Kael woke to the sound of metal screaming.
Not clashing.
Screaming.
He sat up sharply, pain tearing through his chest like broken glass. The forest around him was dark, lit only by pale fire drifting through the air like dying stars. The trees were twisted, their bark burned black from a power that had passed through this place and left it wounded.
The Keeper stood a few steps away, holding something in her hands.
Something impossible.
Fragments of Shadowfang.
They floated around her, trembling, pulling toward each other as if desperate to become whole again.
"You were calling it," she said quietly. "In your sleep."
Kael stared at the fragments, his breath shallow.
"I destroyed it," he whispered.
"No," the Keeper replied. "You released it."
The fragments screamed louder.
The air folded.
A presence slid into the forest without sound, without shape, without permission.
The world dimmed.
Kael felt the crown react, its cracks glowing with a soft, dying light.
"Ah," a voice said from everywhere at once. "A throne-bearer with no blade. How rare."
Kael stood, forcing his body to obey.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
The darkness moved, forming a silhouette—tall, thin, draped in robes woven from ash and time. Its face was a mask of cracked silver, empty behind the eyes.
"I am called Veyrion," it said. "The Last Smith of Before."
The Keeper gasped. "That name is forbidden."
Veyrion tilted its head. "So is the blade you are about to forge."
The fragments of Shadowfang snapped together violently, forming a shape that was not a sword—not yet. Fire and memory swirled around it, screaming in agony.
Kael clutched his head.
"I can't use the throne anymore," he said. "It takes too much."
Veyrion laughed softly, a sound like metal breaking.
"Then do not use the throne," it said. "Use yourself."
Kael looked up.
The smith raised one hand.
The world fell away.
They stood in a place that had never existed.
A forge floating in void, surrounded by stars that were not stars but dying gods. An anvil of black stone pulsed at the center, each beat shaking the space around it.
"This forge existed before rules," Veyrion said. "Before gods decided what was allowed."
Kael stepped forward, drawn by something deep inside him.
"What do I pay?" he asked.
Veyrion smiled beneath the mask.
"You already are."
Kael placed the fragments on the anvil.
They resisted.
Screamed.
The forge roared to life, fire made of memories he no longer had—faces, voices, moments stolen by the throne. They burned, fueling the flame.
Kael screamed as pain tore through his chest.
The crown shattered further.
The mark on his body began to bleed light.
"Stop!" the Keeper cried.
Veyrion held up one finger. "If he stops, the blade dies forever."
Kael gritted his teeth.
"Finish it," he growled.
The fragments melted.
Merged.
Reforged.
But the blade that rose from the fire was wrong.
It was black glass, edges shifting, refusing to stay real. Runes crawled along its surface, rewriting themselves constantly.
The air screamed around it.
Veyrion stepped back.
"It should not exist," the smith whispered. "And now it does."
Kael reached out.
The moment his hand closed around the hilt, the world remembered him.
His name echoed across broken realms.
Gods turned their heads.
The throne pulsed in agony.
The blade accepted him.
NEW WEAPON ACQUIRED: NULLBLADE
Origin: Forbidden
Cost: Permanent
Kael fell to his knees, gasping.
The Keeper rushed to him, holding his head, tears streaming down her face.
"You're disappearing," she whispered. "I can feel it."
Kael looked up at her, and for the first time, she remembered him fully.
And that terrified him.
"Listen to me," he said weakly. "When this ends… you have to run. Don't look back."
She shook her head violently. "I won't leave you again."
Veyrion turned away, the forge collapsing into nothing.
"Then you will die together," the smith said calmly.
The forest returned.
But it was no longer silent.
Far away, cities burned.
The sky glowed red with divine fire.
The gods were no longer hunting.
They were cleansing.
Kael stood, Nullblade humming in his hand.
His reflection in the blade looked wrong—older, cracked, fading at the edges.
"How long do I have?" the Keeper asked softly.
Kael didn't answer.
Because he didn't know.
Above them, the heavens screamed again.
And this time—
something answered back.