The runes ignited
Not a simple glow…
but an eruption of light.
Ancient lines carved into the stone gate burst into a deep blue radiance—
a light that did not belong to this world.
The ground trembled beneath their feet.
A deep grinding sound rose from below…
as though colossal stones were being dragged from the depths of the earth.
Aeryon shouted,
"Fall back!"
But time…
had already run out.
The runes blazed brighter, until the light became painful to behold.
Then—
the gate vanished.
Not shattered.
Not sealed.
Vanished.
As if it had never existed at all.
And in the same instant—
everything disappeared.
Sound.
Light.
Air.
Even the sense of time itself… faded away.
Then—
silence.
Cold.
Heavy.
Absolute.
Air rushed back into their lungs all at once, forcing several of them to stagger as they gasped for breath.
Arkath opened his eyes slowly.
The chamber was gone.
The walls—gone.
The gate—gone.
Even the ground they had stood upon moments ago… had vanished.
Instead—
they found themselves somewhere else.
A place never meant for mortal feet.
The ground beneath them was black.
But it was not stone.
Not earth.
It was smooth…
like aged skin.
Beneath its surface, slow ripples moved—
as if the ground itself… was breathing.
Morvan lifted his head, his gaze sweeping across the endless expanse.
"This place…"
he murmured.
"...is not natural."
No one answered.
Because all of them…
saw the same thing.
Above them—
there was no sky.
Only an endless gray void.
Shadows drifted within it…
massive shapes gliding in silence,
like creatures swimming through a lifeless sea.
Then—
the ground trembled again.
Not violently.
But rhythmically.
Thud.
A deep sound.
Distant.
Thud.
Closer.
The leaders exchanged uneasy glances.
Aeryon spoke through clenched teeth,
"Did you hear that…?"
Thud.
Clearer now.
Morvan whispered,
"It's… a heartbeat."
And as they struggled to understand what surrounded them—
something new appeared.
Columns.
They rose from the ground, slowly.
One after another.
Towering black pillars surged upward from the breathing surface…
stretching higher…
and higher…
until they disappeared into the darkness above.
They had no visible end.
Zalrik spoke quietly,
"How many are there…?"
No one answered.
Because the truth…
was impossible to grasp.
The columns stretched in every direction—
an endless forest of black stone.
Zalrik approached the nearest pillar.
His eyes narrowed as he studied its surface.
It was not smooth.
It was covered…
in runes.
Ancient symbols—
older than any language known to the clans.
Morvan stepped beside him, studying the markings carefully.
"These are not decorations…" he said.
He paused.
"...They're records."
Arkath turned toward him.
"Records… of what?"
Morvan swallowed.
"History."
Suddenly—
the runes ignited.
One pillar…
then another…
then another…
until the endless forest of columns burned with deep blue light.
And before their eyes—
the markings began to move.
Not drawings.
Not carvings.
But memories.
Fragments of time long forgotten.
They saw an ancient world.
A world brighter than their own.
Clear skies.
A land without shadows.
Then—
the darkness appeared.
Not a creature.
Not a body.
But…
a void.
A black presence that swallowed light itself.
Devouring everything.
Slowly.
Relentlessly.
The visions accelerated.
Kingdoms fell.
Civilizations vanished.
Warriors fought something that could not be slain.
Until—
five figures appeared.
Standing before the void.
Each carried a symbol.
A symbol…
resembling the marks of the clans.
Aeryon's eyes widened.
"Our ancestors…"
Arkath whispered,
"Yes."
Then—
a sixth figure appeared.
He bore no clan symbol.
Instead—
he carried something else.
A mark unlike any they had seen before.
When he raised his hand—
the five symbols ignited.
Merged.
United.
Into a single sigil.
Vast.
Majestic.
Overwhelming.
Arkath breathed the words:
"...The Sixth Power."
The visions vanished.
But the voice remained.
A voice they knew.
A voice they had heard before.
Dragor.
"When I realized the truth…"
the voice echoed.
"...it was already too late."
Silence spread through the pillars.
Then he continued:
"I was no longer my own master…"
"I became… a gate."
The ground trembled beneath them.
"And so… I sent you here."
The leaders exchanged glances.
Arkath spoke,
"Why?"
And the answer came:
"So that you may see… what awaits you."
Shadows shifted between the pillars.
Slowly.
Quietly.
As if something…
was walking among them.
Zalrik tightened his grip on his twin blades.
"Movement," he whispered.
He pointed toward a distant column.
At first—
they saw nothing.
Only darkness.
Then—
it moved.
A single step.
Its echo rolled through the endless pillars.
Then—
a shape emerged.
A hand.
Slowly extending from behind the pillar.
A human hand…
covered in black fractures.
As if darkness itself had seeped beneath the skin…
and settled inside.
No one moved.
The arm followed.
Then the shoulder.
Then—
the face.
Blue light reflected across his features.
A face marked with spreading black cracks…
And two eyes.
One… human.
The other…
dark.
Empty.
A hollow window into something that should not exist.
Zalrik whispered,
"Impossible…"
But Arkath…
already knew.
Before certainty.
Before words.
He knew from the stance.
From the silence.
From the crushing weight of his presence.
The figure stepped forward.
One step.
Its sound echoed endlessly through the forest of pillars.
He lifted his head slowly…
and looked directly at them.
Without hesitation.
Without fear.
Arkath's hand tightened around the hilt of his sword.
His gaze locked onto the figure.
Then he spoke—
his voice low…
but sharp as steel.
"...Dragor."
End of Chapter VII