The path narrowed into a jagged spine of stone, flanked by broken statues of forgotten deities. Once, they were worshiped. Now, they were blind, mouths agape in silent screams, as though mourning the madness that consumed their city.
Arlen led the way.
His eyes no longer held just determination they shimmered with the faint glow of the mark Evelyn had once carved into his shoulder. It pulsed faintly now, as if sensing her presence… or something deeper.
Behind him, Mira's hand clutched her staff so tightly her knuckles had turned white.
Torren, bruised and breathing heavily, trudged behind with weapons still slick with ash.
None of them spoke.
Because ahead, the throne awaited.
And so did she.
The Gate's Lullaby
They heard it before they saw it.
A humming no, a song. Sweet. Childlike. Haunting.
A voice that sounded like Evelyn's, but broken. Distorted, like a record melting slowly in flame.
It came from the center of a spiraling platform, where the Throne of Blackreach rose like a crown of thorns. Jagged, obsidian, alive.
Evelyn sat there.
Or... something that resembled her.
Her long hair flowed in strands of midnight and shadow. Her eyes were closed, but tears streamed from them streams of glowing black ink that disappeared before they touched the stone.
Chains of light circled her wrists.
But her lips moved.
Singing.
And the Gate behind her pulsed with each note. It was almost open now a tear in reality shaped like a jagged grin, the whispers of whatever lay beyond leaking through in drips of static and despair.
Arlen Steps Forward
He approached alone.
The others hesitated at the edge of the platform. The presence here was… wrong. Reality bent in waves. One moment, they saw Evelyn on her throne. The next, a child curled in terror. Then a monster, all wings and shadow, face stretched into a grim smile.
Arlen walked through them all.
Because he had to.
Because even now he believed there was something left of her.
"Evelyn," he whispered, kneeling before the throne. "I'm here."
Her song faltered.
Her head twitched.
And slowly, painfully, her eyes opened.
They were voids.
But her voice when it came was still hers. "You shouldn't have come."
"I never left you," Arlen said, heart hammering. "Even when you vanished. Even when the world forgot. I remembered."
She smiled.
And then screamed.
Unleashing the Gate
The chains shattered.
Black tendrils shot from her back and slammed into the platform, lifting her into the air.
The Gate behind her cracked open further revealing nothingness, the raw, endless dark of the Whispering Realm.
Mira screamed incantations, conjuring wards. Torren charged forward. The stone beneath them crumbled and reformed like breathing lungs.
But Arlen he did not move.
He stepped forward and reached toward her.
And touched her hand.
Everything stopped.
A Memory Shared
They stood in a field of stars.
Young Evelyn, laughing, barefoot, her eyes filled with wonder.
"You used to say we were just stories," she whispered.
"I still believe that," Arlen said. "But I want ours to end together. Not like this."
Tears formed.
"I'm scared," she whispered. "I can't stop it. It's too loud. It's all of them, Arlen. All the whispers. All the gods. All the lost names…"
He held her tighter. "Then let me carry it with you."
Back in the Real World
The Gate stopped expanding.
The shadows writhed in agony.
And Evelyn, still floating, opened her eyes.
This time they were hers.
She fell.
Arlen caught her.
The throne shattered behind them. The Gate snarled, wounded but still open.
And far, far beyond its edge… something ancient began to stir.
Echoes Beneath the Skin
The air trembled.
The Gate remained. Not fully open, not yet closed a wound in reality pulsing like a heartbeat too slow to be alive, too steady to be dead. It watched them. And it remembered.
Evelyn stirred in Arlen's arms.
Her skin was cold too cold and her breathing came in short, ragged gasps, like someone pulled from drowning. The shadows that once danced in her wake now retreated, clinging to the cracks between worlds.
"She's burning up," Mira said, falling to her knees beside them. Her fingers hovered over Evelyn's forehead, glowing with pale blue light. "It's not a fever it's... something else. Her soul is Arlen, it's unraveling."
Evelyn convulsed.
Arlen gritted his teeth. "No. I didn't come this far to lose her now."
Behind them, Torren stood at the edge of the broken platform, staring into the void with grim silence. "The Gate isn't done. It's waiting."
"For what?" Mira asked.
"For her," he said. "Or for what's left of her."
Inside the Whisper
Evelyn's eyes flew open.
She wasn't in Arlen's arms anymore.
She stood alone, barefoot, in a realm of dripping stars and whispering ash. Her skin flickered sometimes flesh, sometimes shadow. The voice of the Gate whispered sweetly in her ear, a thousand voices forming one.
