again, faster this time, its movements a blur of shadow and metal.
Each blow tested the limits of my endurance.
Each breath became a battle.
But slowly, steadily, I pressed the advantage.
The relic-sword grew brighter with every strike, feeding on the corrupted energy around me, purifying it, transforming it into strength.
At last, I saw an opening.
The Lord reared back to unleash a final devastating blow. In that heartbeat of exposed weakness, I hurled myself forward, driving the relic-sword through its heart — or where its heart should have been.
The Harrower Lord shrieked.
Its body convulsed, shadow and flesh tearing apart. Light burst from the wound, blinding and pure, as the creature collapsed inward on itself and vanished with a thunderous crack.
Silence fell over the battlefield.
The surviving Harrowers fled, melting into the ruins like smoke.
I stood alone, battered and bloodied, before the broken pillar.
Slowly, cautiously, I approached.
The black veins infesting its surface writhed as if aware of my presence. I placed my hand against the cold stone and poured the light of the relic-sword into it.
The pillar resisted at first, fighting me with all the malevolence of a wounded beast.
But I did not yield.
I pushed harder, drawing on every memory, every shred of determination, every oath I had ever made.
The blackness cracked and peeled away.
The pillar shuddered.
With a sound like a thousand bells ringing at once, it straightened, the fractures knitting themselves together. Light poured from its core, driving the darkness back into the void.
The First Pillar was restored.
I fell to my knees, exhausted beyond words.
Above me, the broken red sun flared once, then steadied, its dying light rekindled for a while longer.
In the distance, I heard the sound of another gateway opening.
The Council was calling me back.
The first battle was over.
But it was only the beginning.