The climb to Raven Pass was harder than any of them had anticipated. The wind cut like knives, and the path was little more than a goat trail etched into the side of the mountain. Azrael led the way, his new sword—a gift from Ethan—strapped securely to his back. It felt lighter than it should, as if it carried its own will.
"Are we sure this is the right way?" James huffed, stopping to catch his breath. "That soldier could have been delirious."
"Maybe," Azrael replied, not looking back. "But his fear was real. And so were the tracks we saw. Something is here."
Sara, walking beside Antoni, kept a protective eye on him. He was still shaky, but there was a new sharpness in his gaze, as if seeing the world without a filter for the first time.
"I keep hearing things," Antoni whispered suddenly, making them all stop. "Not voices… more like… echoes of magic. Faint, but ancient. It's coming from up ahead."
They pressed on, and as they rounded a sharp bend, the pass opened into a wide, circular basin. And there, nestled against the mountain wall, stood the ruins.
It wasn't a sanctuary. It was a carcass of a building, half-collined, with stone pillars reaching toward the sky like broken fingers. The architecture was unlike anything from the kingdom—older, more angular, covered in faded runes that seemed to move if you stared too long.
"This is it," Sara said, her voice full of awe. "This magic… it's not human. And it's not demonic. It's something else entirely."
As they approached the entrance—a gaping maw where a door once was—the temperature dropped. A low hum filled the air, vibrating in their bones.
'This is a bad idea,' Azrael thought, but his feet kept moving. Dam's words echoed in his mind: "Your companions were summoned under lies." If this place held answers about the gods, about the true nature of this war, they had no choice.
Inside, the ruins were deceptively vast. The ceiling was lost in shadow, and a pale, sourceless light illuminated crumbling murals on the walls. They depicted towering beings of light and shadow locked in battle, while smaller, human-like figures were caught in the middle, burning.
"Look," James pointed to a particular section. "That symbol… it's the same as the one on the gate of the Royal Academy."
"It's a covenant," Antoni said, tracing the carved lines with a trembling finger. "An old pact between the gods and the first humans. They gave us magic, knowledge… in exchange for worship. For belief."
"And now they're tearing the pact apart," Azrael concluded, a cold understanding settling in his gut. "This war isn't just for power. It's to see who gets to be the new master. And humanity is the prize."
A soft, clapping sound echoed through the hall.
They spun around, weapons drawn. From behind a fallen pillar, a figure emerged. It was a man, or something like it, dressed in elegant, antiquated robes. His skin had a slight translucent quality, and his eyes held the depth of stagnant water.
"Very perceptive for mortals," the man said, his voice a smooth, honeyed poison. "Especially you, little reclaimed one." He looked directly at Antoni.
"Who are you?" Azrael demanded, stepping forward.
"I am a keeper of this place. A memory of the time before the schism. You may call me Kael." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I have been waiting for one touched by The Echo to arrive. It means the game is truly afoot."
"What do you want?" Sara asked, her staff glowing faintly.
"To offer you a choice," Kael spread his hands. "You seek The Threshold. You wish to unite the summoned and stand against the gods. A noble, futile dream. I can tell you its exact, current location. I can even give you a key to enter it."
"And in return?" James asked, suspicion dripping from his words.
"In return," Kael's gaze locked onto Azrael, "you leave the boy. The one called Antoni. His connection to The Echo is… unique. A valuable tool. My masters would find him most interesting."
The air went still.
Antoni took a step back, fear flashing across his face.
Azrael didn't hesitate. He didn't even think.
"No."
Kael's smile vanished. "You would refuse certainty? Refuse the power to truly change the course of this war? For one broken soul?"
"He's not a tool," Azrael said, his voice low and final. "He's one of us. We don't trade lives."
For a long moment, Kael just stared at them. Then he sighed, a sound like dry leaves scattering.
"Mortals. So sentimental. It will be your doom." He snapped his fingers.
The runes on the walls flared to life. From the shadows between the stones, figures began to form—silhouettes of pure darkness with glowing white eyes. The same creatures the soldier described.
"But since you are here," Kael said, his form beginning to fade, "allow my guardians to test your resolve. If you survive, continue north through the mountains. The Threshold awaits where the two peaks weep. And remember this choice, Azrael. Sentiment is a luxury you cannot afford in a god-war."
He disappeared.
The shadow creatures let out a silent shriek and surged forward.
The battle was on.