The silence that followed was worse than any attack.
No wind.
No movement.
Just the weight of a truth no one dared to accept.
The Herald had left—
not defeated,
not wounded,
but with purpose.
To call the others.
Around Eris, the damaged plaza slowly filled with whispers. Civilians peeked from shattered doorways. Guards helped the injured to their feet. Cracks split the marble tiles like veins, still glowing faintly from the Herald's distortion.
A Saint finally forced himself to speak:
"Eris… are you certain?"
Eris didn't look at him.
His eyes stayed fixed on the sky, searching the distant clouds as though he could already see the approach of something far beyond sight.
"Yes," he answered.
"They won't let a Descendant walk freely."
Another Saint clenched his trembling hands.
"But… the myth— the old scriptures—the Descendants were supposed to be legends, not reality—"
Eris cut him off with a calm throat.
"You saw the Herald's reaction. Its presence wasn't random. It came because of me."
Gasps spread through the remaining Saints and soldiers.
A young guard stepped forward, shaking:
"Then… then what are we supposed to do now? If more of those things come—if more Heralds descend—this city won't survive it!"
Several terrified civilians nodded, clutching their children, their loved ones.
The First Saint, oldest among them, turned toward Eris.
"Your power saved us once. But even you cannot stand against multiple Heralds… not in your current state."
He hesitated.
"Eris… we must leave the capital."
The suggestion shocked the crowd.
"Leave?"
"Abandon the Holy Capital?"
"But this place is the heart of the Empire!"
The First Saint's voice trembled but held firm:
"The Empire will fall if we remain. Better to protect its people than cling to its stones."
Eris didn't argue.
He simply closed his eyes.
Because the Saint was right.
Even with the relic, even with the power awakening inside him…
He felt the truth deep within:
He was still incomplete.
The seven faces of the relic had not aligned.
The true power of the Descendant had not returned.
A Herald was testing him.
But when the others came, they wouldn't test.
They would take.
Eris finally turned to the Saints.
"We evacuate the capital immediately," he said.
"Send every messenger, every signal. We move the civilians to the southern strongholds."
"And you?" a Saint asked quietly.
Eris paused.
"I'm going to the ancient vault beneath the city."
The Saints stiffened.
"The vault…?"
"The sealed one?"
"With the inscriptions even we can't decipher?"
Eris nodded once.
"There might be answers there. Maybe even something left for the Descendant."
The First Saint's eyes widened slightly.
"So you believe the legends. That the First Seven left guidance for the one born from their seed."
Eris didn't deny it.
Instead, he looked down at his own hand—
the one that had pushed against the strength of a Herald,
the one that no longer felt entirely human.
"I don't believe the legends," he said softly.
"I feel them."
A deep rumble echoed beneath the city.
The ground shook again—but this time, softly, steadily, like a heartbeat.
The relic floated higher.
Its seven segments glowed faintly, one of them pulsing in time with the tremor.
Eris's voice dropped to a whisper:
"They're waking up."
The Saints exchanged fearful glances.
From the sky, a sudden streak of red lightning tore across the clouds—unnatural, silent, too straight to be natural weather.
A warning.
A sign.
The Saints froze.
"Eris… that wasn't normal lightning."
"No," Eris said.
He turned toward the ancient vault entrance, hidden beneath the rubble of the collapsed central monuments.
"That was a signal."
He didn't say whose.
He didn't have to.
Everyone felt the dread settling at the base of their spine.
The Herald had reached the others.
The sky was changing.
The Empire had hours—maybe less—before the true descent began.
Eris stepped forward.
"Get the people out," he said.
"We don't have much time."
And with that, he walked into the cracked stairway leading into the depths below the capital—
toward the ancient vault,
toward the truth of the Descendant,
and toward a destiny far heavier than any boy should carry.