The cathedral lay in ruin, its sacred halls splintered, its altars reduced to rubble and ash.
Smoke drifted lazily through the air as the sun began to rise over the bloodied skyline of Virelles. The city had been saved—but barely. Its people were gone, its walls broken. Only fragments of what once was remained.
Ael stood alone in the heart of the sanctuary, staring down at the shattered remains of the altar.
Underneath the rubble, something had called to him.
Not in words.
Not in sound.
But through… memory.
Not his. Yet somehow… familiar.
Arienne limped toward him, hand clutching a wound on her side. "It's over," she muttered. "For now."
Ael didn't reply. His eyes were fixed on the cracked stone beneath his feet.
"There's something below," he finally said.
She frowned. "You're sure?"
"I can feel it."
He raised his hand—and the floor exploded downward in a controlled pulse of magic. Dust and rock fell into a hidden passage, revealing a spiraling staircase carved into obsidian.
Elric, limping and covered in soot, arrived with Lyra trailing silently behind. "You found something?"
Ael didn't answer. He was already descending.
They followed.
—
The stairs were long.
Unnaturally long.
The further they went, the more they felt it: a pressure, like invisible chains tightening around their minds. At the bottom, they reached a sealed archway covered in ancient runes.
Elric approached the stone. "This script… it's from the Age of Binding. Same as the original Seven Seals."
Ael stepped forward, and the runes ignited.
The door slid open with a low groan, revealing a vast chamber illuminated by violet crystals embedded into the walls.
At its center stood a monument—half throne, half tomb.
Etched into the stone was a relief: a warrior in a crown of thorns, holding two swords crossed before a broken world.
One blade glowed with light.
The other bled darkness.
Ael approached slowly.
And as he touched the monument, visions struck him like lightning.
—
He stood on a battlefield of stars and shadow.
Thousands knelt before him—soldiers, mages, dragons, even gods. All swearing allegiance.
He saw the face of the Executioner, cloaked in chains and eternal fire. Not just an enemy.
A rival.
A mirror.
He saw himself standing atop a dead world, drenched in silence. His blade buried in the chest of the Executioner… and a crown of black fire hovering above his own head.
Not a slayer.
A successor.
—
Ael staggered back, breathing hard.
Arienne grabbed his arm. "What did you see?"
He looked up, eyes wide—not with fear, but with a dawning, terrifying clarity.
"I was one of the ones who sealed the Executioner," he said. "But I wasn't just a king."
Elric swallowed. "Then what were you?"
Ael stared at the twin blades in the carving.
"I was his heir."
The chamber fell silent.
Lyra moved to the monument, studying the swords. "There's an inscription here."
She began reading aloud:
"When light and void meet in flesh once more, the crown shall pass, and the slayer shall rise—or fall."
Arienne frowned. "It's a prophecy."
Elric turned pale. "Ael… this means if you fail—if you're consumed by the void—you become the new Executioner."
Ael didn't respond.
Because he already knew.
Every moment he grew stronger.
Every memory he recovered.
Every flicker of emotion that tore open his heart—
All of it was part of something deeper. Older.
This wasn't just about stopping the void.
It was about deciding whether he would become its master… or its destroyer.
"I'm not him," Ael said quietly.
Arienne placed a hand on his shoulder. "No. You're not. And that's why we're still following you."
Elric nodded. "We need to find the remaining Seals before the Choir does. The next one… I think it's in the capital of Varn."
Lyra added, "But they won't wait. Now that they've seen your face… they'll come for you."
Ael stared once more at the image on the monument.
The warrior with both swords.
Light and void.
Slayer and heir.
He turned away.
"Then let them come."