A cage of flickering light filled Ethan's quarters, and the star shard on his desk pulsed like a dying star. With the most recent decoded line— "The shrine holds the key"—etched into his memory like a scar, the journal was lying open. Lirien's whispered rumor of a tainted gate had been confirmed by yesterday's gate flicker, with its void-energy veins crawling like ink. Her remark about a "forbidden shrine" connected it to something ancient, something associated with the High Gods. The dream of Marcus being betrayed, with the void-pulse of a cloaked figure tearing through him, haunted Ethan. The voice sounded too much like that of Valthor Drayce, the Council elder, whose every look felt like a trap. With her words echoing the journal's warning, "The void whispers to the weak," Lirien was portrayed as a traitor due to her avoidance of the star shard, her hazy scouting, and her obsession with the archives. The crystalline spires of Aetherion felt more like a maze than a haven, and although Ethan was not Marcus Reed, Marcus's enemies were now his.
He felt a burning heat on his shoulder as his starlight rune flared, and a voice, the same sharp, urgent voice that had welcomed him into Marcus's body, said, "Find the shrine." With shadows writhing across the quartz walls and the shard's glow spiking, Ethan stumbled. The call was unmistakable, a thread drawing him to Marcus's reality—the Council's secrets, the shrine, the tenth gate. The journal and shard weighed down his satchel, which seemed to hum with intent.
A knock shattered his thoughts. Sylra Veyne stood at the door, her fiery braid glinting in the hallway's rune-light, her green eyes blazing with urgency. "Marcus, trouble. Lirien has sequestered herself in the archives, searching through records of the shrine. According to Torren, Valthor is circling. We need you at training—surge runes, now."
The sound of the rune's call echoed in Ethan's racing heart. Last night, when Sylra hurried to face Lirien alone, it was the crisis Torren had forewarned about: Lirien in the archives, Valthor watching. With his blade at his hip and his satchel in hand, he questioned, "Surge runes?" A gatekeeper's weapon against Voidspawn, surges, and bursts of starlight to increase strength were among the fleeting memories Marcus had.
Sylra's mouth was clenched. "Stabilization and binds work well for you, but you require raw power. We fight rather than merely hold if the gates continue to flicker. Let's move."
With Lirien's actions weighing heavily on him, Ethan followed, the rune's voice—" Find the shrine"—clashing. Were the whispers of the void luring her to pursue the shrine? Or was it the shadow of his dreams, Valthor, who was manipulating her? As though Aetherion itself could sense the impending storm, the runes in the hallway pulsed wildly.
In the midday sun, the training grounds were illuminated by the prismatic shadows cast across the quartz plaza by the spires of Aetherion. The air crackled with tension, while the pillars stood silent, their runes steady, as though another void-tremor was about to strike. As Sylra guided Ethan to a rune-circle with surge training-specific patterns etched on it, Torren leaned against a pillar, his blade sheathed but ready, his scarred face grim.
"Where is Lirien now?" With the weight of the shattered star bearing down on his satchel, Ethan asked.
Torren's eyes grew gloomy. "Still barricaded in the archives. Sylra made an effort to speak with her, but she refused to budge. Acolytes are keeping an eye on the entrance for Valthor."
Sylra's blade glinted as her fists clenched. "She's unraveling, Marcus. That shrine talk wasn't a mistake. We'll deal with her after training. Be prepared."
With a nod, Ethan acknowledged the unnerving call of the rune, "Find the shrine." Something deeper was indicated by Lirien's admission of void-whispers and her fixation on shrine records; this was connected to the Council's anxiety and the tenth gate. With his smile acting as a blade in Ethan's memory, Valthor's shadow grew larger.
With her blade drawn and its edge glistening with starlight, Sylra uttered the words, "Surge runes." By directing starlight into your body, they increase your strength and speed. "Watch." Sharp lines resembled a starburst as she traced a pattern in the air. Starlight flared from her rune, coiling around her, and she lunged, her blade cleaving a training dummy in half with a burst of light.
Ethan's breath caught, Marcus's memories supplying fragments: surges, draining but deadly, a gatekeeper's edge in battle. "Show me," he said, his rune-hand ready.
Sylra guided his fingers, her touch steady. "Channel your starlight here, through the rune. You're the anchor. Too much, and you burn out. Too little, you're dead weight."
Ethan traced the starburst, starlight sparking from his rune. Power surged through him, his muscles thrumming, but the shard pulsed in his satchel, the voice whispering, "Find the shrine." His focus wavered, the surge fizzling with a faint crackle.
"Again!" Sylra barked, her eyes fierce. "The void doesn't care about distractions."
Ethan clenched his jaw, shoving the shrine's call down. He traced the pattern, slower, the starlight steadying. The surge flared, his blade swinging faster, slicing the dummy's arm. His body buzzed, stronger, sharper, but exhaustion tugged, the rune's heat searing his palm.
"Good," Sylra said, a flicker of a smile breaking through. "Keep at it. You'll need that power against Voidspawn."
Torren stepped closer, his voice low, glancing at the distant acolytes. "Marcus, there's something you need to know. Before he died, Marcus Reed was planning an expedition to Nullvox."
The word—Nullvox—hit like a blow, and Ethan froze. The realm of Zorathys's prison, the origin of void-energy, and the shadow of the tenth gate. The Council was afraid of the prison that the journal had alluded to. "Nullvox?" he said in a tense tone. "Why?"
Torren had a heavy gaze. "Marcus thought that the tenth gate would take him there. He believed that the Council was concealing it and allowing the void to grow. He desired to either seal it or destroy it."
