With a pulse of starlight that burned Ethan's shoulder like a brand, the summons arrived at dawn. The sigil on his gatekeeper band, with its silver-blue etched runes, glowed dimly as he jolted upright in his narrow cot. It was colder than usual in the spartan cell in Aetherion's acolyte quarters, and the air was heavy with the aftertaste of the void-tremor from the previous night. Ethan felt his heart race—not from the sting of the sigil, but from the name it carried: Valthor.
The glimmer dimmed, but the fear remained as he rubbed his shoulder. The name of Valthor, the elderly gatekeeper, loomed large over Sylra's mistrust and Torren's concerns. If the mysterious bits of the journal were accurate, it was the same one Marcus Reed had feared, whose body Ethan now occupied. Last night, Ethan decoded the words "The traitor walks among us," and the words were still blazing in his brain. Was Valthor the traitor? Or was Ethan's judgment impaired by his paranoia, which stemmed from a life that had been stolen and an unfamiliar world?
Putting on the acolyte's tunic, whose starlight-threaded fabric shimmered faintly, he dressed quickly. The call had been straightforward: arrive at the Council chamber as soon as the sun came up. No explanation was offered, but Ethan's stomach turned over with potential. Had Lirien's nervous glances betrayed him? Had she told of his probing of the void-ichor, as evidenced by her shaking hands and her push for Valthor's runes? Or did this have to do with Marcus's memories, the ones that Ethan found difficult to imitate, their edges sharp as shards of glass in his mind?
Outside, the quiet corridor reflected the pale glow of the dawn through the crystal panes of Aetherion's spires. With every step, the sound of Ethan's boots reverberated on the stone, intensifying the invisible watcher's presence—that icy blade at his neck, sensed since the transmigration. The sigils of starlight pulsed softly as he passed a gatekeeper altar, and he forced back a shiver. He could still hear Nullvox's whisper, a low hum that sounded like a faraway scream, faint but persistent since the tremor.
With her eyes as sharp as ever and her silver hair gleaming in the light, Sylra stood at the end of the corridor, waiting. "Marcus," she uttered in a low, urgent tone. "What's this about? Acolytes are not called to tea by Valthor.
Marcus's casual bravado, or what he hoped was that, was channeled by Ethan as he forced a shrug. "I think he wants to give me a rune alignment lesson. Elders are familiar to you; you enjoy their speeches. While his heart did not steady, his voice did. It hurt to hear Sylra use "Marcus" because it brought to mind the lie he lived.
It didn't convince her. Her eyes squinted, searching him for imperfections like a sigil. "After last night's tremor? No. This has to do with the ichor, or you. She took a step forward, her hip gleaming with her starlight blade. Additionally, Torren is sniffing around. stated that Valthor has been inquiring about you. Be careful, Marcus. He's not just an elder—he's a blade in the dark."
With her warning reiterating Torren's from days earlier—a void-tainted elder—Ethan nodded. With an artificial smile, he declared, "I'll keep my runes tight." But Sylra's words had a profound effect. It wasn't a random interest of Valthor's. Did Ethan make mistakes or imitate Marcus in an imperfect way? Or something Marcus had done, something buried in the journal's unread pages?
When they arrived at the Council chamber, they saw a tall dome made of crystal and obsidian, with gates engraved with runes of starlight that throbbed like heartbeats. With their eyes concealed behind visors and starlight spears humming softly, two wardens stood on either side of the entrance. Sylra hesitated, grazing Ethan's arm with her hand. "I'll be joining you. I wasn't told I couldn't."
A moment of relief passed for Ethan. "Are you certain? If Valthor feels like it—"
Her jaw clenched as she interrupted, saying, "He's always in a mood," "Marcus, you are my partner. Elders playing games are not someone I trust."
When the gates opened and the wardens dispersed, a large, chilly room was revealed. The floor was covered in fractal patterns as the stars shone through a crystal skylight, but the air was oppressive and tinged with a subtle void-hum. The room was surrounded by five black stone thrones, each of which had the sigil of one of the High Gods: Serathys, Lumara, or Vyrathys. One was occupied, and only one.
Ethan gasped as Marcus's memory suddenly came flooding back: Valthor's gaze, a void that swallowed light. Although Marcus's fear was visceral rather than his own, Ethan was overcome by it, and he struggled to keep his face neutral, conscious of Sylra's constant presence at his side. Valthor sat in the center, his robes deep indigo, his face sharp and timeless, his eyes like polished obsidian, cold and unforgiving.
"Marcus Reed," Valthor said, his voice smooth as glass, cutting just as deep. "Approach."
Ethan moved forward, his uneasiness heightened by the runes humming beneath his feet in the chamber. With her boots providing a gentle contrast to his, Sylra trailed behind. A glimmer of annoyance passed across Valthor's face as his eyes shifted to her, but he remained silent. The emptiness of the other thrones—Erynn Solara's, Auralis's, and two more that Ethan was unable to identify—was more noticeable than words. According to the document's "The Ninth Gate," he pointed out that the five members matched Torren's suggestion of a small Council.
Valthor leaned forward and said, "You were at the outer gates during the tremor," his fingers steepled. According to your report, there was intentional sabotage and void-ichor. Quite daring for an acolyte.
Ethan's throat grew constricted. Valthor's gaze was probing, looking for cracks, but his tone was neutral. "The ichor was real," Ethan stated, maintaining the steady cadence of Marcus's voice. "Black veins, eating the runes. Sylra also witnessed it. The breach wasn't natural, but we were able to seal it.
Sylra took a step forward and nodded. "He's right, Elder. The sigil was void-marked, unlike anything I've ever seen, and it wasn't ours. The gates are being tampered with by someone.
