Chapter 8
The world had become a field of broken stars.
Fragments of glass hung suspended in the air, reflecting memories that weren't his. Each step Nyxen took rippled through the nothingness, forming brief paths of light that faded behind him. He could still hear the echo of the city's destruction — a whispering grief that sounded like rain against eternity.
He walked for what could have been hours, or centuries. In the void, time was a fragile thing.
At last, a shimmer of form took shape ahead of him — a palace suspended above the endless dark, its pillars spiraling like veins through the sky. It was beautiful, mournful, and alive.
The gates opened soundlessly.
Inside, twelve colossal statues faced each other, each depicting a god long erased from history. Their eyes glowed faintly, their lips slightly parted as if about to speak.
He felt it there — a pulse buried deep beneath the marble. A call. The same voice that had whispered his name when the city fell.
"The Heaven-Sealing Sword…" Nyxen murmured, closing his eyes. "You're buried beneath their arrogance, aren't you?"
He reached for his blade — but before his fingers touched the hilt, a shadow flickered across the room.
Someone else was here.
A tall figure in crimson armor leaned against one of the broken pillars, his expression calm but his eyes burning like molten gold. His aura was suffocating — the scent of divine blood and chaos intermingled.
"So," the man said, smiling faintly. "Another fool searching for a weapon that can defy the heavens."
Nyxen's tone was dry. "And you must be the first fool who failed."
The man laughed. "Perhaps. But I have yet to die for it."
He pushed himself away from the pillar and stepped forward. His presence pressed against the world like the hand of a god. "My name is Kaelvar. Prince of the Seventh Flame. This palace belongs to my house — or what's left of it."
Nyxen regarded him silently. "A prince, then. You reek of divinity."
"And you," Kaelvar said, "reek of something older."
Their auras clashed briefly — light against silence, fire against shadow. The air trembled, but neither drew a weapon.
Before either could speak again, another presence emerged from the far side of the chamber — a woman with pale skin like moonlight, her hair silver-white and her eyes dark as ink. She carried a spear made of crystal, its surface crawling with faint script.
Her voice was like distant bells. "You two make too much noise."
Kaelvar smirked. "Ah, Princess Seris of the Twilight Empire. I should have known."
She ignored him, her gaze fixed on Nyxen. "And who are you? You're no god, no mortal… something in between."
"Just a wanderer," he said simply.
"Liar," she whispered.
The tension thickened. The palace itself seemed to respond — the statues flickering, their eyes glowing brighter. Somewhere deep below, the heartbeat of the Heaven-Sealing Sword grew stronger, pulsing through the floor like thunder beneath skin.
Kaelvar tilted his head. "Seems the sword likes your presence, stranger. Or perhaps it senses your sin."
Nyxen's fingers brushed against the hilt of his blade. "Sin is merely proof that one has lived."
Seris stepped closer. "Then you've lived more than most."
The marble cracked beneath their feet. Light surged up through the fissures, golden and red, twining like serpents.
A voice echoed from the depths — neither male nor female, neither kind nor cruel.
"Three seekers. One path. One will ascend; two will vanish."
The chamber exploded with force.
Kaelvar raised his hand, summoning a storm of crimson fire that twisted into the shape of a dragon. Seris spun her spear, weaving a barrier of pale light that split into mirrored shards. Nyxen moved last — his sword half-drawn, the motion barely visible.
The dragon roared. The mirrors shattered.
Nyxen vanished.
A single step carried him behind Kaelvar, his sword carving a black line across the air. The cut didn't touch flesh — it sliced through reality itself, and Kaelvar staggered as blood welled along an invisible wound on his cheek.
Seris lunged, her spear thrusting straight toward Nyxen's throat. He caught the spear with two fingers, twisting it effortlessly aside.
For a moment, their eyes met — her calm fury against his quiet emptiness.
"You're not fighting for the sword," she breathed. "You're fighting for something else."
"Maybe," he said softly. "Maybe I'm fighting just to see if I still exist."
He released her weapon and stepped back.
Kaelvar wiped the blood from his cheek, grinning. "You're no mere traveler. What are you?"
Nyxen sheathed his sword. "The one who doesn't kneel."
The floor shook. Light bled through the cracks again, forming a spiral that dragged the three of them downward.
Seris cursed under her breath. "The palace is choosing."
As they fell through the vortex, Nyxen heard it — that same whisper, the voice of the Heaven-Sealing Sword:
"Descend, traveler. Only death can temper eternity."
Then the world flipped.
Darkness folded inward.
And everything became light.