The doors of Drellem's Gate sealed behind them.
Kael stood before a wall of blue crystal veins, lit from within, humming in rhythm with the Weave. He'd spent the last two days deciphering their language—not divine, not spoken, but pure logic—like algorithms turned into light.
Every pattern he cracked unlocked more of the sanctuary.
But now the system had stopped responding.
"Something's interfering," he murmured.
Lyssa stood at the far end of the chamber, her hand hovering over the hilt of a practice blade. "Could it be them?"
He didn't have to ask who they were.
"Yes."
Then the crystals flickered—and went dark.
Kael stepped back.
Something had arrived.
Something divine.
---
Above the ruins, the storm broke open.
Not rain.
Not wind.
Just presence.
The divine envoy landed without sound. Her robes didn't ripple. Her eyes didn't blink. She wasn't human—not anymore—but an echo of obedience shaped by something higher.
Two escorts flanked her, each bearing a divine brand across the throat: one flame, one tide. Both held Weave-blades pulsing with divine code.
The envoy touched the stone of the ruins.
Her eyes flared.
"Two signatures," she said softly. "One Bearer. One Myth-tier Talent. Willfully disobedient."
She didn't need a warrant.
She had divine right.
"Enter."
---
Kael felt the moment they crossed the barrier.
The ancient systems screamed in silence—no alarms, just a sharp inversion in Weave tension. Like space itself was being rewritten from the outside in.
He turned to Lyssa.
"They're here."
She didn't flinch. "What do we do?"
Kael pressed his palm against the crystal wall again. "We introduce them to something they've never seen."
The wall split.
Behind it, a single device emerged. Small. Unfinished. Like a wand forged from metal and light, with veins that pulsed not with Essence—but with code.
Kael lifted it.
"I call it a Breakpoint."
Lyssa looked at him. "It's a weapon?"
"It's a question."
"And what if they don't like the answer?"
Kael's eyes were cold.
"Then we teach them how to fail."
---
The divine envoy moved through the old corridors with the calm of inevitability. Her escorts fanned out—silent, efficient, holy.
Then one of them stopped.
Frozen in mid-step.
The Weave bent around him like a fish caught in glass. His eyes widened—just before his entire construct of Essence shattered.
The envoy turned.
The Learner was standing at the end of the hall.
Just a boy.
No divine light.
No gods behind him.
Only a metal rod in one hand, and an unfinished stare.
"Kael," she said.
He tilted his head. "And you are?"
"I am the Veil."
"Terrible name."
She blinked.
"You are in violation of divine design," she said. "You have constructed illegal Weaves. Accessed sealed domains. Corrupted a Myth-tier Talent. You are to be removed."
Kael didn't answer.
He activated the Breakpoint.
The Veil flinched.
The hallway fractured. Not physically. Logically. Her bindings—the divine code that shaped her—rippled.
The device wasn't a weapon.
It was a counter-argument.
The Veil raised her hand to strike—but Lyssa arrived like lightning. Her blade met the envoy's in a flare of gold and white.
For the first time in her life, Lyssa fought not for a house, not for a god—but for an idea.
They clashed.
Again.
And again.
Until Kael's voice cut through the hall:
"Fall back!"
Lyssa moved.
Kael triggered the seal behind him.
The Breakpoint pulsed once, twice—
And then shattered in his hand.
But the logic embedded within it had already passed into the walls.
The entire ruin woke.
And the divine envoy—god-crafted, eternal—was suddenly very human.
She screamed.
The Weave collapsed around her, bending to Kael's rewritten rules.
She fled.
---
When it was over, Kael collapsed beside Lyssa in the heart of the sanctuary. His hands were shaking. The Breakpoint was gone.
Lyssa looked at him like she didn't know whether to fear him or fall in love with him.
"You rewrote her," she whispered. "You edited a divine being."
Kael stared at the ceiling.
"No one is beyond question."
He looked at her.
"Not even the gods."