✦ CHAPTER EIGHT
The Free Realms
Falling.
Eryndor didn't remember jumping.
Only falling—
Through the rift, through color and cold, through a space that wasn't space at all. His stomach lurched. Reality twisted into threads of starlight.
Seris screamed beside him.
Theron?
Theron wasn't falling.
He was walking through the void as though gravity obeyed him.
He extended his hand toward them.
"Hold on."
Eryndor reached for him. The instant their hands touched, the chaotic spiral slowed. The void bent, forming a path beneath their feet — solid, shimmering like glass over an endless abyss.
Eryndor gasped. Seris swore.
Theron smiled faintly.
"Welcome to the threshold."
The path led toward a distant horizon of violet storms and drifting islands suspended in nothingness. Souls wandered between them — glowing silhouettes, aimless and unbound.
Seris stared. "Are those… ghosts?"
Theron shook his head.
"No. Those are souls free of judgment and destination. No heaven. No prison. No Reaper's scythe."
Eryndor watched one approach — a woman, bundled in light like fog. Her outline flickered, but he could see her eyes — calm and peaceful.
She drifted past them, unafraid.
Eryndor felt something tighten in his chest. "They're… happy."
"Peaceful," Theron corrected. "Happiness is a condition. Peace is a state."
Seris nudged him. "Those are the same thing."
Theron arched a brow. "Tell that to a kingdom that won a war."
Eryndor shot Seris a look. "He has a point."
Theron stopped walking.
The glassy path widened into a land of pale stone and wandering lanterns. Ancient ruins rose around them, half-swallowed by floating vines. Each ruin flickered like an almost-memory — a temple that existed in one reality and faded in another.
In the center stood a massive gate — fractured, its symbols incomplete.
Eryndor's breath caught.
"What is this place?"
Theron looked at him, eyes soft with something like reverence.
"The Free Realms. A world outside every afterlife. Where souls can simply… be."
Seris stared at Theron, hands on hips. "If this exists, why doesn't anyone know about it?"
"They do."
Theron's voice darkened.
"That is why Kaelith chained me."
Eryndor finally spoke the thought twisting in his mind.
"You created this place."
Theron hesitated — then nodded.
"I did. Long ago, when I was still the High Reaper."
Seris choked. "You were the High Reaper?"
Eryndor's stomach dropped.
Kaelith wasn't just threatened by Theron.
He was replacing him.
Theron walked toward the broken gate, fingertips brushing ancient runes. The symbols responded, flaring to life with soft gold light.
"I believed souls deserved choice. The right to rest or wander. The right to exist without chains."
Eryndor swallowed. "Why were you chained, then?"
Theron turned to them, expression composed — but pain glimmered beneath it.
"Because choice terrifies those with power."
Silence settled.
Far above them, souls drifted like shooting stars.
Eryndor stepped closer to the gate. Runes glowed beneath his sigil — reacting to him.
Theron watched closely.
"You feel it, don't you?"
Eryndor nodded.
A tug deep within his bones — like the world was calling him.
"What is this?" he whispered.
Theron's voice was soft.
"The Free Gate responds to only one kind of being."
He placed his hand beside Eryndor's on the ancient stone.
"A Harbinger of Fate."
Seris raised a hand. "Hold on — what exactly is a Harbinger? Because I didn't sign up for a prophecy situation."
Theron looked at Eryndor.
Not at Seris.
"The Harbinger is the one who determines the fate of souls.
Not the Reapers.
Not the High Reaper."
He touched Eryndor's marked palm.
"You."
Eryndor staggered back. "I'm nobody. I can barely control my scythe. How can I—"
Theron stepped closer.
"You freed me with a thought. You connected to a chained soul when no one else heard it. You crossed realms without tearing your spirit apart."
Eryndor backed up until his shoulders hit the gate.
"I didn't choose any of this."
Theron's voice softened, almost gentle.
"No one chooses to hold destiny. Destiny chooses them."
The sound of metal scraping stone echoed behind them — a crack of power ripping the air.
Seris whirled around.
"Oh, perfect. We have company."
An obsidian portal opened behind them.
Out stepped three armored Reapers — their armor etched with Kaelith's crest. Their scythes pulsed with shadow.
The leader spoke, voice hollow behind a silver helm.
"By decree of the High Reaper, you are under arrest. All of you."
Eryndor tightened his grip on his scythe.
Seris whispered, "So what's the plan?"
Theron didn't summon his chains.
He smiled.
"We don't run."
Then every lantern in the realm flared to life.
Souls turned toward the intruders — thousands of unbound spirits rising in luminous waves.
Theron looked at Eryndor.
"Command them."
Eryndor froze. "I— I can't."
"Yes," Theron said. "You can."
The Reapers stepped forward.
"Seize them."
Seris grabbed Eryndor's hand. "ERYNDOR—"
He inhaled.
The sigil blazed.
Every free soul lifted its head.
Eryndor spoke one word — not loud, but true.
"Protect."
The realm erupted.
Souls surged around them like a tidal wave of starlight, crashing toward the Reapers in an unstoppable current.
The leader's eyes widened.
"No— NO—"
Their scythes flickered out.
The Reapers vanished into the storm of souls.
Eryndor dropped to his knees, shaking.
Seris stared at him, stunned. "Holy… stars."
Theron stepped forward, placing a steady hand on Eryndor's shoulder.
"You just commanded eternity."
Eryndor stared at his hand — at the sigil.
"What am I becoming?"
Theron lowered himself, meeting Eryndor's eyes.
"Not a monster."
A pause.
"A sovereign."
Above them, the Free Gate roared open.