The air was still, unusually so. The smell of iron and ozone lingered like a distant echo of battles past. High above, the fractured sky of the dungeon seemed to shimmer with a false tranquility — a canvas of illusion painted over chaos. Indra stood at the edge of the stone platform, one boot on a crumbled pillar, the other rooted firm to the ground. His gaze was lifted upward, toward the cracked heavens.
His expression was unreadable. A storm behind his eyes.
"The stars used to feel closer," he murmured, more to the void than to himself. "Like they were watching. Guiding. But maybe… maybe they were just waiting. Watching to see if I'd break."
His voice carried softly, almost reverently, and his fingers brushed the Sigil fragments etched into his skin, glowing faintly beneath the surface like embers waiting to ignite. He wasn't speaking to the sky — not really. He was speaking to the one who had sealed away the storm in him. The one whose name still echoed across the forgotten corridors of his soul.
"Father… Was it fear that made you seal me? Or hope?" His eyes burned with defiance and understanding. "Either way, I'll prove it. That this storm wasn't meant to be caged."
A few heartbeats passed in silence, the kind that carried the weight of ancient truths. Then, from behind, a sharp, dry voice pierced the moment.
"You planning to kiss the sky or fight the damn boss, Thunderhead?"
Indra blinked.
Kaelari stood with arms crossed, one eyebrow arched and her blade tapping against her armored thigh. Her golden hair was slightly tousled, and a smear of blood marked her cheek — earned in their last encounter with a spectral basilisk. Her presence was jarring, but grounding.
Indra let out a faint laugh and shook his head. "Always the poetic interrupter."
"I prefer practical buzzkill." She smirked. "Now stop monologuing like some war-torn demigod and get your lightning-charged ass moving. The boss room's waiting."
Indra stepped back from the edge, his face sharpening into focus. "Alright," he said, the storm beneath his skin now buzzing like an impatient drumbeat. "Let's go finish this."
The two walked in silence toward the enormous double doors of obsidian and bone that marked the final chamber of the dungeon. Each footstep echoed across the chamber, each breath filled with the tension of what awaited beyond. Runes carved in a language older than flame pulsed on the gate's surface. The aura behind it churned — wild, hungry.
Indra stood before the doors and exhaled.
This time, the storm wasn't behind him.
It was ahead.