Smoke still clung to the air as Rael and his companions crested the final ridge overlooking what was once Varentha. Behind them, the ruined city pulsed unnaturally, folding in on itself like a breathing wound. Lightning arced through the broken skies, drawn to the risen throne of stone and vine that had emerged from the shattered heart of the cathedral.
They had escaped, but not unscathed.
Selene's arm was bound tight, wrapped in layers of gauze stained by blackened veins that pulsed with slow-burning magic. Caelaris bore burn marks across her shield arm, the divine lightning having cracked her armor at the seams. Aelthaea hadn't spoken since they fled. Her eyes remained distant, haunted by the whispering cocoon that had sung its will into their minds.
They made camp in a dead grove two leagues from the ruins. The trees there were hollow, echoing like drums when the wind passed through them. No birds sang. No insects dared approach. The forest had been touched—tainted by the presence of something ancient now free.
Rael sat apart from the others, leaning against a blackened trunk. His sword rested across his lap. Flames licked faintly from its edge, more a heartbeat than fire. His golden eyes burned with thought, focused eastward.
"She's awake now," Selene said quietly, dropping beside him with a wince. "You felt it, didn't you?"
Rael nodded. "She dreams more clearly with each seal. And the dreams… are starting to seep outward."
"She'll come for you eventually," she added. "Or you'll go to her."
"She's waiting," Rael murmured. "The third seal will call her closer."
Aelthaea's voice cut through the stillness. "You plan to head to Mount Kel'Thir."
Rael didn't answer. He didn't need to.
Aelthaea walked closer, arms folded tightly across her chest. "Then understand this. Kel'Thir isn't just sealed. It's claimed."
That word changed the air.
Even Caelaris, who had been tending her blade in silence, looked up. "You don't mean—"
"I do," Aelthaea said grimly. "The Pale Sovereign."
Selene hissed softly. "That thing is still alive?"
"Not alive," Aelthaea corrected. "But bound. Slumbering beneath the peak. The gods tried to kill it during the Second Sundering, but it would not die. So they buried it beneath the mountain, made it a guardian of the seal."
Rael stood. "Then we'll wake it."
Aelthaea looked at him like he was mad. "You think the Binder was terrifying? The Pale Sovereign is madness incarnate. A god-killer made from silence and frost. If it awakens fully—"
"Then we kill it before it does," Rael said.
Caelaris nodded. "The seal must be reached before the Womb does. Or it's over."
Selene sighed. "Fine. But if I die, I'm haunting all three of you."
They marched the next morning before the sun fully rose. Kel'Thir stood like a dagger on the horizon, its snowy peak hidden by swirling gray clouds that never broke. The closer they came, the more the world lost its color. Greens dulled. Blues faded. Even the sun seemed dimmer beneath its shadow.
By midday, they passed the remnants of a shrine half-buried in frost. Aelthaea paused there, touching the cracked statue of a forgotten war goddess.
"This was once a place of prayer," she said. "Before it became a grave."
"Everything old becomes a grave eventually," Rael replied.
"Even you?" Selene teased weakly.
Rael didn't smile. "Especially me."
They continued without further words.
The slopes of Kel'Thir were unforgiving. Jagged ridges and treacherous cliffs forced them to climb in silence, their breaths fogging in the thin, bitter air. Halfway up the mountain, the snow began to change. It wasn't white anymore—it was tinted silver, and when disturbed, it let out a soft chime, like distant bells.
"This is not natural snow," Caelaris muttered.
"No," Aelthaea agreed. "This is divine frost. It sings the death of memory."
Selene kicked at a drift, and it hissed with faint laughter.
They reached a plateau near dusk. At its center stood a monolith of ice, taller than any of them, carved with runes that shifted when stared at too long. Around it, six statues stood in a ring—faceless figures with blades buried in the earth.
Rael stepped into the circle.
The air thickened. His breath caught in his throat. From beneath the plateau came a deep, low hum—like a voice speaking from beneath the skin of the world.
"He knows we're here," Aelthaea said, drawing her blade. "The Sovereign stirs."
A gust of wind swept across the ridge, and with it came a voice—not spoken aloud, but felt.
Another has come. Not the god. Not the girl. A fragment of war… lost and yearning.
Rael's grip on his sword tightened. "I'm not here to kneel."
No… you are here to bleed.
The monolith cracked.
From within spilled frost and shadow, spiraling upward like smoke. The statues began to move. One by one, they raised their heads—revealing nothing beneath their hoods. Their blades pulled free of the ground in unison.
Selene cursed. "I hate possessed statues."
"They're not statues," Caelaris said, stepping forward with her shield raised. "They're echoes."
"Of what?" Selene asked.
Aelthaea answered grimly. "Of the Sovereign's regrets."
The battle was swift and brutal.
The echoes moved like water—fluid and unpredictable. Each one carried a blade forged from ice and sorrow, cutting through armor like paper. Selene danced between strikes, her daggers flashing in the dim light. Caelaris held the center, shield shattering one echo's chest with a divine pulse. Aelthaea moved like a shadow, whispering words of ancient wrath and tearing another in half with a surge of dark energy.
Rael didn't fight the echoes. He walked past them, deeper into the circle.
The monolith was falling apart now, and from its hollow core rose a figure.
It was tall—twice a man's height—and draped in tattered robes of frost. Its face was a void, but eyes burned within it: pale blue flames without pupils. Its voice resonated through the mountain.
I am the Pale Sovereign. And you are the echo of a dead rebellion.
Rael raised his blade. "Then I'm here to speak for the dead."
The Sovereign raised its hand, and the entire plateau cracked. Pillars of ice erupted from the ground, each one aimed at Rael's heart. He moved like lightning—cleaving through them, flame trailing behind his blade. One struck his shoulder, freezing blood mid-flow.
Still, he advanced.
Selene screamed his name, but Rael didn't turn back. The Sovereign descended from the air like a falling star, meeting Rael in a thunderous clash.
Ice met fire.
Madness met fury.
The plateau shook for what felt like hours. When it finally stilled, the echoes had vanished. The monolith was dust. And the Pale Sovereign lay crumbling at Rael's feet, its body half-consumed by flame.
You are not of the Pantheon… and yet… you carry their sin.
Rael knelt, placing a hand on the seal beneath the Sovereign's body. "I carry their end."
He spoke a single word in the Abyssal tongue.
The seal fractured.
Golden-black energy surged upward, spiraling into the sky. The mountain groaned, and from its peak came a single pulse of divine energy—like a flare across the heavens.
Far away, in the ruins of Varentha, the throne of vine and stone pulsed in reply.
The Womb was watching.