They stood at the edge of a vast canyon known only in old tongues as the Maw of Echoes. Here, beneath the shifting sands and forgotten stars, the last node pulsed—a buried core of the ancient Weave. Even the air buzzed with anticipation.
Lyra double-checked her runes. "The leyline is strong here. Like… too strong."
"Everything about this place screams final boss," Bryn muttered, cracking his knuckles.
Aeren stared into the canyon. "The final node's under there. We go in."
Kiran squinted into the shadowy chasm. "Anyone else feel like we're walking into a trap?"
"Absolutely," Kaelen replied. "But let's make it their trap."
The descent began.
As they climbed into the canyon, vines as thick as trees coiled along the cliff walls. Glyphs pulsed from the stone, reacting to their presence. The deeper they went, the more warped reality became. Their footsteps echoed too long. Shapes shimmered just out of sight.
Elira stuck close to Aeren. "This place messes with your head."
"Focus on me," he said softly.
"Flirt later," she teased. "Survive now."
They reached the floor of the canyon. There, a stone gate stood embedded in rock—massive and sealed, with a glowing spiral at its center. The final node.
Lyra stepped forward, began weaving the unlocking spell—until a sudden crack rang through the air.
A portal burst open behind them.
Dozens of figures poured out.
Cloaks. Silver masks. The Watchers.
Leading them… a tall, pale man with white-gold hair. Eyes like frozen stars.
Aeren's heart dropped.
"Father."
The Watcher General—once a hero, long believed dead—now wore the mark of the Hollow Crown.
"Aeren," he said, his voice cold and smooth. "Step away from the gate."
"I won't."
"You don't understand what lies beyond it. That power—it cannot be unleashed."
"That power unites," Aeren said. "You're the one who turned from it."
"Because unity demands sacrifice. More than you're ready to give."
Elira stood beside him. "Then we'll give it. Together."
The General raised his hand.
Magic surged.
The canyon exploded into chaos.
Battle erupted. Kaelen and Zephren clashed with masked duelists. Kiran raised walls of stone while Bryn charged into enemy lines, laughing like a lunatic.
Lyra tried to keep the spell going, weaving in bursts. The gate pulsed brighter.
Aeren faced his father.
"You trained me to be a protector," he said. "But you taught fear."
His father's eyes glinted. "And you became naïve."
They clashed—flame against frost, past against future.
Elira fought her way to Lyra, shielding her as she chanted. The gate began to open, stone grinding apart.
Aeren's flames twisted into a spiral, the Weave taking form. Memories from the nodes surged through him. His mother's face. The elemental's bow. The ruin's ghosts. All of it became him.
He unleashed it.
A roar of light swept the canyon.
The Watchers faltered.
Aeren's father was thrown back, mask cracking. For a moment, his expression shifted—from pride to fear.
Then the gate fully opened.
Silence fell.
Inside was a chamber of crystal and energy, humming with ancient purpose.
The final node hovered at the center.
Aeren stepped in.
Light enveloped him.
He saw it all—the first Weavers, the battles, the fall, the dream they tried to protect.
He understood.
When he emerged, the canyon was quiet.
The Watchers were gone.
His friends surrounded him.
"You okay?" Elira asked, touching his arm.
He nodded slowly. "The Weave is awake."
"And now?" Kiran asked.
Aeren looked to the stars.
"Now we show the world what magic was meant to be."
But far away, in a shadowed sanctum, a darker force stirred.
The Hollow Crown had seen the light rise.
And they would answer.