The ruins of Vareth trembled like a dying beast.
From the hollow corridors and shattered halls came a low hum — a vibration that resonated in Kael's bones, older than any word he knew. The blood around his boots rippled outward, forming concentric rings that pulsed to the rhythm of the earth's breath. The crimson pool stretched, connected with another, and another, until the ground became a mirror of red, reflecting the broken moon above.
And then came the eyes.
One pair. Then many.
Golden, luminous, patient. Watching. Waiting.
Each one opened like a wound in the dark, their glow cutting through the fog. They hung in the air — some close enough that Kael could see the faint texture of what lay behind them: not flesh, not light, but memory. The remnants of something divine.
Kael tightened his grip on his sword, the rune along its spine flickering faintly in response. His breath formed clouds in the cold air.
"What are you?" he whispered.
A voice — many voices at once — answered from the void.
"We are what remains when faith dies."
The sound wasn't heard, but felt. It shuddered through the marrow of his bones, through the mark in his palm, through the flame still dormant in his blood.
He staggered. The world tilted. Images flooded his mind — temples of gold collapsing into dust, oceans of fire consuming the sky, and behind it all, a single figure of light falling to its knees.
"You were made in our image," the voices said.
"And then you killed us to take our place."
Kael clenched his jaw. "Lies."
"Truth," the chorus hissed. "You are the last spark of what destroyed us — the god who wished to be human."
The air grew heavy. Kael dropped to one knee, his sword digging into the stone. The brand on his hand seared anew, a burning sigil that pulsed in rhythm with the eyes before him. He remembered fire, screams, the scent of iron and sanctity.
He had called upon the Flame once — not as a servant, but as an equal.
And it had answered.
"You think yourself damned," the voice murmured, now singular, almost human.
"But damnation was the price you chose. The moment you asked for power, you carved your place among us."
Kael's breath came shallow. He forced himself upright, his gray eyes reflecting the gold of the unseen beings.
"If I am what remains," he said, voice low, trembling with restrained fury, "then you are the echoes of your own failure."
The light wavered. The blood rippled again. The eyes blinked — all at once — and when they opened, the ruins around him were gone.
He stood in a hall of stone and flame, ancient beyond comprehension. Pillars of obsidian reached toward a ceiling made of shifting constellations. The air itself hummed with creation's residue.
Seren stood at the center, her silver veil gone. Her face was both beautiful and terrible — half of it human, the other carved from something like molten glass, with veins of gold pulsing beneath her skin.
"You weren't supposed to see this," she said softly.
"Not yet."
Kael stepped forward, blade lowered but ready. "Tell me the truth."
She hesitated. The golden veins on her face brightened as if responding to unseen heat.
"When the gods fell, not all died. Some hid — inside mortals, inside flesh. You are one of them, Kael. A vessel built to contain the last spark of the divine flame. But the vessel burned… and what remained became you."
Kael's heart thundered. The mark on his palm blazed, and for an instant, he saw it: the same pattern carved into the stars above.
"Then what are you?" he asked.
Seren smiled faintly, sorrow touching her features.
"I am what's left of the veil that kept their world from ours. I was created to guard the door — and now, it's breaking."
As she spoke, the pillars around them cracked. Flames spilled from their cores like veins splitting open. The ceiling rippled with celestial fire, and the ground began to sink into the darkness.
"They're waking," Seren whispered.
"And when they rise, this world will burn again."
Kael stared into her eyes. "Then I'll burn with it — but on my own terms."
The light erupted — blinding, pure, terrible. Kael raised his sword, and the rune on its blade ignited fully for the first time, consuming the shadow around him.
The golden eyes screamed — not in rage, but in grief.
The ruins returned, blackened and still.
Seren was gone. Only the blood remained, steaming gently beneath the moon.
And in its center, the rose still floated — but now its petals glowed faintly, each one etched with a fragment of light.
Kael knelt beside it, the exhaustion in his body vast and ancient. He touched the rose — and for a moment, he felt warmth.
A heartbeat. Not his own.
Then the wind rose, carrying with it the whisper of unseen wings. The night grew silent once more.
Kael stood, staring into the horizon — where dawn was trying, and failing, to break through the ash.
He sheathed his sword and whispered to the empty world:
"If the gods are waking… let them find me waiting."