Silence.
Not the kind born from absence — but the kind that followed revelation.
The Buried Temple had gone still, the pulsing walls now dormant. The silver flame coiled around the throne dimmed, its glow fading into the stone. The eighth seed, once luminous and defiant, had fully vanished into Rael's chest — absorbed not just into his soul, but into his being.
Rael exhaled slowly as he opened his eyes.
His vision had changed.
The chamber no longer shimmered with mystery or threat. He could see it now — the paths beneath the stone, the layered echoes of past wielders, and the thin threads of fate that connected every living soul in the room.
He turned toward the women who stood with him.
And he saw more than them.
Selene — her soul burned like wildfire, always at war, always reaching.Nyssira — quiet, but vast, her pain like a night sky stretching without end.Laria — steady, sacred, her core wrapped in mourning and hope.Kessai — wild and raw, her essence dancing like a flame that refused containment.Shaevari — fragmented, veiled, hiding even from herself — but flickering with something new.
Choice.
He could feel it.
They had chosen him. Not once, but continuously.
And that, more than the seed, was what made him strong.
The temple groaned beneath them.
The throne behind him cracked and folded inward, retreating into the roots. The silver fire scattered into motes of dust that drifted upward, like forgotten stars ascending back into the void.
"It's sleeping," Hel murmured.
Rael turned. "The temple?"
"No. The seed. Until the time comes to awaken it fully."
She walked slowly toward the center, her form less rigid now. Almost… tired. There was no illusion in her presence anymore — only the weight of ancient knowing.
"You carry it now," she said. "And it will wait for the moment you need it."
Rael nodded. "And the next?"
"The ninth seed lies beyond a door that cannot be opened by strength," Hel said. "It is sealed by choice."
He frowned. "What does that mean?"
Hel smiled faintly.
"You'll understand when it's time."
She looked to the others.
"They must be ready too. What comes next will test not just you — but all of them. Their love. Their pain. Their loyalty. It will be weighed."
Rael stepped closer. "Then we'll walk it together."
Hel's expression softened.
"I envy you."
She raised her hand — and with a slow breath, began dissolving into frost and shadow, becoming one with the temple once more. Her dress fluttered in the air like black petals caught in a wind no one could feel.
"I will see you again, Rael Vayashura. When the final doors open."
And then she was gone.
Outside the Hollow, the sky had begun to change.
The clouds above split into spirals. Sunlight, distorted and dull, filtered through. The air felt clearer. Lighter. As though the world itself had been holding its breath — and now finally exhaled.
They emerged from the broken valley in silence, the world feeling new beneath their feet.
No one spoke for a while.
Until Kessai did.
"Well," she said, cracking her knuckles. "That was dramatic."
Nyssira chuckled. "You're not wrong."
Laria smiled. "It feels like we've crossed a threshold."
"We have," Rael said quietly. "And the world has felt it."
They began making camp near the edge of a crumbled ruin, close to a clear river where birds finally sang again. The Hollow behind them had begun to fade — not disappear, but shift into a place that would only open for the worthy.
Selene sat beside Rael as the sun dipped below the trees.
"You feel different," she said.
"I am different."
"Stronger?"
"More… aware. I don't just feel power now. I understand it. And I see the cost of it."
Selene nodded. "Good."
She didn't need to say more.
They sat in silence, hand in hand, her fingers curling around his with quiet strength.
That night, Laria came to him.
She did not wear her priestess robes — only a simple shawl of red silk, tied loosely around her shoulders.
Her hair was unbound, cascading over her back like flame. Her steps were slow, measured. When she reached Rael's tent, she paused outside — waiting.
He opened the flap and met her gaze.
"I don't bring devotion tonight," she said softly. "Only myself."
Rael stepped aside.
She entered.
They did not rush.
Their kisses were soft, reverent — like prayer made flesh. She let him undress her piece by piece, and when her body was bare, she knelt before him — not in worship, but as a woman offering herself freely.
He lifted her to her feet.
"You don't kneel to me," he said.
She smiled gently. "Not in submission."
They lay together beneath the stars, their bodies joined not by need, but by choice. She moaned softly beneath him, her fingers weaving through his hair as they moved slowly, deeply — every motion a conversation, every sigh a shared truth.
Her skin burned hot against his. The scent of her filled his senses — cinnamon, embers, silk. Their sweat mingled, their hearts beat in rhythm, and when they reached their peak, she clutched him tightly, trembling with more than pleasure.
"I am yours," she whispered, "but I am also still me."
Rael kissed her gently.
"And that's what I want most."
Elsewhere, Shaevari watched the stars from the edge of the camp.
Selene approached her, arms folded.
"You're brooding again."
"I don't brood."
"You literally skulk in shadows and sigh at the moon."
Shaevari snorted. "Fair."
Selene sat beside her.
"You're changing."
Shaevari glanced away. "I'm trying."
"That's all any of us are doing."
"I don't know if I'm made for this."
"This?" Selene asked. "The war? The love? Him?"
Shaevari hesitated.
"Yes."
Selene leaned back. "I didn't think I was either. Then he kissed me. And I remembered I wasn't just a sword. I was a woman. A lover. A fighter who didn't have to fight alone."
Shaevari's eyes drifted toward Rael's tent.
"I don't know how to stop fighting."
"You don't have to," Selene said. "Just… stop fighting us."
Shaevari said nothing.
But she stayed.
And Selene rested her hand over hers.
Just once.
Then walked away.
Shaevari stared at the stars for a long time.
Then smiled.
Just a little.
Rael woke the next morning with Laria curled at his side.
She slept soundly — her breath steady, her warmth real.
He slipped away quietly, stepping out into the early light.
Shaevari was already there.
She looked at him.
"No words," she said.
Rael nodded.
She stepped forward.
And brushed her lips against his.
"Not yet," she whispered.
Then she was gone.
But the promise lingered.
Far away, in the mountains of Kordrass, a bell tolled.
Not by mortal hands.
But by divine awakening.
A shadowed figure stirred beneath an altar of obsidian, its form wrapped in midnight fire.
A voice spoke.
"He walks the path. He claims the seeds."
Another answered.
"Then the pantheon must act."
A third hissed.
"Too late. He has become inevitable."
Lightning cracked the sky.
And the gods prepared for war.