The air inside the chamber was thick—ancient dust and something older, something Reven couldn't name. It clung to his lungs, to his skin, settling into the creases of his fingers like a memory unwilling to fade.
The statue loomed above him, the worn blade held firm in its grasp. It was a monument to something lost, a remnant of an era that no longer existed. And yet, as Reven stared at it, he felt a pull. A deep, unrelenting connection.
The visions had struck him like a blade to the mind. He could still hear the voice—the heavy weight of its words settling deep in his chest.
"The last war was never meant to be won."
Reven exhaled, slow and measured. He pushed himself to his feet, muscles aching from the aftershock of whatever had just happened. His fingers brushed against the hilts of his daggers, a grounding habit. The cold steel reminded him that he was here, now. Not trapped in the past.
But he needed answers.
His gaze shifted back to the blade in the statue's hands. It wasn't just some ceremonial relic. He could feel it—power woven into its very core, humming just beneath the surface. The carvings along its chipped edge were unfamiliar, but something in him whispered that they were meant to be read, to be understood.
And then the ground trembled.
A faint rumble, low and distant, reverberated through the stone beneath his boots. Reven tensed. The ruins had been dead silent when he first entered, but now, the world around him had begun to wake.
Something was coming.
He turned sharply, scanning the chamber's entrance. Shadows stretched and flickered beyond the archway. His pulse quickened. He knew that presence. Voidspawn.
Of course they had followed him.
Their kind thrived in places like this—in the forgotten wounds of the world, where the past bled into the present.
The first one appeared just beyond the threshold, slithering forward on all fours. Its form was grotesque—half-solid, half-wisp, its body shifting as though it had never truly decided what shape it wanted to take.
It had no eyes, only a jagged maw that split its head in two.
The second one followed, then a third.
Reven moved.
He launched himself sideways, ducking into the shadows near a broken pillar as the first Voidspawn screeched—a grating, unnatural sound that rattled his bones.
The ruins were too enclosed. There wasn't enough room to manoeuvre, not with three of them.
His mind raced.
The altar. The statue. The blade.
He didn't know why, but he knew what he had to do.
It was calling to him.
Reven surged forward, boots striking the stone as he ran for the altar. The Voidspawn reacted instantly, lunging after him with unnatural speed. Too fast.
He wouldn't make it.
But something in him shifted.
The fragment inside him pulsed.
It wasn't painful this time—it was fluid, controlled. Reven didn't stop to question it. He let the energy course through him, feeding into his body, his muscles, his mind.
He moved faster.
Time stretched as he slid across the altar's surface, seizing the hilt of the blade in one swift motion.
The moment his fingers curled around it, the ruins roared to life.
Light—brilliant, searing light—erupted from the carvings along the chamber walls. Ancient symbols ignited, pulsing with the same strange energy now coursing through his veins.
The Voidspawn shrieked.
For the first time, they hesitated.
Reven rose, blade in hand, breath steady. The sword was heavier than it looked, its balance shifting in his grip as if adjusting to him.
The Voidspawn lunged.
Reven met them head-on.
The first strike came low, a shadowy claw slashing toward his side. He twisted, dodging by inches before bringing the blade across in a sweeping arc.
The sword sang.
Light split through the darkness, carving into the Voidspawn's form. It howled, its body unravelling in waves of inky black mist before vanishing entirely.
Reven barely had time to react before the second one was on him.
He pivoted, ducking beneath its lunge, and drove the blade straight into its chest. The creature convulsed, screeching as its form disintegrated around the glowing edge of the weapon.
One left.
This one was smarter. It circled him warily, its jagged maw splitting open as if studying him.
Reven squared his stance, gripping the blade tighter. The moment stretched.
Then, the Voidspawn bolted.
It turned sharply, darting toward the chamber's exit, vanishing into the darkness beyond.
Reven didn't chase. He stood still, listening to the fading echoes of its movement.
It was running. Not out of fear—but to warn something else.
His grip tightened around the sword. There would be more.
The fight was not over.
And as Reven exhaled, staring down at the ancient weapon in his hands, he realized—it had never truly begun.