"You have returned."
The voice was neither loud nor harsh, yet it carried a weight that pressed against Celestine's chest, sinking deep into her bones.
The obsidian gate stood fully open now, revealing a passage beyond—vast, dimly lit, and stretching into an unknown distance. The air was thick, humming with unseen energy. It was as if the very walls breathed, whispering forgotten secrets.
Celestine's heart pounded. She turned to Alistair and Elias, searching their faces for any reaction, but they looked just as unsettled as she felt.
Elias let out a slow breath. "Well. That's not ominous at all."
Alistair's grip tightened around his sword. "We should move carefully. Whatever lies ahead… it's been waiting for us."
The Architect entity stepped forward, its ethereal form flickering under the golden glow of the engravings. "The First Sanctum has been sealed for centuries. For it to recognize you…" Its voice trailed off, unreadable.
Celestine steadied herself and took the first step inside.
The moment they crossed the threshold, a pulse of energy rippled through the chamber. The obsidian walls shifted, carvings rearranging themselves as though alive.
At the far end of the hall stood a massive throne, sculpted from black stone and woven with golden veins of light.
And upon it—
A figure sat, unmoving.
Celestine tensed. At first, she thought it was a statue, lifeless and carved from the same obsidian as the throne. But then it stirred, its head tilting slightly toward her.
Silver eyes flared open.
A low hum filled the room, reverberating through the air like a song without sound.
Alistair immediately stepped forward, his blade at the ready. Elias's hand hovered over his remaining dagger.
The Architect beside them went still. Then, in a voice filled with something close to awe, it whispered—
"This cannot be."
The figure rose.
It moved with a grace that was unnatural—fluid, deliberate, too precise. Its form was humanoid but unnervingly perfect, as if sculpted by hands that understood no flaw. Golden energy pulsed beneath its dark skin, tracing patterns across its limbs like veins of molten light.
The figure's silver gaze landed on Celestine.
"You carry the blood of the First."
Her breath caught.
Elias muttered, "Alright, now it's definitely ominous."
Celestine swallowed, forcing her voice steady. "Who are you?"
A pause. Then—
"I am called Veyrion."
The name struck her like a thunderclap.
Not because she had heard it before—but because it felt like she should have.
The Architect entity stepped forward, its glowing form flickering erratically. "That is impossible. The Veyrion lineage was lost in the Cataclysm."
Veyrion regarded it, unreadable. "History is written by those who remain. But truth is not so easily erased."
His gaze returned to Celestine.
"And you… You are proof of that."
She took a step back, confusion and unease churning inside her. "Proof of what?"
Veyrion lifted his hand. Golden light flared, weaving into shimmering threads in the air. Images flickered within them—shadows of a past long buried.
A city bathed in golden fire, its towers stretching toward the heavens. People, their forms wreathed in radiant energy, moving with a grace and wisdom long lost.
Then—
Flames.
The city burned, its towers crumbling into ruin. Figures clad in Council armor stormed through the streets, their hands wreathed in magic meant for destruction.
Celestine's stomach twisted.
This wasn't just a memory. This was history.
Veyrion's voice remained eerily calm. "The Architects did not fall. They were erased."
A sharp inhale from Alistair.
Elias muttered, "So the Council… they didn't just defeat them. They wiped them from existence."
Veyrion nodded. "And now, their sins return to haunt them." His gaze bore into Celestine. "Through you."
The golden threads dissipated, leaving only silence.
Celestine barely breathed. If what Veyrion said was true, then the Council's rule—its entire foundation—was built on a lie.
Alistair spoke first, his voice edged with unease. "If the Council knew this place still existed—if they knew you were still alive—why haven't they destroyed it?"
Veyrion's expression darkened. "Because they cannot."
His silver eyes flashed.
"This place does not exist in their world."
A cold shiver ran down Celestine's spine.
Elias frowned. "Wait. What does that even mean?"
Veyrion exhaled slowly. "You stand within the last remnants of the Architects' true legacy. The First Sanctum was not merely hidden—it was severed from time itself."
Silence fell.
Celestine barely whispered, "Then how did we get here?"
Veyrion's gaze hardened. "Because the seal is breaking."
A tremor shook the chamber.
The obsidian pillars groaned, the golden veins flickering like a dying heartbeat.
Veyrion turned toward the throne, his expression unreadable.
"Malrik has begun the Ritual of Severance."
Celestine's blood ran cold.
She didn't know what that meant—but she knew one thing.
It wasn't good.