Location: Sector 13 — The Ashlands, near the border of fractured Hellspace
Ten days had passed since the failed mission at Vault IX.
The memory of blood, the distorted screaming, and the cursed sigils still haunted Syra's dreams. Though no one mentioned it, every survivor knew something had gone terribly wrong. Not only had they lost three squad members, but the moment Korr spoke of a presence "watching" them, even the sky seemed to flinch.
But today was different. Today, Syra's pain had a new direction: vengeance.
She stood outside the monolithic structure known as the Burnt Monastery, a ruined temple from a forgotten age where fire was said to speak and bones never stopped burning. Ash rained down like snow, the sky above twisted in reds and blacks.
Her boots crunched against scorched ground as she walked toward the gate—carved with the ancient symbol of the Flame Tongue, once used by immortal monks who followed neither Heaven nor Hell.
Riven, silent as a wraith, walked beside her, his dark coat barely shifting in the ashen wind.
"You sure this is the place?" Syra asked, voice firm.
Riven nodded. "This is where he's hiding. The one who warned Korr. The monk who burned."
Syra stepped forward. A heavy silence enveloped the gates.
Suddenly, a voice cracked through the dust.
"Only fire remembers."
An old man stepped out. His skin looked scorched beyond recognition, wrapped in ceremonial chains glowing faintly with ancient sigils. His eyes, milky but sharp, focused directly on Syra.
"You carry the scent of Kaelion. Not the father—but something older," he rasped.
"I need answers," Syra said. "About the Heaven Keys. About Lucian. About… why I was made to kill my own father."
The monk chuckled, voice brittle.
"You think you killed him?"
Her breath caught.
"He's not dead," the monk continued. "Not yet. The immortal cannot die, not by mortal means… unless they allow it."
Riven stepped between them. "What do you know?"
The monk ignored him. "Come inside. Fire remembers what flesh forgets."
Inside the Burnt Monastery
The interior was filled with broken pillars, obsidian statues of long-forgotten gods, and altars burned from divine war. The monk—Elder Shin—led them to a sealed sanctum, doors engraved with runes that pulsed as Syra stepped closer.
"Why do they react to me?" she whispered.
Elder Shin: "Because your blood isn't just Kaelion's. It's tied to the Forge of Genesis. A creation not meant for peace."
As he opened the chamber, a gust of heat flooded out, yet it wasn't painful. Syra stepped in.
In the center lay a floating orb—flickering between flame and light. Within it danced images of timelines, broken paths, and fragments of swords.
"What… is that?" Riven asked.
Elder Shin: "A Mirror of Burnt Futures. A relic that shows what could have been."
Suddenly, Syra saw herself, dressed in black, standing atop a mountain of corpses—with the Heaven Key in hand. She gasped and stepped back.
Elder Shin: "This is one future. But not the only one. And not the truth."
Syra (frustrated): "Then what is the truth? Why did Lucian manipulate me? Why did my father let me stab him?"
The room dimmed. Elder Shin knelt beside her.
"Because your father knew his blood could open the path to the final Key. But only if it was drawn by you."
"What?" she whispered.
"You are part of the Heaven Key. The Seventh Fragment. You were born to either seal the worlds… or destroy them."
Syra froze.
Suddenly, the walls of the temple shook. An explosion sounded outside. Riven drew his weapon.
"We're not alone."
Elder Shin, with a tired sigh: "They followed you. The Eyes of Ash."
Outside the Monastery — Battle Begins
Figures cloaked in burning rags and wielding cursed blades appeared through the ash. Their leader, a hulking man with a molten scar down his face, pointed at Syra.
"The Key-child is here. Bring her in whole. The rest… burn."
Riven and Syra burst through the entrance, blades ready.
What followed was chaos.
Flames clashed with shadows. Riven cut down three foes, his demon-side flickering into focus. Syra activated the Hunter Protocol, her combat gauntlets flaring with runes gifted to her by her father long ago.
"You want me? COME GET ME!" she roared.
At one point, a burning blade grazed her shoulder, but she retaliated with a plasma spike that pierced the enemy's skull.
Riven was hit in the chest, but he stood—barely—and whispered a ward.
"No one takes her. Not while I breathe."
As the Eyes of Ash retreated, Syra and Riven collapsed beside the ruined gate, bleeding but victorious.
Elder Shin approached, holding a small crystal.
"This… was what they sought. A false fragment. One of the Seven, but corrupted. It leads to nothing but war."
Syra: "So… we're back to nothing?"
Elder Shin (smiling): "No. You have something better. You've survived. You've changed. And… you're being watched."
She turned, eyes narrowing. In the far distance, atop a jagged cliff, a black figure stood.
The Author.
Unseen, yet there. Watching. Always.
He nodded once… then vanished.
Syra (softly): "What are you?"
End of Chapter 4