Chapter 35
The next morning came with no fanfare. The bell tolls of Sanctum Astrae resumed, echoing like nothing had changed. But Astern knew better.
They all did.
In the days that followed their discovery of the Sanctuary of Echoes, Astern, Kaela, and Lunaria moved carefully. Not in fear—but with purpose. The three had begun deciphering the symbols etched along the chamber walls, compiling them into a rough translation. Patterns of celestial binding magic and forbidden design began to emerge.
Beneath the ancient glyphs was a map.
A path leading lower still.
And at its end—the Blade of Silence.
It had no true name, only titles. The Severer. The Final Key. The Wordless End. A weapon that, if drawn, could erase the divine essence from any being—angel, demon, or otherwise.
Even the Archangel, it was said, feared its reawakening.
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Two nights later, under the guise of study hours, the trio descended once more. Lunaria had crafted a cloaking veil, dulling their spiritual presence. Kaela mapped their route using chalk imbued with tracking light only visible to their eyes.
The way down was harsher now—partially collapsed ruins, pulsing remnants of divine traps, and remnants of long-decayed constructs that still sparked with flickers of forbidden energy.
At the bottom, they found it:
A gate.
Blackstone infused with twilight crystal, engraved in twin sigils—one angelic, one ghoul. The same dual seal found on Astern's golden emblem.
"It's reacting to you," Kaela said as the gate shimmered faintly under Astern's approach.
He stepped forward and extended his hand.
The sigils pulsed.
Light and shadow wound around each other like snakes, then slowly faded… unlocking the gate.
It groaned open.
Beyond was a circular vault—silent, untouched by time. In its center, hovering above a dais of broken glass and stone, floated a blade unlike any they had seen.
No hilt.
No edge.
Only a ribbon of reality, flickering, thin as breath. It hummed in silence, vibrating on a frequency beyond mortal sound.
Astern stepped forward.
As he did, a presence rose.
A projection, shaped like a tall, armored figure with no face. A hollow guardian of essence.
It spoke not with words, but through pressure—an ancient will encoded in the fabric of space.
Only the heir may witness the truth. Only he may bear the burden.
Kaela and Lunaria were gently pushed back by an invisible force.
"Wait—" Kaela called, stepping forward again, only to be repelled.
Astern didn't turn. He walked forward until he stood beneath the blade. It hovered inches above his head, humming with dormant power.
A vision exploded behind his eyes.
A burning world.
Winged corpses.
The Archangel kneeling, bloodied.
A ghoul cloaked in gold, wielding the blade against the heavens.
And his own face—older, cracked with power, standing in a rain of broken stars.
Then darkness.
When he opened his eyes, the blade had vanished.
Not stolen. Claimed.
It now lived within him.
Kaela and Lunaria rushed forward as the vault dimmed.
"Astern—what happened?"
He looked down at his hands, which now bore faint twin markings on his wrists: light on the right, shadow on the left.
He whispered, "I think… the war has already started."