When the Star Bled
The sky never wept in silence. Not anymore.
Kael had seen falling stars before — as a boy, lying on the wind-beaten roof of the orphanage. He used to make wishes on them. Back then, he thought they were beautiful. Magical. Harmless.
But the thing that fell tonight was none of those.
It tore the sky open with a sound like screaming metal, wreathed in a coil of black fire. The stars nearby didn't blink. They dimmed, as though hiding from what descended. When it struck the mountains, the world lurched sideways. Even the Weeping Wood, which had stood untouched through five wars and a plague, bent its trees in fear.
Kael stood with his hand on the Darksword, heart pounding.
"That was no star," he said.
"No," Elarin whispered. "It was a message."
The Keeper of the Forgotten Path emerged from the shadows, her fire-lit eyes fixed on the smoke rising in the distance. "That was a Herald," she said darkly. "The Gate has sent one ahead."
Echoes in the Mountains of Mourning
They left before dawn, the ground still warm with dread. It took them a day to reach the crash site, riding through dead forests and ash-soaked hills. Animals lay frozen in place, turned to crystal. The wind chattered in reverse.
When they crested the final ridge, Kael understood.
A crater had split the spine of the Mourning Mountains. The thing in the center hadn't stopped burning. It breathed flames of cold, colorless heat. Around it, the rock had melted and re-formed into shapes that didn't belong in this world — symbols that pulsed when Kael looked too long.
Elarin gripped her staff. "Don't go near it."
But Kael was already walking toward it.
"Kael!"
The Darksword vibrated violently on his back. It recognized the Herald. And the Herald—what was left of it—was moving.
The creature pulled itself upright, its joints snapping like glass. It had no face, only a jagged mouth across its chest. Wings of smoke unfurled from its spine.
"You carry the blade," it croaked. "The key… and the curse."
Kael didn't draw the sword. He didn't have to. It wanted to come out on its own.
The Breath of an Unmaking God
The Herald stepped toward him.
It didn't walk. It unstitched the space beneath its feet. Even the light fled from its skin.
"You are the vessel," the Herald said. Its voice sounded like dozens speaking at once — men, women, children, gods. "He watches through you."
Kael lifted his chin. "Then tell Him this—"
He unsheathed the Darksword.
The Herald screamed.
It recoiled, shadows shredding off its body, the runes along Kael's arm bursting into silver fire. Energy shot into the air, tearing open the crater again.
"You cannot win," the Herald screeched. "You are a crack in His prison. Not the sword-bearer. The door."
And then it lunged.
A Dance With No Music
Kael met the blow.
The Darksword clanged against nothing — no flesh, no bone, just absence. And yet the impact sent him flying back.
The fight wasn't like anything he'd faced before. The Herald didn't attack to kill. It attacked to break. Every time Kael parried, he lost a memory. Every time he struck back, it whispered a truth that shouldn't exist.
You were born under false stars.Your mother made a bargain.You were meant to die at birth.You have no soul.
"No," Kael growled, striking again.
Behind him, Elarin weaved warding circles into the air, shouting spells of protection. The Keeper didn't intervene. She simply watched — and waited.
When the Herald grabbed Kael by the throat, the sky turned upside down. He could see the Gate through its chest — a swirling maelstrom of eyes, mouths, and reaching limbs.
But then the Darksword ignited.
A black flame bloomed from the hilt, engulfing the blade. Kael's scream echoed across the valley — not from pain, but from awakening.
The sword was evolving.
Things That Shouldn't Have Names
When it was over, the Herald collapsed into ash.
Kael stood in the center of a scorched spiral of molten rock, breath heavy, sword trembling.
Elarin rushed to him. "Kael. Your arm."
He looked down.
A new mark had burned itself into his flesh — a spiral carved in the language of the First Tongue. The Keeper stared at it with wide, horrified eyes.
"That mark… belongs to the First Void," she whispered. "He didn't just touch you. He's claiming you."
Kael didn't respond. His eyes were locked on the horizon.
Far away, on the edge of the visible world, something massive stirred. A tower taller than clouds — glowing faintly with crimson light.
"I think I know where we have to go next," Kael said.
The City of No Doors
It took them a week to reach it.
They passed through ruined villages, towns filled with statues of people mid-scream, and roads that looped back on themselves if walked at night. The Darksword guided Kael now. It pulsed when they strayed. It quieted when they approached.
The City of No Doors wasn't on any map. It didn't need to be. It appeared when called — only to those marked.
They arrived at dusk.
The city was built from obsidian and bone, all sharp edges and impossible architecture. Towers that pierced the clouds without end. Windows without glass. No doors. None.
"How do we enter?" Elarin whispered.
Kael raised the sword.
A wall near them split like skin.
The Man Who Wasn't Dead
Inside the city, the air changed. No wind. No time. Just memory.
As they walked, Kael began to feel things he shouldn't: the echo of conversations he'd never had, memories of battles he hadn't fought, sorrow that didn't belong to him.
And then… he saw someone standing at the center of the square.
Velamir.
Whole.
Alive.
"Impossible," Elarin gasped.
He looked exactly as he had the day Kael killed him — robes pristine, hair swept back, gaze unreadable.
"You're not real," Kael said coldly.
Velamir's lips curled. "Neither are you."
The moment shattered.
Velamir's illusion morphed — into Kael's father. Then his mother. Then a younger version of himself.
"Stop it!" Kael shouted, slashing through the air.
The illusions cracked like mirrors.
Only one remained: a boy. Pale eyes. Dressed in the same robes Kael wore when he was brought to the Order.
"You always were just a replacement," the boy whispered. "You were never supposed to make it this far."
Kael lunged—
And struck nothing.
The Room Where the World Ended
At the city's heart was a sphere of light.
Perfect. Untouched. Floating.
They found it pulsing inside a cathedral with no walls, just columns holding up a skyless ceiling. The moment Kael stepped inside, the Darksword stopped humming.
Dead silence.
The Keeper stepped beside him. "This is a node. A World-Ender. If the Gate reaches this, the realm collapses."
"Then we destroy it," Kael said.
"No," she replied. "We protect it. For now."
Elarin looked between them. "So what do we do?"
Kael answered. "We wait. Because whatever's coming next… is already on its way."
Outside, the city shivered.