There was no sky.
No ground.
Only endless fragments of light suspended in nothingness a realm between breaths, between fates.
Arka opened his eyes to the sound of a pulse that wasn't entirely his own. His body floated weightless, surrounded by shards of the Celestial Spire drifting like broken glass. The air shimmered with whispers echoes of prayers, oaths, and screams that once belonged to heaven.
He reached for his chest. The mark burned softly there, no longer just gold and black, but laced with streaks of silver.
Living. Changing. Watching.
"Where…" his voice broke, "…am I?"
A figure appeared among the shards neither angel nor shadow. It was shaped like a man, but its form constantly shifted, wings fading in and out of existence. Its eyes were hollow, yet galaxies spun inside them.
"You stand in the Rift," the being said. Its voice carried both thunder and stillness. "The place between creation and oblivion. Few who fall here return as themselves."
Arka steadied his breath. "You're not Aeltharion."
"No," the being replied. "But I was born from what he left behind memory given shape. I am the Witness of the Rift."
"The Witness?" Arka repeated. "So you see everything?"
"Not everything," the being said softly, "only what even gods refuse to look upon."
The shards around them began to rearrange, forming ghostly visions images of the Celestial Spire collapsing, of Seraphiel kneeling beneath the broken sky, of Lysander standing amid the ruins of Aurion with his sword buried in the ground.
Arka's pulse quickened. "They're still fighting?"
"Not yet," said the Witness. "But heaven's silence breeds madness. The Archons are scattered. The mortal world feels their absence. Without balance, the Abyss will rise again."
Arka closed his fists. "Then send me back."
The Witness tilted its head. "You can't return unchanged. The Rift decides what leaves it. It will strip you of what you were… or make you into what you must become."
A cold wind swept through the void. Out of the darkness came shapes wolves made of light and dust, their bodies transparent yet fierce. They circled Arka, eyes gleaming with faint recognition.
One approached and pressed its forehead against his hand. The contact sent a surge of energy through him wild, ancient, alive.
The Witness spoke again. "The Starwolves remember you. You are the last of their blood, the bridge between star and flesh. But you carry Aeltharion's wound and that will draw the attention of things older than gods."
Arka met the creature's glowing gaze. "Then let them come."
The void trembled. From far beyond the Rift, a shadow stirred vast, unseen, yet undeniable. The Witness stepped back, its form beginning to fade.
"It has already come," it said. "The first one that fell when creation split the Primarch of Silence. It waits in the abyss below, drawn to the spark within you."
The wolves began to snarl, forming a protective circle around Arka.
"What does it want?" Arka demanded.
The Witness's voice echoed faintly. "To finish what the heavens began. To erase the bridge."
A great rumble shook the Rift. One by one, the shards of light shattered into darkness. A deep red glow spread beneath Arka's feet a spiral of symbols burning into existence.
Seraphiel's voice whispered from somewhere distant.
"Arka, listen to me don't let it pull you under!"
He gritted his teeth, summoning the remnants of his power. The mark on his arm flared, weaving threads of gold and black around him like a cocoon.
"I won't break," he hissed.
A low voice answered from the dark below.
"You already have."
The ground exploded.
A colossal form emerged formless yet aware, its body made of shifting shadows and starlight. It reached for him with arms like galaxies, whispering in a voice that echoed across all time.
"Child of Wolf and Heretic… come home."
Arka's world went white. The light swallowed everything.
When he could see again, he was no longer floating he was standing on solid stone beneath a black sun.
Above him, endless towers rose, built from bones of fallen angels.
And at the heart of it all stood a throne of crystal and void.
Upon it sat a figure cloaked in silence.
The Primarch of Silence.
Its eyes opened slowly and for the first time in eons, something that was never meant to speak whispered his name.
"Arka."