Kael laid Lira's head gently in his lap. The air stank of blood—sharp, metallic, choking. Her warmth lingered on his hands, but it was fading fast. Blood bubbled from her lips in sudden, wet bursts, spilling over his trembling fingers.
His heartbeat slowed, like the world was slipping away. Tears streamed freely down his face, falling onto her chest. His expression contorted into something raw and broken as he pressed his hands over her wound, helpless against the tide of it.
"Mum, no. Please, no. Why aren't you healing? Mum… Mum…" he whispered, again and again.
He didn't notice the dome appear around them. He saw nothing now but her.
Lira lifted one shaking hand and brushed his cheek. Her touch left a streak of blood, but her smile—however faint—was still there. "It'll be okay," she said softly.
"No, don't talk," Kael murmured, holding her tighter.
With what little strength remained, Lira drew glowing letters in the air—KAEL. The name shimmered faintly, pulsing like a fading star. She then extended her hand toward a lone statue standing untouched amidst the rubble, as though she knew it had been waiting.
The letters flew toward it. They struck the statue with a dull, resonant sound—then silence.
A crack split the stone down the middle.
The statue shuddered, fractures racing along its surface like lightning. And then, without sound or warning, it crumbled inward. Not with a blast, but a quiet collapse—like something ancient giving up.
Floating within the dust and stone was a gauntlet, suspended in stillness. Its surface was made of jagged obsidian plates, fused together in uneven layers, as if shaped by pressure rather than design. It looked old, incomplete, almost improvised. Inside its open palm rested three scrolls—plain, sealed in worn lacquer tubes, untouched by time.
The gauntlet didn't glow. It didn't hum or scream. It simply hovered, quiet and strange, like it had been waiting for this moment.
"What is that?" Varin asked, turning from Lester and Mouse, eyes narrowing as he spotted the artifact.
The gauntlet shimmered once, then blinked out of sight.
A beat later, it reappeared within the dome, limp and lifeless—but undeniably present.
"I don't like this," Varin said quietly.
Lyre scoffed. "It's a glove. She's dying. No one lives through a wound like that. The boy's weak. You're reading too much into this."
"Maybe," Varin murmured, eyes still on the dome. "Just… feels like the beginning of something."
He turned back toward the others. "Will they be okay?"
"Mouse will pull through," Nyss said. "Lester… we'll see. But don't worry. We've still got Scarborn. We'll manage."
"Yeah," Varin said, but something in his chest stayed tight.
The gauntlet hit the ground with a dull thud—limp, lifeless.
Lira reached out, hands trembling, and pulled the scrolls from its grasp. She stuffed them into Kael's cloak, her fingers fumbling, clumsy with weakness.
"You… have to go—" she broke into a dry, rattling cough, blood bubbling at her lips. "The scrolls… will help… the bl—ack…scroll..." Her voice trembled like a flickering flame. "It'll get you… o-out… of here. Ju..st r—read it out lou..d."
Another cough. More blood. Her voice barely a whisper now. "Don't forget… yourself. Take i-it… and—go." She pushed him with what little strength she had left.
"No." Kael pulled her close, refusing to let go. "I don't want to," He sobbed, face twisted, soaked with tears and snot. "Please…just stay."
"J-just… leav—" Her voice faded like the wind. Her hand dropped. Her chest stilled.
Kael froze. "Mum… Mum, please—answer me—please." His words came as sobs now, buried in the folds of her blood-soaked robes.
"Noooo…" he screamed, voice raw, echoing in the broken silence. "Mu—m…"
Time stopped. And then…
He noticed them.
Three figures stood just beyond the haze of grief, watching. Silent. Alive.
Alive.
His jaw clenched. Every heartbeat was fire. Why are they still here? Why did they get to stand while she was cold in his arms?
He looked down at the gauntlet. It lay still, inert—but something inside it stirred. He heard it.The whisper sounded like dry leaves scraping over stone.
Wear it.
Kael blinked, breath shallow. He looked at Lira's face again. Her final words echoed in his mind—Don't forget yourself. He could still walk away. He could still run. He could still honor her wishes.
He reached for the gauntlet… then stopped.
What am I doing? he thought.
Tears welled again. His fingers trembled above it.
"She wouldn't want this," he whispered to himself.
A pause.
"Except they killed her."
The voice curled inside his skull, soft and cold.
Kael staggered back a step. He held the gauntlet in one hand now, gripping it tight like it might bite him.
"I don't want this," he said aloud. "I—I just wanted to save her."
"You didn't save her. You held her while she bled out in your arms. What else is left to lose?"
That broke something.
He looked at the figures again. One of them stirred. A figure—wounded, bloodied—slowly pushed himself upright.
Alive.
Why? Why is he still breathing?
Kael's hand closed around the gauntlet.
He slipped it on.
A perfect fit.
The moment it latched, a chill swept through the air. Black tendrils leaked from the seams of the gauntlet, spiraling up his arm, across his chest. His right eye clouded white—then was swallowed by black.
He gasped.
The world tilted.
Falling. Falling into something dark, endless.
A voice—jagged and layered—spoke in his ear.
"They deserve to die. Give in. Let me show you how."
Kael's fists trembled. His breathing slowed. His eyes flicked again to Lira's body.
He hesitated. Just for a moment.
He could stop. He could take her and leave. Just walk away.
But he didn't move.
The whisper became a roar.
"Make them pay."
"They killed her."
"MAKE THEM PAY."
Kael closed his eyes—and let go.
"Give me power," he muttered.
The gauntlet pulsed like a heartbeat.
His eyes turned black.
His face… changed. Calm. Detached. Something inside him unraveled.
Then—
Laughter.
A sick, glass-shattering distortion—like dozens of voices screaming in unison behind his own.
Kael smiled—a slow, unnatural thing. Too wide. Too calm.
The dome vanished.