Erik landed hard—this time on polished white marble, smooth and cold as starlight.A ceiling of impossible height stretched above him, carved with constellations that didn't exist in any known sky. The walls pulsed faintly with runes that shifted every time he blinked. The air smelled like thunder and old ink.
It was silent. Not dead silent, but the kind of silence that watches.
He stood slowly, sword still in hand, every muscle stiff. His soul-mark was dull now, recovering.
At the center of the temple-like space was a throne.
She sat there.
The First Seer.
Her face was veiled—covered in an ever-shifting curtain of silver mist. Her robes flowed like they were underwater.Her presence wasn't warm or cold. It was truth. Absolute and ancient.
"You've grown faster than the last one," she said. Her voice layered, like multiple versions of her were speaking at once—past, present, and future selves overlapping.
Erik didn't lower his blade.
"Who are you to call me here?"
"I didn't call you," she said simply. "The sword did. Or rather, the part of me still trapped inside it."
He flinched. "What?"
The Seer stood from her throne. When she moved, the floor lit up beneath her feet, runes reacting to her steps.
"Veyrion isn't just a weapon, Erik. It's a prison. A vessel. When the gods shattered the old order, I sealed pieces of myself inside certain objects—objects meant to shape the next wielder of fate."
She stepped closer. Not threatening. Not curious. Just… aware.
"You carry one of the seven. And that makes you… dangerous."
Erik tightened his grip. "So all this—the Collectors, the Trials, my soul—was planned?"
"No. It was warned."
She tilted her head.
"There's a difference."
The walls around them changed. Suddenly, Erik wasn't in a temple—he was in a field. Golden grass. Familiar wind.
It was his village. Before it burned.
But the sky was wrong. There were no stars. Only eyes. Watching. Unblinking.
"The gods and devils you'll face aren't like stories," she said. "They aren't villains. They're truths that refused to fade. Concepts that became living forces."
Erik looked up. The eyes didn't blink. Didn't look away.
"They'll offer you peace," she said softly. "They'll promise protection. Maybe even let you save your loved ones. But in return—"
"I become their puppet."
She nodded once. "Or worse… their replacement."
The field faded. They were back in the temple.
The Seer stepped back.
"I am the echo of what came before. I cannot fight for you. But I can give you a gift."
She raised one hand. A sigil floated above her palm—spiraling, alive, burning with golden-red light.
"This is the third glyph," she said. "Seal it now, and your soul will withstand what's coming next."
Erik looked at the mark, then at her. "Why help me?"
Her voice turned cold.
"Because I've seen the other ending."
He reached out. The glyph burned into his chest—not with pain, but with weight. Like another chain had been wrapped around his fate. But this one… fit.
His Soulflare mark blazed. Veyrion trembled.
The Seer's body began to fade.
"Our time ends here," she said. "But one last truth before you go…"
She leaned close.
"The soul inside you—it lied."
"What?"
"It's not just a remnant. It's not just a guide. It's a survivor. One of the three that ended the last realm."
Erik stepped back.
"You mean—"
But the Seer vanished.
And Erik woke up…
In chains.Inside a cage.Surrounded by armored guards bearing the sigil of the Azure Order.
Arenya stood across from him.
Expression blank.Eyes glowing red.
And behind her, Velkhar stepped forward.
"You went too far, Erik," he said."This time… we decide what you become."