The world had forgotten how to breathe.
Kael stood at the edge of the broken sky, where continents floated like drifting bones. Below him, rivers of molten starlight coiled through the void; above, the remnants of constellations flickered in and out of existence, like a dying heart that couldn't decide whether to stop.
Lyra stirred beside him, clutching her ribs. "Kael… where are we?"
He didn't answer. His gaze was fixed on the horizon—a black scar torn through reality where the Dominion Gate had collapsed. Beyond it, light and shadow bled together into something that looked alive.
"Somewhere between what was destroyed," he said at last, "and what shouldn't exist."
Lyra followed his stare, shivering. "You closed the Gate. You stopped it."
Kael's jaw tightened. "No. I only slowed it down."
The air trembled. A shape shimmered out of the heat haze—Arion, or what remained of him. His body was translucent, his robes trailing smoke, his eyes two fading lanterns.
"Kael," the old master said, voice half-echo, half-wind. "You've done the impossible. But the heavens will call it blasphemy."
Kael's shoulders stiffened. "They already did."
Arion smiled faintly. "Still proud, still reckless." He turned his fading eyes on Lyra. "And you—still tethering him to what's human."
Lyra rose, defiant. "If caring for him is a sin, I'll burn with it."
Arion's laugh was little more than dust. "Then you may yet save him."
Kael's hand went to his chest. The Dominion mark pulsed under his skin, bright as a heartbeat made of knives. "Save me from what?"
Arion's expression dimmed. "From yourself."
He lifted a spectral finger toward Kael's heart. "That power isn't asleep anymore. It's remembering its name."
The wind roared; Arion's form scattered like ashes in a storm. Only his voice lingered. "Master it—or it masters you."
Then silence.
Lyra stepped closer. "You're shaking."
Kael looked down. His hand wasn't trembling from fear—it vibrated, humming with restrained energy, as though something beneath the skin wanted out.
"It's alive," he whispered. "The Dominion's still alive."
Lyra touched his arm. "Then what now?"
Kael's eyes rose to the dying constellations. "We follow where it leads."
Hours—days—time itself lost meaning as they crossed the fragments of a broken world. Each floating shard carried ruins of civilizations that had once worshiped the stars. Temples half-swallowed by crystal drifted past, statues cracked by the heat of creation.
Sometimes Kael caught whispers—voices in languages that didn't belong to this age. Sometimes he saw faces in the molten rivers, echoes of people he might have known before he was born.
At night—if the endless twilight could be called night—he dreamed. Flames and oceans. A sword driven through the heart of a sun. A name whispered in the dark: Ashurion.
He woke each time with blood on his tongue and the taste of ash in his throat.
Lyra watched him, silent but afraid. She could see the glow creeping up his neck now, faint lines like constellations beneath his skin. "You're changing," she said quietly.
Kael didn't deny it. "The Dominion isn't a parasite," he murmured. "It's memory. It's trying to make me remember what I was before I was human."
"And do you want that?"
He didn't answer. The silence was enough.
They reached the heart of the fragments—a spire of black stone jutting from a sea of frozen time. At its peak, a sigil blazed: an eye made of fire, bleeding light.
Kael felt his pulse sync with it. Every beat of his heart echoed the sigil's rhythm.
"The mark of the First Star," he breathed.
Lyra frowned. "What does it mean?"
"It means we're close to the beginning."
The air thickened, heavy with heat and static. The sigil opened like a wound. From the spire's base, a figure emerged—tall, faceless, its armor a molten reflection of the cosmos.
When it spoke, its voice shook the bones of the world.
"Kael of the Dominion. You were not meant to endure."
Kael lifted his sword. "Guess I didn't get that memo."
The faceless being tilted its head. "You carry what should not exist. Do you even comprehend it?"
"Enough to use it," Kael said.
"Then face the one who gave it to you."
The sigil above them exploded, hurling light across the void. The spire split open like an egg of obsidian. Heat engulfed everything.
Kael grabbed Lyra, pulling her close as fire rained down. The void convulsed—and from within the storm of creation stepped something vast and terrible.
It was shaped like a man, but its body was made of suns and scars. Each movement shed fragments of constellations; its eyes burned blue-white, ancient and sorrowful.
Kael could barely breathe. "The First Star…"
Lyra clung to him. "That's a god."
"No," Kael said. "That's what gods used to fear."
The First Star looked down at him, and the universe dimmed.
"Welcome home, my last spark."
Kael felt the Dominion surge in answer, rushing through him like molten blood. His sword vibrated in his grip, eager, alive.
"Home?" he said through gritted teeth. "You destroyed everything I ever was."
"Because you asked me to."
Kael froze. "What?"
"You begged to be remade, Kael of the Flameborn. You chose mortality to forget your crimes. But remembrance always finds its vessel."
Lyra gasped. "That's impossible—"
Kael's vision blurred. Images struck him like blades: galaxies burning, armies of light kneeling before a throne of fire. His throne.
The First Star extended a hand the size of a mountain.
"Remember, and rise."
Kael's body ignited. The Dominion mark burst into a constellation across his skin. Lyra screamed his name, reaching for him—but light swallowed them both.
