Glass
Duncan reached the Sea of Glass at twilight.
It was nothing like the maps had promised.
Where cartographers once marked a dry salt basin—smooth, cracked, and bleached by centuries of sun—now stretched a field of jagged crystal. Tall spikes of translucent obsidian jutted from the earth in every direction, shimmering with an otherworldly sheen. They reflected the light of the Breach above, catching its spiraling hues and scattering them into dancing specters across the glass.
The horses refused to enter.
Even his mount, hardened by fire and storm, reared back with a terrified snort. Duncan dismounted and gave the beast a soft pat on the neck, then released it with a whisper.
"Go west. Find shelter. If I don't return…"
He didn't finish the thought.
Turning toward the crystalline waste, he stepped onto the first shard.
It sang beneath his boots.
The Whispering Field
Each step echoed like a bell.
The spikes around him thrummed with sound—not quite music, but not dissonant either. More like memory given tone. With each stride, Duncan heard faint fragments of conversation drifting from the crystal around him.
"Hold the line! They're breaching the north gate!"
"My son… tell him I was brave—"
"Fire the sky-lance! For the Dominion!"
They weren't just echoes.
They were the voices of the dead—soldiers, officers, beastmasters, engineers. Everyone who had died when the Fourth Gate was sealed beneath this place.
The Sea of Glass was a graveyard.
But not of bodies.
Of moments.
The Guardian's Warning
At the center of the basin stood a monolith—smooth, circular, and ancient. It resembled the inner chambers Duncan had seen in the Third Gate ruins, but this one was different. Unsealed. Alive.
He reached it after hours of silent walking, the sky overhead thick with spiraling light.
As he approached, the monolith pulsed.
A presence emerged from the far side—a massive figure, easily twelve feet tall, cloaked in woven bark and bone. Antlers curled from its head like a crown, and its eyes glowed the same hue as the glass.
It was not a beast.
Nor a man.
But something in between.
It raised a massive spear carved from a single tusk and spoke without moving its mouth.
"Turn back, Flamebearer."
Duncan tightened his grip on the Emberblade. "You know who I am?"
"I know what you carry."
It stepped forward, and the crystal beneath them pulsed as if recognizing its master.
"I am the Warder of the Fourth Gate. I was forged when the Dominion shattered the pact. I have killed every bearer who came before you."
Duncan nodded slowly. "Then we end this the same way."
Flame Against the Warder
The Warder moved like a landslide.
Its spear swept the air with devastating force, carving arcs of light that tore chunks from the crystal field. Duncan ducked, rolled, and countered with the Emberblade, flames erupting from the edge with every swing.
Their first clash created a sonic boom that shattered a dozen glass pillars.
But this was no Hollowfang brute. No corrupted beast.
The Warder fought with discipline. Strategy. Memory.
It anticipated his moves. Read his stance. Matched fire with precision.
"You are not ready," the Warder said, slamming Duncan to the ground with a blow to the ribs. "You do not even know what the Gate contains."
Duncan coughed blood and rose, blade flickering.
"I don't need to know. I only need to stop it."
Breaking the Song
As they fought, the crystal beneath them changed.
It began to crack—not from their battle, but from the Breach. Every blow resonated with the sky. Every movement fed the unraveling of the seal.
Then Duncan heard something new.
A lullaby.
Not sung by the Warder, but by the field itself.
The glass was remembering a moment—the last lullaby sung before the gate was locked. A mother's voice. A dying child. A promise of peace.
Duncan faltered.
The Warder struck.
But the Emberblade flared brighter than ever before, responding to the melody. Not as a weapon—but as a torchlight through forgotten history.
And for the first time, the Warder hesitated.
"You… remember."
Duncan rose, his eyes burning gold.
"I do."
And he drove the blade into the Warder's chest.
The Gate Awakens
The Guardian knelt, impaled, yet smiling.
"I see now. You are not here to destroy the seal. You are here to understand it."
With his last breath, he placed a hand on the monolith.
The gate cracked open with a soft, hollow chime.
The light that poured from within was not blinding—but warm. Like a hearth long extinguished, relit by someone who finally remembered where the matches were kept.
Duncan stepped forward.
Within the monolith, beyond the seal, stood a spiral staircase of flame and shadow, leading deep into the world's forgotten core.
The final gate had opened.
And something ancient stirred far, far below.