The forest thinned as they traveled east, the spiral-barked trees giving way to flatter ground and low, rolling stone. By midday, the light had changed again—less warped, steadier—but Arel could still feel the world listening, attentive in a way that made his skin prickle.
Every step pulled at him.
Not forward or backward, but inward.
He pressed his hand against his chest, breathing slowly. The pull eased, settling into a dull ache.
Seris noticed. She always did.
"It's the Second Gate," she said quietly as they walked. "It's learning your rhythm."
Arel frowned. "That sounds… personal."
"It is," she replied. "Gates don't just respond to power. They respond to pattern. Choice. Intent."
He shook his head. "Then why Kael? Why listen to him at all?"
Seris's expression hardened. "Because he speaks to their hunger."
They crested a rise, and the land ahead opened into a wide basin. At its center stood a structure unlike anything Arel had seen—half buried, half broken, its walls carved directly into the stone beneath it. Massive arches curved inward, their surfaces etched with symbols that glowed faintly even in daylight.
The sanctuary.
Arel stopped walking.
Even from a distance, he felt it—layers of old promises, broken vows, power pressed into stillness. The air around the place was heavy, but not hostile. Watchful.
"This is it," Seris said. "The last neutral ground."
"Neutral?" Arel asked. "Between who?"
She gave him a sideways look. "Between those who sealed the gates… and those who refused."
As they approached, Arel's mark warmed—not burning, not warning, but acknowledging. The symbols on the sanctuary walls brightened in response, as if recognizing him.
"You're welcome here," Seris said softly. "For now."
The entrance was a vast archway, its top fractured and sagging. Inside, shadows pooled like still water. As they stepped across the threshold, Arel felt a sudden shift—pressure lifting, noise dulling, the world outside muted.
The sanctuary breathed.
Torches flared to life along the walls, blue-white flames igniting without being touched.
Arel startled. "That was automatic?"
Seris nodded. "It senses marked ones."
They moved deeper inside. The hall opened into a wide chamber filled with broken benches and circular stone platforms. At the far end stood a dais, cracked straight down the middle, as if something had struck it from above with tremendous force.
Arel slowed, dread creeping up his spine. "What happened here?"
Seris's voice dropped. "The last conclave."
She walked to the cracked dais, resting her hand against it. "This is where they argued. Anchors, Listeners, Shapers, Seers. Whether the gates should remain sealed forever… or reopened under control."
"And?" Arel asked, though he already sensed the answer.
"And the argument turned into a battle," she said. "This sanctuary was meant to protect the world from the gates. Instead, it became a tomb."
Arel swallowed. "Kael was here."
"Yes," Seris said. "And others like him."
As if summoned by the name, the air shifted.
Footsteps echoed from the far corridor.
Arel stiffened, his mark flaring faintly.
Seris raised a hand—not to attack, but to signal restraint.
A figure emerged into the torchlight.
She was older than them, her hair streaked with white, her posture rigid with old pain. A faint green mark glimmered at her throat, pulsing slowly.
Another marked one.
"You're late," the woman said, her voice calm but edged with steel.
Seris let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "Tamsin."
The woman's gaze slid to Arel. Sharp. Assessing. "So this is the First Anchor."
Arel straightened. "Arel."
Tamsin studied him for a long moment. "You don't look like a disaster."
"That's reassuring," he muttered.
A flicker of amusement crossed her face. "The last one did."
Seris winced. "Tamsin—"
"Relax," Tamsin said. "If I wanted him dead, the sanctuary would've closed its doors the moment he stepped inside."
Arel glanced around. "It can do that?"
"Yes," Tamsin replied. "Violently."
Good to know.
Tamsin turned serious. "You met Kael."
Seris nodded. "At the ruins. He's accelerating the scars."
Tamsin's jaw tightened. "Then time is shorter than I hoped."
She gestured toward the cracked dais. "Come. If the Second Gate is listening, we need to decide what we're saying back."
Arel hesitated. "Decide how?"
Tamsin met his eyes. "Whether we're still trying to preserve the old silence… or preparing for a new language entirely."
The Guardian stirred within Arel, neither approving nor warning—only attentive.
For the first time since the mountain, Arel understood something with painful clarity.
This was no longer about stopping Kael.
Or even about sealing gates.
It was about redefining the rules of heaven and earth—before someone else did it for them.
Arel stepped forward, onto the cracked dais.
"Then let's talk," he said.
Deep below the world, the Second Gate shifted again—not in hunger this time, but in recognition.
The game had changed.
And the gates were no longer waiting.