The void did not remain silent when Nameless spoke her name. It answered.
The fissures his roar had carved earlier split wider, spilling out a lightless wind that screamed as though creation itself remembered Elara. Each crack in the emptiness pulsed, not with destruction, but with resonance—a summons echoing outward across planes of reality. Somewhere, in worlds he had never walked, shadows stirred awake.
Ryne pressed a trembling hand to her chest. "It's not just him," she whispered. "Something heard him…"
The Grandmaster's eyes narrowed. "No. Not something." His voice was grim, weighted with dread. "Everything."
Tianlong lowered his head, his eyes closing. "So it begins."
Nameless stood tall amid the storm. His crimson gaze carved through the void, no longer unfocused, no longer searching. "Let them hear," he said again, his tone sharpened into finality. "Let them prepare. Nothing they summon will matter."
But the void was not finished. It shifted again, forcing him to see—not a memory, but a consequence. He glimpsed the high thrones of the Seven. Figures cloaked in eternity stirred from their stillness, their crowns vibrating with discordant light. One of them—the Warden of Chains—tilted its head as though listening to an old, hated song.
"They know," Tianlong growled. "I bet they felt you tear your name back from silence. Already, their prisons are stirring. The Warden of Echoes will not wait for you to come; it will come hunting."
Nameless did not flinch. "Then let it find me, Why worry when they make my work easy."
Ryne swallowed, her voice breaking through her fear. "Do you even understand what that means? As far I know, The Warden of Echoes is not a foe of flesh. It is a labyrinth that devours itself. You don't fight it—you become lost inside it. That's what it was made for."
Nameless looked at her, and though the grief had frozen solid, something human still flickered beneath the ice. "Then I'll burn the labyrinth until only the path remains."
The Grandmaster stepped forward, his calm slowly reforging. "If you walk this path, there is no returning. This is no longer vengeance. This is war against eternity itself."
Nameless's smile returned—sharper now, crueler, but not untrue. "I was made for eternity. Now eternity will regret it."
Tianlong finally opened his eyes, their glow burning hotter than before. "Then take what she left you." His claw unfurled, and the blood-sigil Elara had drawn with her life appeared in his palm, glowing like a brand against the void. "This is your key to the Second Realm. But know this—keys open both ways. If you wield it, the Warden of Echoes will know your exact step. You cannot hide. You will be hunted, I can bet on you winning."
Nameless reached out and closed his hand around the sigil. It seared his flesh, but he did not release it. The pain was welcomed; it was proof she had lived. Proof she had chosen him.
"I will not hide," he said. "Let the hunt begin."
The void rippled. The storm quieted. And somewhere, far beyond the veil of stars, a distant gong echoed—the sound of the Second Realm awakening.
The void stilled, the silence thick with promises written in blood and grief. Nameless closed his hand around Elara's sigil until it branded his palm. He turned, crimson gaze landing on the Grandmaster.
"You will not follow us," Nameless said, his voice quiet but absolute. "The city will need you. Lysera will need you. And Vaelric… if he strays, bring him back."
Ryne nodded, her expression softening just for a moment. "Keep them safe. You're the only one who can."
The Grandmaster's lips curved—not into mockery, but into a rare, genuine smile. A low laugh escaped him, rolling through the void like the sound of a mountain cracking. "So this is how it feels," he said. "To gamble everything on a blade and know I chose rightly."
Nameless studied him, a flicker of curiosity breaking through his frozen resolve. "You speak as if you already knew me. How?"
The Grandmaster's eyes glinted. "Because the dragon never shut up about you." He inclined his head toward Tianlong, whose scales glimmered like a collapsing star. "For centuries, he spoke of a weapon who questioned, who resisted, who swore oaths that no chains could silence. He told me that if the day ever came, I would recognize you not by your face, but by the way you burn against fate itself. And here you stand."
For the first time since the revelation, Nameless felt something other than grief. It was not comfort, nor joy—it was recognition. He gave a slight nod, the closest thing to gratitude his ruined soul could manage.
Tianlong rumbled, wings unfolding, vast enough to eclipse the void. "Then it is time."
Nameless and Ryne climbed onto the dragon's back, the sigil burning hotter as it drew them toward its destination. The Grandmaster watched them go, his laughter fading into silence. "Go then, weapon of oaths. I will hold the walls until you return."
And with a single, thunderous beat of his wings, Tianlong carried them into the abyss.