The Soul Gate closed behind them with nothing more than a whisper of wind, as if it had never been open. Before them stretched the outskirts of Alsira—once the gleaming heart of the world, now dulled beneath a sky that had forgotten how to shine.
The capital's outer district was no longer what it had been.
Where once stood spires of polished stone veined with soullight, now mist clung to crumbled walkways. Craters pitted the roads. The air shimmered with unstable magic. Soul-crystals hummed faintly—overcharged, cracked, and dangerous. Statues of heroes were broken, their faces lost in the dust.
Emilia stepped forward slowly. "This place was supposed to be... safe."
Asher scanned the horizon, hand resting on his blade. "It was."
Elira drifted beside him, her glow fainter than ever. "Something's gnawing at the ley lines. Twisting them."
High above, Alsira's central tower loomed, bent from the base, as though the city's very foundation had turned against itself. Its once-straight spire now arched inward, curving unnaturally like a dying tree. Black mist curled upward from its peak—slow, steady, toxic.
They were not alone.
It began with whispers.
Only Emilia heard them at first—fragments of voices she didn't recognize, calling her by names that weren't hers. Then the fog thickened. Shadows formed.
Liaen drew his spear. "We're surrounded."
Figures emerged—dozens, maybe hundreds. Hollow-eyed. Their skin scarred by soul-burns, mouths sewn shut with shimmering thread. Former citizens, not enemies—victims.
"They're cursed," Elira said softly. "Bound by soul-thread. Not monsters. Slaves."
Asher's face hardened. "The Cult's already here."
A low, bitter laugh echoed through the ruined streets.
A woman stepped forward from the crowd—tall, cloaked in layered silks of shadow, her face hidden behind a half-mask carved with jagged runes.
"Welcome to the new capital," she said. "I was hoping you'd make it this far."
Elira recoiled. "That voice..."
Asher raised his blade. "Who are you?"
The woman tilted her head. "A humble servant of the Shattered Name. But once... I was called Lysara Vey."
Emilia froze.
"Lysara… That was my mother's friend. She died defending our village."
"Correction," Lysara said, lifting her mask just enough to reveal glowing violet eyes. "I was reborn protecting it."
The fog turned violent.
Tendrils of soul-thread lashed from Lysara's robes, slamming into the ground and splitting it open. From the cracks crawled monstrosities—once human, now fused with soul-metal and agony.
"Run!" Asher barked—but the beasts were already moving.
Liaen struck first, flame wreathing his spear as he drove it through a shrieking creature. Elira summoned a radiant ward, shielding Emilia. The girl raised her staff, hands trembling.
"You have power," Lysara said, her voice echoing through the mist. "And we'll carve it from you—inch by inch."
Emilia screamed—her pendant bursting with sudden light.
A ring of fire-bright energy blasted outward, tearing through soul-thread like parchment. For a heartbeat, the fog cleared. And Emilia saw something inside Lysara:
A second soul.
Trapped. Fragmented. Crying.
"She's not whole," Emilia whispered. "She's being controlled."
Asher narrowed his eyes. "Then we cut out the part that isn't her."
The battle tore through Alsira's broken streets.
Asher moved like lightning, each blow precise and devastating. Liaen fought with grim intensity, his strikes fueled by fury and instinct. Elira, half-ghost and full force, seared through the cursed with light sharper than steel.
And Emilia changed.
There was no hesitation in her now. Her staff was not a crutch—it was an extension. Her shields held. Her soulfire burned. She lifted fallen allies, countered each surge, pushed the tide back.
Lysara fought with the strength of a legend. But with each moment, cracks formed. Her power wavered. Her true self blinked through the mask.
"You don't have to do this!" Emilia shouted. "Fight it!"
For a moment—just a breath—Lysara paused.
Then the violet flame roared. Her body twisted. The control surged again.
But Emilia was already chanting.
An ancient soul-bind, whispered through memory. A fragment passed from her sister. Strength drawn from Elira's pain—and her love.
Light surged from Emilia's chest.
The beasts crumbled to dust.
And Lysara collapsed.
When the dust cleared, Lysara knelt among the rubble. Her mask lay broken beside her, and her eyes—human now—were filled with tears.
"I tried to protect her…" she whispered. "Your mother… I failed…"
Emilia knelt at her side, gently holding her hand.
"You didn't fail."
That night, they found shelter in the ruins of the Inner Guard sanctum.
Elira sat beside Asher, almost transparent now.
"She's close," she said quietly. "The Phoenix Line will awaken."
Asher nodded. "The Cult knows. They'll come."
Across the room, Emilia sat by a shattered window, staring at the twisted spire of Alsira's tower.
The final path lay ahead.
And at its summit…
waited the Cult of the Shattered Name.