The moment they stepped out of the Vault, the air had changed.
It wasn't just the stillness anymore—it was pressure. An invisible weight that wrapped around their skin and sank into their bones.
The sky above the desert had turned darker than before, even though the sun was still supposed to be up. Ash-colored clouds swirled without wind, and a thin line of red light cut across the horizon like a scar.
Lysander didn't say a word.
The shard in his hand was still glowing.
But now... it pulsed.
Not like a heartbeat—but like something was knocking from the inside.
---
They made camp near a jagged ridge that jutted from the sand like a shattered jawbone. Roan built a quick fire while Mara stood on a higher rock, eyes scanning the shifting dunes in silence. She hadn't spoken since they left the Vault. Her hand had never left the hilt of her sword.
Lysander sat with his knees pulled up, staring at the flame.
"You okay?" Roan asked him.
"No," he said honestly.
She didn't push him.
He looked up at her, eyes tired. "You said something's started."
Roan nodded. "Yeah. And I think we just painted a target on your back."
He exhaled, fingers brushing the shard again. "They'll come for me."
"They're already coming."
---
As if on cue, Mara's voice called down from the ridge.
"Movement."
Lysander stood instantly.
Roan didn't even flinch. "How many?"
"Three," Mara said. "Moving fast. Not on foot."
Roan cursed under her breath and grabbed her gear.
"They're flying."
Lysander blinked. "Flying?"
Then he heard it—a sound like rusted wings scraping across stone.
He turned toward the desert edge.
Shapes emerged from the crimson horizon. Not birds. Not dragons. But something... wrong.
Creatures wrapped in white cloth, gliding with wings stitched from bone and smoke. On their backs rode armored figures with halos that cracked like broken glass.
"Angels," Roan hissed.
Lysander froze. "Wait. Real angels?"
"Don't let the title fool you. They're not the good kind."
Mara leapt down beside them. Her sword was already drawn, its edge humming faintly in the dark.
"They're from the Divine Concord," she said. "Executioners."
Lysander stepped back. "Why are they here?"
"You lit a signal flare when you touched that Vault," Roan muttered. "And now Heaven's dogs want to silence you."
The angels landed.
Hard.
The ground trembled beneath their armored boots. Their wings folded behind them with unnatural creaks, and the air around them shimmered—like even light didn't want to get too close.
The one in front removed his helmet.
His face was pale. Beautiful, even. But hollow. Eyes like mirrors, reflecting nothing.
"You carry what should not exist," he said, voice like ice over steel.
Roan stepped between him and Lysander. "He's under our protection."
The angel didn't even blink. "You speak as if that matters."
Without warning, the nearest angel moved.
He was fast.
Roan raised her dagger just in time to parry, sparks flying as metal clashed.
Mara moved like a shadow—no flash, just cold precision. Her sword hummed through the air and clipped the wing of one of the others. The angel didn't bleed—he cracked.
Like glass.
Lysander stumbled back, heart racing. He wasn't ready for this. Not yet.
One of the angels turned toward him.
He raised his hand, and a spear of golden flame formed in the air, aimed right at Lysander's chest.
Time slowed.
And then—
Something inside him pushed back.
The shard in his chest blazed, and the spear shattered in the air like a bottle against stone.
The angel blinked.
Then stared.
"You…"
Lysander felt his knees buckle.
But in that moment, he felt it again.
A presence behind him. Not seen, not heard—but there. A warmth that burned and whispered and watched.
The woman.
She wasn't speaking this time. But her power—whatever it was—was moving through him.
His skin burned, not painfully, but with a strange pressure, like something trying to crawl out of him.
His eyes flicked black for a second.
Not shadow.
Void.
The angel backed away.
Roan noticed it too. She glanced at him—and for the first time—looked genuinely unsure.
Mara slashed across her opponent's chest, leaving a jagged crack in his armor. "Lysander!"
He looked up.
"Now would be a really good time to fight back!"
Lysander looked down at his hand.
The shard pulsed once.
You are chosen. You are vessel. Open the door.
The words weren't spoken.
They were etched into him.
He reached inside his coat, pulled the fragment out—
And for the first time—
Let it consume him.
---
The world twisted.
The air bent inward.
The ground cracked beneath his feet, and red symbols lit up along the sand like veins of glowing ink.
His body floated a few inches off the ground.
Roan stepped back. "What the hell…"
The angels raised their weapons again.
Lysander opened his eyes.
His pupils were gone—replaced by a burning ring of crimson and gold.
He stretched out a hand—
And the ground obeyed.
Pillars of stone erupted from the earth, slamming into one of the angels and pinning him mid-air like a nail driven through glass.
Another lunged, only to be flung sideways by an invisible force, his wings shredded by phantom claws.
Mara stood stunned. Her sword half-raised.
Roan just whispered, "He awakened a Domain…"
The last angel hovered back, fear finally flashing in his hollow eyes.
"You should not exist," he snarled.
Lysander tilted his head. "I get that a lot."
The shard flared.
A burst of pure energy exploded from his body—rippling through the sand like a shockwave. The final angel was hurled into the sky like a doll tossed by a hurricane.
And then—
Silence.
---
The light faded.
Lysander collapsed.
Roan caught him before he hit the ground.
He was breathing—barely. His eyes fluttered, his face pale.
But the shard… was silent.
Dormant.
Mara knelt beside them.
"That wasn't just power," she said. "That was a piece of the Fallen God… waking up inside him."
Roan looked down at Lysander.
Then up at the blood-red sky.
"They know where we are now."