"We gave you power…
You gave us pain."
She tried to scream, but her voice was stolen before it left her throat. Instead, memories spilled from her chest visions of her childhood, of her death, of her resurrection… and of the thing she let in when she listened.
The Gate offered a choice.
Stay here.
Be Queen.
Let the world fade into shadow.
Or…
Fight it.
And be devoured.
Her fingers trembled. She took a step forward.
And the whispers grew louder.
The Ritual of Binding
Back in the world of stone and blood, Mira's eyes widened.
"She's slipping. Her soul's caught in the threshold. If we don't anchor her she'll be lost."
"Tell me what to do," Arlen demanded.
"We need to sever her bond to the Gate before it finishes merging with her. I can hold the ritual but only for a moment."
Arlen didn't hesitate.
He placed his hand against Evelyn's heart and closed his eyes. "Then take me with her."
"No Arlen, you'll"
"Do it!"
Mira whispered the invocation. Runes burst into light beneath them, a circle of ancient glyphs that hadn't been spoken in centuries. Wind howled through the chamber. The Gate roared.
And then
Arlen fell.
The Trial Within
He landed in the realm of whispers.
Evelyn stood before him, clutching her own face, blood leaking from her eyes. Shadows towered above her in monstrous shapes mimicking her regrets, her sins, her guilt.
"You shouldn't be here," she said. "I can't hold it back. I can't"
"I'm not here to ask you to fight it," Arlen said.
He reached for her.
"I'm here to fight with you."
And then the whispers screamed.
The monsters surged.
And Arlen and Evelyn, side by side, faced the darkness within.
Meanwhile… The Gate Stirs
Torren watched as the Gate's edges began to crack.
Not close.
Not open.
Hungry.
From the edges of reality, something vast pressed against the world. Not just a creature an idea. A god of silence. A being that fed on memory, on sorrow, on names.
It had waited long enough.
And now it would come.
The Price of a Name
The realm between realities was unraveling.
Arlen stood beside Evelyn, their bodies flickering like torn pages in a storm. Shadows rose around them not mere illusions, but echoes of real pain: his mother's cold eyes, Evelyn's blood-streaked hands, the child she couldn't save, the brother Arlen buried alone.
Each memory was a blade, and the darkness wielded them with precision.
Evelyn clutched Arlen's sleeve. "It's using us. Our pain. It's feeding on it twisting it."
Arlen's jaw clenched. "Then we bleed it dry."
From the void, the voice returned richer now, darker, fuller.
"You know your true name, Arlen Gray.
You buried it. You hid it.
But we remember."
His breath caught. Evelyn turned to him, confused. "What's it talking about?"
He didn't answer.
Not immediately.
Instead, he stepped forward into the dark.
The Name That Was Forgotten
A cradle of whispers coiled around him, forming the image of a small village nestled in snow.
A boy knelt before a grave. The tombstone bore no name.
Not yet.
Then, carved by invisible hands, words etched themselves into the stone.
"Here lies Aeryn Vale."
Arlen's knees buckled.
That was a name he hadn't heard in twenty years.
A name he abandoned when he burned down his home to escape the curse that took his family.
Evelyn stared in stunned silence. "You changed your name."
"I had to. To survive," he whispered. "The Gate… it knew. It's always known."
The whispers laughed.
"And now, you will give that name back.
Names hold power.
Yours is the key to open what was sealed."
The Fracture Spreads
Back in the real world, Mira's circle faltered.
Torren cursed under his breath. "They're in too deep. I can't reach them."
He looked up at the Gate.
Its edges tore wider, leaking not just shadow but voices. Hundreds. Thousands. They hissed and murmured in ancient tongues, promising salvation, offering damnation.
The runes cracked.
The floor split.
And in the deepest corner of the broken realm something began to crawl through.
A hand.
Black as the void. Fingers too long. Skin like rotted parchment.
The Gate was no longer waiting.
It was coming.
The Decision
Within the void, Evelyn turned to Arlen.
"Give it the name. Let it take the weight. Maybe that's how we end this."
"No," Arlen said. "If I give it my true name, it won't stop with me. It'll use it anchor itself in this world."
He looked into her eyes. "But maybe… I can bind it instead."
He raised his hand.
The whispering realm quaked.
"I am Aeryn Vale," he said, the words like fire on his tongue. "I name myself. I claim my pain."
A pulse of light erupted.
The shadows recoiled.
And Evelyn, eyes wide, whispered, "You're trying to trap it inside you."
He smiled. A sad, desperate smile.
"Only long enough for you to run."