The door was still breathing.
Nael stood before it, heart pounding like war drums inside his ribs. The black slab that had burst from the ruins pulsed with silent rhythm — no hinges, no seams, just the faint beat of something ancient locked away.
His hands still burned.
The runes etched into his skin hadn't faded. They pulsed in sync with the gate. The mark at its center — a perfect circle etched in silver fire — shimmered, waiting.
He didn't know why he reached forward.
Maybe it was instinct. Maybe madness. Maybe the echo of a voice that was no longer there.
But as his palm met the gate, the world shifted again.
The stone melted. Not crumbled — melted, like wax under invisible flame. The air turned thick, heavy, tasting of metal and dust. The grave behind him disappeared, swallowed by fog. Only the path forward remained.
He stepped through.
The passage was narrow. Rough walls carved by hands not human — smooth in some places, clawed in others. Glyphs glowed faintly on the ceiling like dying stars. The deeper he went, the quieter everything became, until not even the sound of his breath dared disturb the silence.
And then—
He saw her.
A woman, floating.
Suspended mid-air above a black altar, arms crossed over her chest. Hair like strands of ink fanned around her. Skin pale as moonstone. Wrapped in silver and shadow, her body gave off no heat, no life — and yet, she wasn't dead.
Not fully.
Chains of light and shadow wrapped around her wrists, ankles, and throat — sealing runes forged in languages he could not read. Her eyes were closed, but Nael could feel something beneath her skin — a pressure, like the weight of unspoken judgment.
"Who is she?" he whispered.
And as if the walls had been waiting for the question, they answered — not in words, but in memories.
Nael collapsed to his knees.
Visions struck like lightning:
— A battlefield of clouds, blood dripping from stars.
— A sword breaking against her spine.
— Her voice echoing through fire: "I will not kneel."
— Twelve thrones crumbling as she stood alone, bound not by defeat… but by choice.
The woman had not been killed.
She had been sealed — by gods too afraid to end her, and too broken to forgive her.
She was one of them.
A god.
A forgotten one.
Nael staggered to his feet.
The air around her pulsed like the gate — and his runes answered, glowing brighter now, reacting to her presence.
The charm from the girl's body — the one he had buried — was clutched in her hand.
He didn't remember placing it there.
But somehow, she had called for it.
He stepped closer.
The runes around her chains flickered, one by one, and began to break.
Nael's eyes widened.
"Wait — I didn't mean—!"
But the chamber no longer cared what he meant.
The seal had already been undone.
The chains shattered like brittle glass — but there was no sound.
Only stillness.
The moment they broke, the air stopped moving. Even the light froze. The flickering glyphs along the walls turned into static symbols, unblinking. Time itself seemed to hesitate, as if the world needed a breath before what came next.
And then—
She opened her eyes.
Not fully — just a sliver. But that was enough.
Nael's legs gave out. He fell back, breath ripped from his lungs, as if the very act of being seen had turned his existence into something too small. Her gaze wasn't cruel or angry — it was infinite, as if he stood before the sky itself and the sky had noticed him.
She didn't blink.
She just watched.
"You are not the one who sealed me," she said, her voice a whisper that echoed like thunder.
"And yet… I know you."
Her words didn't pass through air. They bypassed ears. They echoed directly in his bones, each syllable like a bell rung in his marrow.
Nael tried to speak. Nothing came out.
She lowered to the ground without touching it — gravity too timid to pull her. The silver bindings fell away, dissolving into nothing. Her bare feet touched the floor, and the runes on the walls vanished.
"Your hands," she said softly.
"Let me see them."
Nael raised them, slowly, unwillingly.
The glowing runes on his skin blazed like fire in the dark.
She took his wrists — gently, almost reverently — and examined them.
"They chose you," she whispered. "After all this time… the Gravekeeper lives again."
Nael flinched.
"I don't know what that means," he breathed.
Her head tilted slightly, her expression unreadable.
"You buried a light. A dying god. She was the last spark."
"And in doing so, you woke the storm."
The chamber trembled — not from her, but from something far above. Dust rained from the ceiling. A tremor passed through the stone, followed by a distant roar.
Nael looked up.
"What was that?"
The woman turned toward the darkened tunnel behind him, eyes narrowing.
"The others," she said.
"They felt the seal break. And they remember me."
"Others?" Nael asked.
"The ones who betrayed the sky. The broken gods. The eaters of faith."
"They are waking too."
She looked at him — really looked.
"You should have stayed ignorant," she said.
"The dead should not remember."
Nael's voice was barely a whisper.
"Then why did you call me?"
For the first time… she hesitated.
And then, softly:
"Because I am afraid."
The roar came again — closer this time.
But it wasn't just sound. It was a presence. Like a crack tearing through reality itself. The temperature dropped. The torches along the walls, though long extinguished, began to hiss with unseen fire.
Nael turned to the woman.
"What's coming?"
She didn't answer.
She didn't need to.
Something stepped into the chamber.
It was not a man.
Not anymore.
Its body was draped in remnants of priestly robes, soaked in ash and stitched with bones. Its face had long since forgotten what flesh looked like — a smooth mask of obsidian, mouth sealed shut by golden wire. Where eyes should have been, there were only pits of smoke. It didn't walk. It glided.
Nael took a step back.
His legs trembled.
The woman… didn't move.
"A Vessel," she said quietly. "The first of many. A servant of the old gods… or what's left of them."
The thing raised a hand — and the very air split.
A rift of void energy slashed toward them.
Nael threw his arms up—
—But the attack never reached him.
The woman raised a single finger.
A pulse of light, soft and pale, radiated outward in a perfect circle. The energy from the Vessel struck it… and disintegrated like mist in morning sun.
Her voice, when it came, was barely audible.
"You dare wake before me?"
The Vessel twitched.
Cracks formed along its arms — glowing lines of divine energy trying to hold it together.
It began to scream without sound.
And then it exploded.
When the dust cleared, nothing remained.
No bones. No mask. Not even a scorch mark on the floor.
Nael stared.
"You killed it."
"No," she said, stepping forward. "I reminded it of what it once was."
She looked over her shoulder at him, eyes faintly glowing now — gold and violet swirling like galaxies.
"They forgot the stars. I am here to remind them."
Nael swallowed hard.
His voice was dry.
"Who… are you?"
She turned fully to him. The chamber behind her seemed to deepen, shadows lengthening, like the world itself bent around her form.
"Once, I had many names. Some called me the Starborn. Others, the First Flame. The traitor. The exile. The shield that defied the sky."
"But names," she said softly, "are graves we bury ourselves in."
She stepped toward him.
"You may call me what you wish."
Nael stared at her, heart still beating fast.
"You don't have one?"
A pause.
"Not anymore."
The silence between them stretched, broken only by the distant groan of the earth above.
Nael clenched his fists.
His hands still glowed.
"Then I'll give you one," he said.
"If I'm the Gravekeeper… then I'll name you as I bury the past."
She tilted her head, almost smiling.
"Go on, then."
He didn't know why this moment mattered so much.
But it did.
He looked into her eyes.
"Elaria," he said.
"From now on, you're Elaria."
The chamber pulsed, as if the world had acknowledged it.
And the woman who had no name… finally closed her eyes.
"Then rise, Nael. For death walks, and the gods are watching."