The scent of ash.
That was the first thing Lidow noticed when he woke.
It clung to everything—the ruined bedroll beneath him, the cracked stone ceiling above, and the bandages soaked in strange black ichor that wrapped his side. His right arm was gone. In its place, only empty space. Numb, and screaming.
His vision blurred. His thoughts came in fragments.
Flashes of the battle. The searing pain. The face of the enemy—twisted, smiling. The blade through his shoulder. And the moment when his father's voice rang out, distant… too late.
"I failed," he murmured.
"You lived," a voice corrected him.
Lidow turned. A figure stood near the edge of the fire. Slender, wrapped in gray and violet, face hidden behind a war mask marked with faded sigils. The voice was soft, almost feminine—but deeper. Wiser.
"Who are you?"
"A shade," the figure replied. "A guardian. Your father sent me."
"Why?"
"Because you are not dead. Which means you are not done."
Lidow tried to rise, but pain wracked his body. His breath caught as agony flared through his chest.
"Don't," the shade said. "You are still broken. But you will heal. And when you do, you will remember."
Lidow clenched his teeth. "Remember what?"
The fire flared.
"That you carry more than blood. You carry balance."
Lidow stared at the flames, their tongues shifting from gold to violet and back again. The mark on his back—a strange spiral etched in light and shadow—burned softly beneath his skin. The wound left behind by his clash… and by his failure.
"I wasn't strong enough."
"Good. That means you have something to grow into."
The figure stepped forward and placed a metal object at Lidow's side. A skeletal, arcane gauntlet. Engraved with glowing veins of light and obsidian.
"A replacement," the shade whispered. "One forged in silence. It will not replace what you've lost. But it will guide what you will become."
Lidow stared at it.
He did not cry.
But something deeper shifted in him.
Resolve.
Back in the Infernal City
Shadow stood atop the Tower of Cinders, eyes turned toward the northern sky. He could feel it now.
The ancient hunger.
It watched them all.
He did not speak. But in the silence, Valaria joined him.
"He will return stronger," she said.
"I know," Shadow replied.
"He will hate himself."
Shadow nodded.
"That's what will make him dangerous."
Beyond the Veil
The new enemy moved at last.
Not in armies. Not in roars.
But in thoughts.
It planted doubt.
Fear.
And dreams.
All across the world, the chosen began to hear it. Priests screamed in the night. Kings locked themselves in vaults. The light itself flickered.
And in the deepest part of the Earth, something opened its eyes.
Not a demon.
Not a god.
Something worse.
The wind in the cratered valley howled like a wounded beast.
Lidow stood at the edge of the hollowed mountain, cloak torn, hair longer now—tied back with frayed leather. Months had passed since the battle that had nearly ended his life. Since he'd lost his arm. Since he had lost his pride.
Now, a new arm shimmered at his side. A gauntlet forged of forgotten metals—obsidian fused with divine light. A gift. A curse. A reminder.
He clenched his fist. It pulsed with energy—raw and unpredictable.
But it was his.
"Are you afraid?" a voice asked behind him.
Lidow turned slightly. The shade stood where it always did, a guardian in silence. It had no name. Or if it did, it had long since buried it.
"No," Lidow answered. "Just… remembering."
"You should forget."
"I can't."
The wind carried with it fragments of ash, whispers of voices long gone. His mother's laughter. His father's fury. The scream of a friend crushed beneath flame.
The last battle had scarred the earth—but it had also scarred Lidow.
He had learned what war was. What death meant. And what it meant to survive without winning.
Now he was not a boy.
He was a weapon still being shaped.
Elsewhere – The Chambers of Flame
Valaria sat in a chamber lit with flickering lava streams, meditating. Her power shimmered around her, light restrained beneath discipline.
Shadow entered quietly.
"She's seen it too?" he asked.
Valaria opened her eyes. "Yes."
"The dream?"
"Worse. She saw the Gate."
Shadow's expression tightened. "It's real then."
Valaria nodded. "It's waking. The hunger."
Shadow paced. "We are not ready."
"No," she agreed. "But Lidow might be."
"He's still just a boy."
Valaria's eyes burned gold. "He's not."
On the Moonlit Plains – North of the Ruined Cities
The enemy was no longer silent.
It moved through dreams, through cracks in reality, wearing a hundred faces. Preachers began to speak its words. Villages began to vanish. Old gods stirred and found their prayers stolen.
And from the north, something massive crawled across the ice—leaving a trail of rot behind.
The First of the Endlings.
A servant of the Gate.
Back in Lidow's Training Ground
Night had fallen. Stars blinked down like silent sentinels.
Lidow sat by a dying fire, the gauntlet in his lap.
He could feel it again.
The call.
Something in the darkness was calling his name—not with a voice, but with need. Like the world itself begging him to stand.
He looked down at his reflection in the metal.
His eyes… had changed.
One held the echo of light.
The other, the shadow of flame.
The first tremor shook the entire fortress of Obsidian Hold.
Deep within the throne chamber, Shadow rose from his seat—his senses tightening like a blade drawn from its scabbard. The obsidian throne pulsed faintly under him, reacting to an ancient force it had not felt in a thousand years.
Valaria stormed in from the corridor, her hair alight with crackling white-gold aura. "It's not a tremor."
"I know," Shadow said. "It's a summoning."
Outside, black clouds spiraled over the horizon, forming a perfect circle. In the center of that unnatural vortex, a beam of pale, sickly light surged upward—blinding and unnatural.
"The Gate…" Valaria whispered.
Shadow nodded once. "It's opened."
Meanwhile — Far South, The Broken Temple of the Forgotten Ones
Lidow stood amidst crumbled stone, surrounded by ancient runes scorched into the earth. His mechanical gauntlet glowed, resonating with something ancient.
Behind him, two figures approached — allies from his exile:
• Solren, a war-scarred nomad with fire-sigil tattoos across his arms.
• Elenya, a mute blade-dancer whose eyes glowed like twin moons.
They had found Lidow in pieces after his defeat months ago. They had rebuilt him, in body and mind. And now, they followed him as he prepared to walk the path his father had feared.
"You feel it too?" Solren asked.
Lidow nodded. "It's calling to everyone now."
"But we're not ready," Elenya signed.
Lidow's jaw clenched. "Then we'll become ready. Fast."
Back in the Throne Room
Shadow stood before the massive war table, surrounded by maps, scrolls, and illusions of what was happening across the realms.
Demons were waking in ancient vaults.
The angels above the skywall had sealed their gates.
Mortals were praying to names long forgotten, their desperation opening cracks in reality.
Valaria leaned in. "We either seal it… or face something worse than extinction."
Shadow's gaze burned crimson. "Then we end it. We burn it down."
"Lidow?" she asked softly.
There was a long silence.
"He's not ready," Shadow muttered.
"Then you train him yourself."
Later — The Reunion
Lidow returned to the Obsidian Hold with Solren and Elenya at his side. The fortress walls loomed like monoliths of nightmare and glory.
Shadow stood on the bridge, arms folded, his aura like a storm made flesh.
"You came back," Shadow said.
Lidow looked up at him. "You said I would."
"You look different."
"So do you," Lidow replied. "More tired."
Shadow cracked a faint smile. "Come. The world is ending. We have a lot of work to do."
Final Scene — The Gate
Far away, at the edge of the world, something vast slithered through the Gate.
Not a god. Not a beast.
A memory that never died.
The Eater of Names had awoken.
And it had already remembered Shadow.