The storm over Aerath had worsened. Lightning carved jagged wounds across the heavens as Kael, Riven, and Elyra pushed deeper into the forgotten catacombs beneath Valebridge. Water lapped at their ankles, carrying with it fragments of old banners, rusted shackles, and bones.
Each step felt heavier.
The shard of the Veil of Light pulsed against Kael's chest like a second heart.
They came upon a grand cavern, the remnants of what was once a subterranean sanctuary. Cracked mosaics lined the walls—depicting not angels in triumph, but monsters cloaked in Radiance, razing temples, binding spirits in chains of gold.
Elyra knelt before a broken statue: a horned figure with one hand raised in peace, the other gripping a sword plunged into the earth.
"Velkarion," she murmured. "The last of the Bound Flame. Your ancestor, Kael."
Kael touched the base of the statue. Ash and embers flared under his fingers. The world around him blurred—
—and memory claimed him.
Vision: The Last Stand
Kael found himself standing in a city on fire.
Aerath — but not the Aerath he knew.
This Aerath was raw, full of soaring black stone spires and gardens lit by infernal flame.
Above it all, two armies clashed.
On one side: angels descending like meteors, their Radiance washing over the earth like a tide of oblivion.
On the other: demons—not monstrous, but noble—shielding mortals, pushing back the onslaught with fire and blood and desperate courage.
At the center of it all stood Velkarion, a man of burning light and shadow, wielding a blade that sang of defiance.
His horns shimmered like molten silver. His eyes burned with sorrow.
"Hold the line!" Velkarion shouted. His voice cracked the heavens. "For memory! For freedom!"
Kael's heart ached. He felt the terror, the resolve. The people Velkarion protected weren't demons or angels — they were humans, fragile and terrified, clutching each other as the sky fell.
Behind the angelic armies, Kael saw something worse:
A relic — the Veil of Light, whole and terrible, suspended above a temple altar, absorbing the screams of the dying. Twisting reality itself.
Those touched by its glow staggered, forgetting who they were, turning blindly against their own.
Velkarion saw it too.
He roared in fury, breaking through the lines, reaching the steps of the altar—
—but a figure blocked his path.
Seraphiel.
Younger, but unmistakable. His golden hair matted with blood, his smile cold.
"You should have yielded," Seraphiel whispered.
Their blades met in a clash that shook the heavens.
Velkarion struck true—but not fast enough.
The Veil activated.
Blinding light.
Kael screamed as his own mind buckled—
—
Reality: The Catacombs
Kael collapsed, gasping.
Riven caught him before he hit the ground. His skin felt fevered, burning from within.
"You saw it," Elyra said quietly. Not a question.
Kael nodded, shaking.
"The angels... they didn't save us. They erased us."
"And they still are," Riven whispered, voice trembling.
Elyra stood, her wings trembling with barely contained rage. "Velkarion bought time with his life. Enough to scatter pieces of the truth... before Seraphiel completed the Veil."
Kael rose to his feet, the shard of the relic still burning in his hand.
He could feel it now—the faint echoes of other Veil fragments hidden across Aerath, pulling at him like distant stars.
They needed to be shattered. All of them.
Before the angels rewrote the world again.
Above them, muffled through layers of stone and water, they heard a new sound.
Not the storm.
Not the thunder.
Chanting.
Thousands of voices.
The Inquisition was rallying the people, using fear to stoke a holy purge.
Riven looked at him, her eyes full of a fierce, desperate hope. "It's starting, Kael. The people are being turned against themselves."
Kael clenched his fists.
"Then we don't hide anymore," he said. His voice was steady. Stronger. "We tear down their lies."
And as they climbed back toward the surface, into a city teetering on the edge of madness, Kael carried the weight of a war that never truly ended — and the spark of rebellion that could reignite it.