The hall was dead.
The crown lay in shards, pulsing faintly like a dying heart on the fractured marble floor. Alexander stood over it, his sword limp at his side, blood dripping from his knuckles. Every breath scorched his lungs as if the air itself had turned to smoke.
But none of it mattered.
Not the broken pillars.
Not the runes still glowing like wounds in the stone.
Not the voices whispering through the cracks.
Because she was gone.
Isabella.
Dragged into a world no man had ever returned from.
His hands clenched until his nails cut into his palms, blood running hot. His voice came out like a vow carved in iron:
"I'm coming for you."
---
The Forbidden Path
But even as the words left his lips, another voice curled through the silence. Smooth. Patient. Familiar.
"And how do you plan to breach the Black Gate, boy?"
Alexander turned sharply, blade raised. The figure that stood at the edge of the shattered dais was cloaked in smoke and flame, its form shifting like a mirage—but its eyes burned gold. Eyes that knew too much.
"The crown spoke of you," Alexander growled. The figure smiled—or something like it."Of course it did. Because I am the only one who can help you."
Alexander's grip tightened on his sword. "Name your price."
The figure stepped closer, and with every stride, the shadows bent to its will."The same price the Endless King demands: your soul."
---
The Weight of Damnation
Alexander laughed—low, sharp, like steel striking stone. "If that's what it takes to bring her back, take it."
But the figure's smile widened, revealing teeth like molten glass.
"Oh, it's never that simple. Your soul is not enough. To reach her, you must become something more than mortal."
"And what does that mean?"
The figure tilted its head.
"It means power—the kind that eats everything you are. It means chains you'll never break. It means when you face her… you might not know if you want to save her or claim her."
Alexander's jaw locked. "I'll take the risk."
The figure raised a hand, and the air cracked like thunder. A sigil of black fire blazed on the floor between them—a seal older than crowns, older than kingdoms.
"Then kneel, oathbreaker. And bind yourself to the Gate."
---
The Oath of Darkness
Alexander stared at the burning seal, its heat licking at his boots, its whispers promising power laced with ruin. He thought of Isabella—her voice, her touch, her defiance—and his chest burned like a forge.
He stepped into the fire.
It clung to him instantly, biting into his flesh, carving marks across his skin like molten chains. His scream tore from his throat, but he didn't stop. Not when the figure pressed its hand to his chest, shoving the seal into his heart like a brand.
The world shattered. Power roared through him like a tidal wave of iron and flame, devouring what was human, leaving something sharp and endless in its place.
When the fire died, Alexander knelt in the ashes—his eyes glowing like forged steel, his veins black with shadow.
The figure spoke, almost reverent. "Rise, Gatebreaker."
And Alexander did not as a man as something new something terrible.
And he whispered her name. "Isabella… I'm coming."