As Ethan's heart pounded, he read passages from the journal that matched Torren's statements: "The shrine holds the key," "The shrine opens the tenth." A route to the truth, Marcus's expedition served as his ultimate goal. As he considered Lirien, Valthor, and the cloaked figure in his dream, he questioned, "Who else knew?"
"Me, Sylra, and a couple of other people," Torren stated. "Lirien opposed it. Called it suicide. Now, with her shrine obsession…" Suspicion was evident as his voice trailed off.
With a sharp voice, Sylra twirled her blade. "If the shrine is connected to Nullvox, Marcus, Lirien is not merely slipping; she poses a threat. We must arrive at her location before Valthor does."
With the voice demanding, "Find the shrine," Ethan's rune pulsed once more. With the power of the surge rune still present in his muscles, he nodded. "Let's go."
With their rune-etched tablets glowing dimly and the air heavy with dust and starlight, the Council archives were a labyrinth of shelves made of quartz. Together with Torren's heavy tread and Sylra's steady steps, Ethan's boots echoed. Since his rank outweighed their orders, Torren's warden glare sent Valthor's acolytes fleeing from the entrance they were guarding.
Ethan's satchel contained a hummed star shard, its glow subdued but restless. Like the cloaked figure in Ethan's dream, Valthor had been spotted close by, his silver robes and rapacious smile a continual threat. The warning— "You should have stayed silent"—felt more imminent now, as Valthor's eyes tightened like a noose.
Sylra whispered, "Lirien is in the restricted section," and guided them past shelves containing records from the Dawn War. "She has been here since last night, destroying the myths surrounding the shrine."
Torren held his blade in his hand. "We act without hesitation if she has been void-touched. Is your surge rune ready, Marcus?"
With the pattern of the starburst still fresh in his mind, Ethan nodded. The cry of the rune, "Find the shrine," became more urgent, as though its veracity were pulsing through the archives.
Then they came to a sealed door with sigils of the High Gods—Serathys, Lumara, and Vyrathys, but not Zorathys—carved on its quartz surface. The voice was clear: "The shrine is near." Ethan's rune flared as a faint hum vibrated, resembling the gate flicker from yesterday.
Whispering an incantation, Sylra pressed her rune against the door. A single crystal of starlight illuminated the chamber that was revealed when it ground open. With her dagger tightly gripped and her pale hair in a wild state, Lirien stood at a table covered in tablets. Her eyes widened and darted away before returning to Ethan's satchel.
"Lirien," Sylra said, her tone with a sharp edge. "What are you doing?"
With her tablet clutched to her chest, Lirien's hands trembled. "I… I was trying to find answers. The void, the shrine—all of it is interconnected, Sylra. You're not understanding."
"Explain," Torren snarled, taking a step forward. "You mentioned a forbidden shrine. What is it?"
Lirien whispered something as her eyes shifted to Ethan. "It's where the gods fell. The place where Zorathys was sealed. I heard whispers that instructed me to locate it.
As the journal's warning—" The void whispers to the weak"—was confirmed, Ethan's blood froze. With his surge rune blazing, he questioned, "Whispers?" "From whom? Zorathys?"
Lirien winced, causing the tablet to slip and break on the ground. "I have no idea! They come in my dreams. As stated in your journal, Marcus, the key is in the shrine."
Ethan's heart stopped. "How did you find out about the journal?"
At the edge of the chamber, a shadow moved. With his silver robes gleaming and a grin as sharp as a blade, Valthor Drayce appeared. His voice was smooth and predatory as he said, "A fine question, Marcus." "You've said enough, Lirien. Come with me."
Valthor's path was blocked by Sylra's flashing blade. "Until we have answers, she will not leave."
Valthor's eyes were bright and focused on Ethan's satchel. "Careful, Sylra. It is foolish to challenge an elder of the Council. Marcus, you've made amazing progress. The journal and the shard—Marcus left a significant legacy."
"Find the shrine!" Ethan's voice roared as his rune pulsed. With his voice steady in spite of the fear, he stepped forward, surge rune ready. "Valthor, what is your knowledge of the shrine? Or the tenth gate?"
Valthor's eyes grew icy, and his smile expanded. "More than you, Marcus. However, I am patient, and so is the void. Now, Lirien…"
After a moment of hesitation, during which she fixed her gaze on Ethan's satchel, Lirien followed Valthor with heavy footsteps. Sylra took hold of Torren's arm as he attempted to stop her. "Not here," she muttered. "He is trying to lure us in."
At the door, Valthor hesitated and looked back. "Train well, Marcus. The gates are trembling!" He turned, and his lips moved in a faint whisper, the name "Ethan" escaping through the hum of the archive without anyone noticing. His eyes hovered, like a predator assessing its prey, and then he vanished, Lirien following him like a shadow.
Ethan was back in his quarters, sitting with the journal, the star shard glowing, its voice now silent. He decoded another line, "The shrine opens on the tenth," while maintaining his quill's steadiness. As the pieces came together—the shrine, the tenth gate, Nullvox, and Zorathys—his breath caught. The way forward was Marcus's expedition plan, which Torren had disclosed. However, Lirien's hushes and Valthor's vigilance were obstacles that Ethan currently couldn't overcome.
Without waiting, Sylra knocked and went in. We're running out of time, Marcus. Valthor is defending Lirien, who has been void-touched. We must locate that shrine before they do.
Torren spoke softly as he loomed behind her. "It's a death sentence, Marcus. We have no other option, though, if the gates continue to flicker.
Ethan clutched the shard, its light steady. "According to the journal, the shrine opens the tenth gate. Marcus was going to Nullvox to seal it. We finish what he started."