The figure stepped from the rift, slow and deliberate, every movement exuding terrible power.
His armor was ancient, wrought from blackened steel etched with symbols older than the City Beyond itself. A long, crimson cloak flowed from his shoulders, tattered but defiant against the winds of corruption that still howled around the ruined plaza.
His eyes burned gold, not with the warmth of the sun, but with the cold, unforgiving light of judgment.
I could not move.
For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.
The woman beside me lowered her head in fear.
"You must flee," she whispered. "You are not ready."
But I stood my ground.
My hands gripped the relic-sword tighter. Every instinct screamed at me to run, but I would not turn my back. Not now. Not ever.
The figure's gaze swept across the ruined district, lingering on the shattered remnants of the cultists, the broken rift, the blade in my hand.
"You have done well," he said at last, his voice deep and resonant, like the tolling of a funeral bell. "But you are a fool if you think you have won."
I narrowed my eyes.
"Who are you?"
The man smiled, though there was no warmth in it.
"I am a Herald," he said. "A servant of the True Warden. The one who shall tear down the rotting thrones and remake this world in purity and fire."
The True Warden.
The title struck something deep within me, something primal and uneasy.
There had been whispers among the Wardens of old. Legends of a being who would come at the end of days to judge both light and darkness alike.
But no one had believed it would be real.
Until now.
"You are a traitor," I said.
He laughed, the sound low and chilling.
"No, Caelan. I am salvation. You cling to broken oaths and hollow traditions, serving masters who have already betrayed you. I offer freedom."
I took a step forward.
"And I offer you a choice," he continued, lifting one gauntleted hand. "Kneel. Serve. Become part of the Ascendancy that is to come. Or be swept away with the rest of the filth."
Behind him, the rift continued to pulse, growing wider, deeper. Shapes moved within it, indistinct and terrible. Not spirits. Not beasts.
Something older.
Something worse.
I planted the relic-sword into the ground before me.
"I have made my choice," I said.
The Herald's smile faded.
"So be it."
Without warning, he moved.
Faster than thought, faster than sight.
I barely managed to raise the sword in time to parry his blow. The shock of the impact sent me skidding backward across the plaza, boots carving furrows in the cracked stone.
Pain lanced through my arms. The sheer force behind his attack was inhuman.
He was not merely strong.
He was something beyond strength.
The Herald advanced, every step measured, inevitable.
I met him again, sword against blade.
Sparks flew.
Stone shattered.
Wind howled.
Each clash drove me back further, closer to the edge of exhaustion. I fought with everything I had, drawing upon the ancient rites, the strength of the relic-sword, my training, my will.
But he was better.
Stronger.
Older.
At last, he struck a blow that tore the sword from my hands.
I hit the ground hard, the impact driving the breath from my lungs.
The relic-sword skidded away, embedding itself in the shattered ground several meters distant.
The Herald loomed over me, his shadow swallowing the world.
"You are not yet ready to face the truth," he said, raising his black blade high.
The woman who had followed me cried out and raised a hand.
The world shifted.
The air rippled like water.
Suddenly, I was elsewhere.
A narrow alley in the depths of the City Beyond, the scent of rain and ash heavy in the air.
I staggered to my feet, heart pounding, mind racing.
The woman appeared beside me, her cloak fluttering.
"I bought you time," she said. "Nothing more."
I opened my mouth to speak, but she cut me off.
"Listen carefully. The Herald is merely the beginning. The Council is fractured. The Ascension is real. And you, Caelan, are the only Warden left who can stop what is coming."
I shook my head.
"I am no savior."
She smiled sadly.
"Neither was the first Warden. Yet he chose to stand. Now it is your turn."
In the distance, a horn sounded.
Not of this world.
A call to war.
The woman pressed a crystal into my hand, cold and pulsing with faint light.
"This will lead you to the next Pillar. You must restore it before the Herald claims it. Or all is lost."
The crystal flared brightly.
Then she was gone, swallowed by the mist.
I was alone.
The City Beyond loomed around me, vast and cold.
And somewhere out there, the Herald marched toward his true goal.
The real war had only just begun.
And I was already running out of time.