Light consumed everything.
Kael felt his body stretch across centuries, burned through dimensions, scattered and rebuilt in a storm of memories that weren't his—and yet were.
He stood within a cathedral of stars. The floor beneath him shimmered like frozen time, and pillars of white flame reached so high they vanished into infinity. Around him floated fragments of reality—ghosts of a past life: kingdoms kneeling, angels screaming, suns dying.
And there, at the center, a throne carved from the bones of collapsed stars.
Upon it sat himself.
Or rather, the being he used to be.
He was draped in chains made of light, each one pulsing like a heartbeat. His eyes glowed with an alien stillness. His face was Kael's, but older, colder, stripped of all trace of humanity.
When that voice spoke, it was a chorus of galaxies.
"You've come far, fragment."
Kael's throat burned. "What are you?"
"What you ran from."
The chained version of himself rose, the light around him bending in reverence. "You begged for mortality when the last war ended. You wanted to forget the screams, the fire, the gods you murdered. So I granted it."
Kael shook his head. "No… that's not possible. I was born in the ruins. I bled. I—"
"You were born from my refusal to die."
The words hit harder than any blade.
Kael stumbled back, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. "Then why show me this?"
"Because the Dominion's awakening. And the universe needs its executioner again."
Kael clenched his fists. "I'm not your weapon."
"You already are."
Chains of light uncoiled from the throne, wrapping around Kael's arms, his chest, his throat. The more he fought, the tighter they grew, burrowing into his skin until blood shimmered like liquid starlight.
"Every rebirth, every life, every death—you were meant to reach this moment. To finish what you began."
"Finish what?"
"The Purge."
The word echoed like a curse.
Kael's memories fractured open. Images flooded in—his hand tearing suns apart, his laughter as galaxies fell. He saw gods kneeling before him, begging for mercy, and his voice coldly granted none.
He dropped to his knees, clutching his head. "No… no, I wouldn't…"
"You did."
The older self stepped closer. "And you will again. Because destruction is all you've ever been good at."
Kael screamed, but the sound broke into light. The chains shattered—and for a heartbeat, the two selves fused.
Time stopped.
The Dominion mark burned through his entire body, veins of silver fire crawling under his skin. His hair turned white, his eyes black and star-filled. He saw everything: every death he'd caused, every lie he'd lived, every world he'd failed to save.
And in that infinite silence—Lyra's voice cut through.
"Kael!"
The memory shattered. The cathedral of stars exploded outward, collapsing into the real world. Kael gasped as he fell to his knees, the spire's black stone beneath him again. Lyra knelt beside him, trembling but alive.
Her eyes widened at what she saw. "Your… eyes…"
Kael looked at his reflection in her blade. His pupils were gone—only twin galaxies swirled there now, cold and ancient.
He felt hollow. Lighter, somehow. Like a flame that had burned too long.
Lyra reached out, touching his cheek. "What happened?"
Kael's voice was hoarse. "I remembered."
"And?"
He looked at his hands—hands that had once ended worlds. "And I wish I hadn't."
The First Star loomed before them, its vast body dimmed. Its voice, once thunderous, was now little more than a whisper.
"So… the murderer remembers."
Kael rose slowly, every motion heavy with grief. "You made me into this."
"You asked for it. Do not pretend to be innocent."
"Maybe not," Kael said. "But I won't be your executioner again."
"Then you will be their doom instead."
The First Star raised a hand. The spire cracked beneath their feet. Lava surged upward, forming a blade the size of a city. Kael lifted his sword instinctively, Dominion energy roaring through him.
The air split apart as god and mortal clashed.
Every swing of Kael's sword tore holes through the void. Every blow of the First Star sent waves of molten light across creation. Lyra was thrown back, her screams lost in the chaos.
Kael bled light, not blood. He could feel the Dominion inside him screaming for release, begging to be used, to unmake.
He resisted—until the First Star drove its colossal blade through his chest.
The sound was silence.
Kael staggered, breathless. The sword pinned him to the broken ground. Light poured from the wound like falling stars.
"You cannot kill me, Kael," the god said softly. "Because you are me."
Kael's lips curled into a bloody smile. "You talk too much."
He grabbed the blade impaling him—and pulled it deeper. The Dominion surged, flooding his veins. The mark on his chest split open, releasing a sphere of pure white light.
The First Star recoiled, roaring in fury.
Kael whispered, "If I were born from your fire…"
He thrust his hand into his own chest, gripping the heart of the Dominion.
"…then I'll die taking it back."
He ripped the light free.
The explosion turned night into a second dawn. The spire disintegrated, the void screamed, and the First Star's body shattered into a rain of galaxies.
When the storm cleared, Kael was gone.
Only the sword remained—embedded in a crater of black glass, still burning with faint white fire.
Lyra crawled toward it, her tears cutting lines through the ash on her face. She reached for the blade, trembling.
And when her fingers touched it, the fire whispered her name.
Lyra…
She froze. "Kael?"
Not yet, the voice said faintly. I'm not done.
Then silence again.
Lyra closed her eyes and wept. The blade's glow pulsed once, twice… then stilled.
The Star That Bleeds was silent once more.