The Collector stepped forward, and the ground beneath Erik's feet cracked like ice under pressure. His pulse slowed, not out of fear—but because something ancient in the creature's presence pulled at his soul like a weight made of silence.
Veyrion vibrated faintly in his grip. The glyphs on its blade burned dimly, as if uncertain whether to awaken or hide.
The creature raised one hand.
Reality bent.
The floating mountains in the distance distorted. Light twisted around its fingers, warping the space between them like liquid glass. It wasn't attacking yet—it was measuring him.
Erik's instincts screamed. This wasn't something he could fight. Not like Mirror Erik. Not like Thevar. This thing had never been mortal. It didn't understand fear, or anger, or even cruelty.
It only understood hunger.
"Why is it just staring at me?" he whispered.
The soul inside him answered after a pause.
It's searching. Judging if you're worth consuming, or corrupting.
"I thought it hunted soul-bearers."
It does. But not all. Only those it can't control. Which means… you're a threat.
The Collector took another step, and this time Erik felt it inside his head—a scraping noise, like claws across his thoughts. Memories flickered. His village. His mother's laugh. Lia's hand reaching for him.
Gone.
Replaced by silence.
Erik screamed, dropping to one knee, clutching his temples. Blood dripped from his nose. The air turned too thick to breathe. But through the fog, he heard another voice—not the soul's, not the blade's.
His own.
Get up.
He forced himself to stand. Legs shaking. Vision blurry.
Veyrion pulsed once, and the second glyph on its blade fully ignited.
A wave of pressure burst out around him, sending red dust swirling. His soul threads—once weak and invisible—suddenly shimmered around him in arcs of gold and violet.
The Collector hesitated.
"You feel that?" Erik said, voice hoarse. "You should."
He slashed the air once. The pressure cleaved a rift into the ground itself, exposing a glowing chasm underneath.
The Collector tilted its head.
Then it moved.
In an instant, it was inches from Erik, arm outstretched, fingers like broken bone. Erik blocked with Veyrion, but the clash didn't spark or clash. It whispered.
Erik's feet slid back several meters, his boots skidding against the black stone.
The impact hadn't broken his bones, but it had cracked something deeper—his will. Something about the Collector's touch made him question everything.
Why fight? Why resist?
He saw flashes again.
Arenya, bleeding.
Seris, screaming.
Velkhar's face, torn apart by shadow.
False images. But they felt real.
He roared and charged, ignoring the fear, ignoring the doubt. Veyrion moved as if on its own now, blade glowing brighter with every heartbeat.
He struck.
The Collector caught the blade with its hand.
The world paused.
Then something unexpected happened.
The blade began to cut.
Not through flesh. The Collector had no flesh.
It cut through essence.
The Collector shrieked, a soundless roar that turned the sky above them white. It stumbled back, arm split open down the middle, leaking black threads of… thought. It wasn't blood. It was memory.
The soul inside Erik gasped.
You wounded it. That shouldn't be possible.
"Why did it work?"
Because Veyrion doesn't just cut matter. It severs fate.
The Collector reformed its arm in seconds, body warping unnaturally. But now, it was cautious. It looked at the blade. Then at Erik. Then… it turned its back.
And vanished.
No sound. No warning. Just—gone.
Erik collapsed, every muscle trembling. His mind still echoed with what he'd seen. The illusions. The thoughts that weren't his. The way the Collector stared at him like he was already dead.
But he wasn't.
He was still breathing.
The chasm beneath the ground widened. Red light poured out of it, and from deep within, he heard… whispering.
Different from the Collector.
Feminine. Regal. Familiar.
"Erik…"
He stood slowly, chest burning.
"Who's there?"
The whisper repeated.
"Come down. You're not finished yet. And neither am I."
The soul inside him went silent.
Then whispered, terrified—
That's not possible. That voice… it's her. The one who forged the first Collector. The First Seer.
Before Erik could react, the ground beneath his feet gave way—
And he fell again.
Straight into her realm.