The crack in the ground widened with a deafening roar, splitting through the capital's central district in a jagged line that swallowed streets, stalls, and entire storefronts. Stone collapsed inward like sand sucked into a colossal vacuum.
Civilians scrambled back.
Children were pulled away from the edge.
Guards desperately formed living chains to drag people to safety.
But the rupture didn't behave like a natural quake.
The fissure wasn't just opening—
it was pulling.
Pulling toward the Herald.
As if the land itself were being drawn toward that towering figure.
A Saint shouted over the chaos:
"Spatial distortion! It's warping the ground to drag him closer!"
"Eris, move!" another cried.
But Eris didn't move.
He stepped to the edge of the splitting earth, cloak whipping in the violent wind, and stared up at the Herald—calm, collected, unfazed.
The relic beside him flared again, its faces spinning so fast they blurred together.
Above, the Herald stretched one elongated arm toward him.
Fingers—pale, long, jointed like carved stone—extended slowly, deliberately.
"DESCENDANT… RETURN…"
The voice wasn't heard.
It was felt—shuddering through bones and nerves.
The Saints collapsed to their knees, grabbing their heads in pain.
"It's… inside our minds!"
"Make it stop—!"
"Eris, do something!"
The Herald's hand continued lowering.
Eris raised his right palm slowly.
The relic shot forward.
A beam of seven-colored light launched from it, cutting through the spiraling dust and slamming into the Herald's descending hand.
The sky vibrated.
VVVRRRRRRMMMM—!!!
A wave of distortion rippled outward, freezing the falling debris mid-air. The Herald's hand stopped—motionless—as if caught in a gravitational lock.
Its faceless head tilted.
The Saints stared, stunned.
"He's… holding it back?"
"With only partial sync?"
"That's impossible…"
Not for Eris.
Not anymore.
The relic pulsed brighter, creating a shimmering dome around Eris.
But the Herald adapted.
Its wings unfolded again—this time twisting backward, forming a circular frame behind it.
The frame spun.
Reality bent.
And suddenly, a torrent of distorted space shot forward—
not an attack,
but a gravitational snare meant to rip Eris from the ground entirely.
The Saints screamed his name.
The plaza shattered.
Marble flew upward like dust.
Trees uprooted.
Statues cracked and spiraled into the air as if weightless.
Eris slid backward—caught in the tearing pull.
For the first time, his foot dragged against the stone.
His hair swept forward violently.
The relic trembled, straining against the pull.
The gravitational snare intensified.
"RETURN…"
The Herald's voice grew louder, more insistent.
"Eris!" a Saint cried. "Let us help—!"
"No!" Eris shouted back, planting his heels into the stone. "Stay back!"
The relic floated in front of him again, lines of light spreading from it like roots, anchoring themselves into the ground.
The gravitational drag slowed.
Eris regained his footing.
He took a single step forward—
against the pull.
Then another.
Then another.
The Saints watched in awe, tears gathering in their eyes.
"He's… walking through an active Herald snare…"
"No human or Saint has ever resisted that…"
The Herald's faceless head tilted again—this time in something almost like confusion.
Eris lifted his hand again.
A second wave of seven-colored energy erupted from the relic—this time blasting downward, anchoring him even harder to the ground.
He looked up at the towering Herald.
Then he spoke, voice steady, resonant:
"I am not yours."
The Herald's wings shuddered.
The gravitational snare ruptured like shattered glass.
The force of the backlash sent a shockwave across the entire capital, blowing dust and debris outward in a spiraling pattern. Several buildings collapsed, but the people closest to Eris survived—shielded by the dome of light the relic maintained.
For the first time…
The Herald stepped back.
A full, massive step.
The ground trembled, the clouds fractured, and the sky flashed red for an instant.
The Saints froze.
"Did… did he just force a Herald to retreat?"
"No… Heralds don't retreat…"
"What is he becoming?"
The Herald raised its massive head toward the heavens.
The wings folded inward.
The air distorted around it.
Then—
With a thunderous rip of space—
it vanished.
Gone.
As if it had never existed.
Silence fell across the capital.
No wind.
No tremor.
No screams.
Just tens of thousands of eyes staring at Eris.
The Saints slowly approached him.
One whispered:
"Eris… Are you alright?"
He exhaled.
"I'm fine."
He wasn't.
He felt something inside him now—
something awake,
something ancient,
something watching.
The relic hovered just above his shoulder, dimmed but still glowing faintly.
A Saint finally dared to ask the question trembling on everyone's lips:
"Where… where did the Herald go?"
Eris looked into the sky—eyes focused, calm.
"It didn't flee," he said quietly.
"It went to call the others."