Valthor's gaze lingered on Sylra before unblinkingly shifting back to Ethan. Furthermore, Marcus, did you not feel obliged to decode a piece of your journal? Words of betrayal, whispered by starlight. Would you mind sharing?"
With a pounding pulse, Ethan froze. How was Valthor aware of it? Had she heard his muttering last night and reported it, Lirien? Or was Valthor attempting to test his response by fishing? The journal, hidden in his tunic, felt like a burning coal against his chest. "Just old notes," he said, forcing nonchalance. "Marcus—my—scribbles. Nothing substantial.
The smile that curled Valthor's lips was cold. "We appreciate your modesty. However, Marcus Reed never exhibited modesty, did he? Never stops asking questions and probing. Up until his... mishap. The word hung there, laden with meaning. Ethan's thoughts were racing, and Marcus's memory was flashing: days before the fall, Valthor's voice was low and menacing.
Sylra snarled. "Elder, Marcus is present and performing his duties. The problem is not his past, but the ichor. What's the point of calling him? Where's Erynn, Auralis?"
Although Valthor's eyes hardened, his voice stayed smooth. "Acolyte, when necessary, the Council deliberates. Although your devotion to Marcus is admirable, devotion can become blinding. He narrowed his eyes and turned to face Ethan. Marcus, during the tremor, your sigils wavered. Relays spiked, runes misaligned. A gatekeeper is responsible for stability. Are you… stable?"
The inquiry was more profound than Ethan had anticipated. Stable? In Marcus's skin, he was an outsider, balancing memories that weren't his, plagued by an invisible observer and Nullvox's whisper. Valthor's words wormed into his doubts, Marcus's fear amplifying them. "I'm stable," he said, sounding more abrasive than he meant. "The relays remained intact. We prevented the breach.
With a brief flare of starlight, Valthor leaned back and traced a rune with his fingers on his throne. "For the time being. But breaches grow, and Nullvox stirs. Lumara's visions warn of shadows within, Marcus. Shadows that wear familiar faces." His gaze lingered, heavy, accusing. The void-hum in Ethan's ears grew louder, and his skin pricked.
Sylra took a step forward and spoke firmly. "Elder, if you're suggesting that Marcus is a shadow, be clear about it. He has, like me, put his life in danger for the gates. Moreover, Torren endorsed him.
Valthor smiled again, but this time it was icy. "As always, Torren Kade is skeptical. Although his vouches are powerful, they can be overpowered. Marcus, tell me what you remember from your last mission prior to your fall. The Ninth Gate's pulse, the void's call—did it speak to you?"
Ethan's mind blanked, Marcus's memories a jumble of starlight and pain. There were no specifics to understand about the fall—Marcus's passing, the instant Ethan's soul had taken possession of his body. Valthor's question was a trap, and he knew it. "It's hazy," Ethan acknowledged, his voice betraying the truth. "But here I am, fulfilling my obligation. That's what counts.
Valthor had a predatory gleam in his eyes. "Duty, yes. Whose responsibility is it, though? Marcus Reed was audacious and careless. Some say it's too careless, interfering where darkness lurks. Maybe more than just your memories were lost to the void.
The charge dangled like a ready-made blade. Marcus's anger and fear were at odds as Ethan's fists clenched. In addition to manipulating him, Valthor was sowing doubts in Sylra, the Council, and anybody else who happened to be listening. The traitor's shadow—Lirien's trembling hands, Valthor's gaze—loomed larger, but proof was a ghost.
Sylra's voice was low and menacing as her hand gripped the hilt of her blade. "Enough, Elder. Marcus is one of us. Provide evidence if you have it. Otherwise, let's get on with our work."
In a silent warning, Valthor held up a hand with runes of starlight flaring around his fingers. "Bold, Sylra. However, being bold attracts criticism. The Council, Marcus, looks on. You have sigils, memories, and stability. If you fail again, you might be deemed unfit by the gates."
With the void-hum spiking in Ethan's ears and Marcus's fear screaming, "Run, he'll break you," the threat was obvious. Valthor's eyes were held by Ethan, who forced composure. He said, "I won't fail," which was as much for Sylra as it was for Valthor.
Valthor's smile was as sharp as a blade, and he waved them away. "Disregarded. For now."
With the humming of the wardens' spears, the gates closed behind them. With her eyes blazing, Sylra took Ethan by the arm and dragged him down the hallway. "What was that, Marcus? Valthor's not just fishing—he's hunting. What do you not want me to know?
The journal weighed too much for Ethan, and his chest constricted. Tell her that Marcus wasn't him. That he was haunted by Nullvox's whisper, that Valthor's eyes were like death? "Nothing," he said, despising his own words. "As you mentioned, he is testing me. Games."
Sylra's voice remained firm, but her eyes softened. "Marcus, don't act heroic. Lirien has been too silent since last night, and Valthor is dangerous. While Torren is digging, you must remain sharp. Assure me that you will speak if something seems strange."
Ethan nodded bitterly at the lie. "Promise." However, the void-hum persisted as they parted, and Marcus's fear murmured, "Valthor is aware." With each step, the Council's gaze tightened like a noose, and the traitor—Valthor, Lirien, or someone else—came closer than before.
The sigil on his shoulder remained warm as he arrived at his chamber. When Ethan touched the journal, his hands trembled, but the journal was hidden, its next piece waiting. Lumara's vision, Torren's warning, and Sylra's skepticism were all echoed by Valthor's words—shadows that wear familiar faces. Ethan felt the call of the void more strongly than ever as the gates cracked, and he found himself torn between Marcus's past and his own.