Kael stood before the gate, his breath steady but his pulse hammering in his ears.

It watched him.

The obsidian surface pulsed faintly, veins of silver twisting like something alive. Symbols flickered across its massive form—ancient letters, unreadable yet familiar in a way he couldn’t explain.

The Mark on his skin burned in response.

"You feel it, don’t you?" The nameless man stood at his side, his eyes fixed on the shifting stone.

Kael’s fingers curled into fists. "It’s… calling to me."

"Not just to you," the man murmured. "To what you carry."

Kael exhaled sharply. He wasn’t stupid. This wasn’t just some ancient ruin.

It was a threshold.

And something beyond it was waiting.

Then the whisper came.

"You seek the truth."

Kael stiffened.

Stolen novel; please report.

The voice came from the gate.

"Then prove you are worthy to receive it."

Before he could react, the ground beneath him collapsed.

----------------------------------------

Kael hit solid ground.

Or at least, something that felt like ground.

The ruins of Vael’Thalos were gone. The Imperium, the nameless man, the Hounds—all of it had vanished.

Darkness stretched in every direction, endless and unmoving. The air was thick, heavy, pressing down on him like an unseen weight.

Then—a figure.

Standing ahead, shrouded in shifting shadows, its form wavered between light and dark.

Kael’s pulse slowed.

It wasn’t just anyone.

It was him.

Or something that looked like him.

His own face, his own body—but wrong. His skin was paler, his eyes darker, his Mark not black but silver, twisting in endless patterns across his arm.

"You are not the first."

The words were not spoken. They were placed directly into his mind.

"And you will not be the last."

Kael’s chest tightened.

This was not a dream.

This was something else.

"Who are you?" he asked, his voice low.

The figure did not answer.

Instead, it raised its hand.

The Mark on its arm flared brighter—not black, like Kael’s, but silver, shifting between light and shadow.

The darkness around them shuddered.

Kael’s own Mark burned hotter, reacting.

The figure’s voice was distant, yet impossibly near.

"Show me what you are."

The blackness around them began to move.

Shapes emerged—twisted figures, crawling from the shadows, their eyes hollow, their limbs wrong.

Kael reached for his sword.

Except—he had no sword.

His Mark pulsed.

This wasn’t a conversation.

It was a test.

And whatever this thing was—it wanted to see if he could survive.