The gate was not a door, but a wound.
Rising from the earth like broken ribs, the Gate of Bone stretched into the clouds—tall pillars made of ancient vertebrae and ivory, covered in runes that pulsed like beating hearts. Between them was nothing but darkness, thick and swirling like ink in water.
Kael stepped closer. "This... this is wrong."
"It's the border of the real and the remembered," Corva murmured.
Briar approached the gate. Her mark burned bright. The shadows recoiled from her presence, but they didn't vanish.
"We can't go through," Kael warned.
"We don't have to," Briar said. "We open it just enough to see."
She placed both hands on the bone columns. Her breath caught.
Visions exploded—Kael, broken on the ground; Corva burning; her own face hollowed by sorrow.
Then... the Ash King.
He stood beyond the veil, eyes locked on hers, hands reaching through. He smiled.
She pulled back.
"He's close," she said, gasping. "He's waiting for me."
"Then we bring the gate down," Corva said.
"We can't destroy it," Briar whispered. "But we can guard it."
Kael drew his sword. "Then we stand."
And in that moment, the wind began to scream.