The moment Kieran's hand closed around the third fragment, a ripple spread through the air like the chime of a deep, ancient bell. His breath caught. Unlike the others, this shard spoke.
Not in words.
But in emotion—rage, sorrow, resilience. It pulsed with the weight of a warrior who had refused to die quietly. A memory sealed within power.
Kieran staggered back, his palm burned with a crimson mark. The Eye in his vision spiraled, reacting. Then came the voice—not from outside, but within.
"This dagger was never meant to conquer… but to end what should never be born."
The chamber around him shifted. Shadows coiled, rising like mist until Kieran found himself standing atop a battlefield that was not truly there. Illusion and memory bled together. Broken stars burned above. Armies made of ash clashed below. And at the heart of it all—a figure with long black hair and glowing red eyes outlined in black.
Sylas.
But not clearly. His face remained obscured by strands of hair and darkness. Even here, the world would not allow Kieran to truly see him.
The figure raised a hand—and the dagger, now whole, answered. It didn't shine like a hero's blade. It didn't shimmer like hope. It devoured.
One swing of the dagger split the sky, and the battlefield became still.
Then the vision faded.
Kieran gasped, falling to one knee. The fragment had embedded itself into his being—not physically, but spiritually. He could feel the dagger forming… piece by piece.
And now—he understood.
This weapon wasn't a prize. It was a burden. Its awakening depended not on power, but on will. On resolve. On sacrifice.
"To awaken the dagger… is to declare war against the order of fate."
Kieran stood, steadier now. The third shard had expanded his awareness. His control over the Eye sharpened. With it, he could sense nearby distortions in shadow. He could even will small fragments of time to slow—a glimpse of an ability he didn't yet fully grasp.
He walked out of the temple as the sun set behind the mountains. In his chest, the shard pulsed.
And far away, in a cold marble hall beneath stars that didn't belong to any known sky, the Scales of Balance convened.
A woman in violet robes stirred her tea. "The dagger awakens."
Another, cloaked in feathers and gold, answered, "Then let us find the one who failed to stop him."