The reliquary cracked further, glowing with light that didn't belong to this world. Runes flared red, then white, then something Kael's eyes couldn't comprehend—a color that twisted at the edges of reality. Seren took a half step back.
"Kael, this is a seal meant for gods, not men."
"I know," he said, voice low. "But it's calling to me."
The reliquary gave a final shudder, and the clasps burst open. A wave of heat exploded from the altar, nearly knocking them both off their feet. The Keeper shrieked, or maybe it was the monastery itself—stone groaning with rage and grief.
Inside the reliquary was no artifact. No weapon.
But a heart. Black and crystalline, webbed in veins of glowing blue. It pulsed—slowly, powerfully. Kael's glyph responded immediately, flaring against his skin.
Seren stepped forward, horrified. "That's not a relic. That's… alive."
Kael couldn't move. The pull was magnetic. The heart wasn't just alive—it was aware. And it knew his name.
"Kael Thorne. Heir to the Shattered Line. You have come at last".
The voice echoed inside his mind—not spoken, not even heard, but imposed. It was cold and infinite. And it was ancient.
"The Realm remembers you. And the Realm is bleeding".
The vision struck without warning.
Kael fell to his knees, the world around him peeling away.
He stood on the edge of a battlefield scorched by stars. Titans of shadow and flame clashed with winged warriors bearing banners of light. In the center stood a tree—massive, dying, its branches dripping gold into a lake of ash.
And chained to its roots was the same heart. The same power.
"The Forgotten Realm was sealed, not destroyed. What they buried still beats. Still waits".
Kael saw seven figures, cloaked like the Keeper, performing a ritual—each carving pieces of themselves into stone, creating the glyphs. One fell. Another wept. But the seventh… the seventh turned toward him, face half-shrouded.
"You will awaken what they feared".
Kael gasped, dragged back into the monastery.
Seren held his shoulders, eyes wide. "What did you see?"
He didn't answer right away. He looked back at the reliquary—now dormant, the heart still pulsing faintly.
"The Forgotten Realm… it's not just a name. It's a place. And that—" he nodded toward the reliquary— "is its key."
Seren stood. "Then we can't let anyone else get their hands on it."
Kael rose, expression hardened. "We need to find the others the Keeper spoke of. The ones who know the rest of the story. If they bound this power once… maybe they can guide us now."
But deep inside, he doubted it.
Whatever had been done before… this was no longer about containment.
This was inevitable.
Far to the east, across blackened plains, a cloaked rider paused at a cliff's edge. They looked toward the fading sun, eyes burning silver beneath their hood.
They smiled.
"The Seal is broken".
The Keeper was gone.
Only tatters of his cloak remained, scattered like dead leaves across the stone floor. Kael paced near the reliquary, its black crystal heart still pulsing, slower now but steadier—like it had synced to him. He could feel the glyph on his arm burning, lines glowing faintly even through the leather of his sleeve.
Seren moved toward one of the cracked walls. A spiral of carvings there—previously invisible—now shimmered under the reliquary's light.
"This was a sanctum," she murmured. "But also a warning."
She traced a section of the runes with her fingertips. "'Seven locked the Gate of Echoes. One bore the key. One bore the cost.'" She turned to Kael. "They didn't just seal the Forgotten Realm… They made a bargain."
Kael swallowed. "And whoever bore the key… that heart… they paid with more than blood."
A loud crack split the silence.
From deep within the monastery, the earth trembled. Dust rained from above. Somewhere below, something had moved.
Kael backed away from the reliquary. "We woke something up. Something older than the heart."
Seren drew her blades. "We need to move. Now."
But it was too late.
The floor of the nave split open.
Rising from beneath—emerging through a spiraling pit of stone and sigils—came a figure in ancient armor, rusted and blackened. His face was covered by a helm crowned with thorns, eyes nothing but burning coals beneath.
Kael stepped in front of Seren.
"Who are you?"
The figure's voice was like gravel grinding against bone. "I am the First Watcher. Bound by oath. Freed by your folly."
He raised one gauntlet. The reliquary responded—glowing brighter, vibrating.
"You hold the key," the Watcher rasped. "And now the Door begins to open."
Kael held the Blade of Ruin at the ready, the glyph on his arm flaring in warning.
"We didn't come here to start a war."
The Watcher tilted his head. "The war never ended, son of the Shattered Line. It was only paused—waiting for you to choose."
The monastery groaned again.
Behind them, the murals on the wall changed. The scenes now depicted Kael himself, standing at the threshold of a gate between worlds. One version of him bore a crown of flame, eyes black with power. The other bled from a wound in his chest, reaching toward the sky.
Seren stepped beside him, shaken.
"These murals… They're prophetic."
Kael couldn't tear his eyes away. "They show both paths. Ruler… or sacrifice."
The Watcher took a step forward. "The Realm sleeps beneath memory and ruin. But you have stirred it. You must decide what rises."
Kael stared down at the reliquary.
And made a choice.
He stepped forward and placed his hand on the heart.
Pain lanced through him, blinding and absolute. His vision shattered like glass—showing glimpses of a realm shrouded in silver fog, creatures vast and terrible moving across twilight plains, a palace made of bone and starlight.
And at its center—a throne.
Empty.
Waiting.
Kael ripped his hand away, gasping.
The Watcher knelt before him.
"All paths converge now, bearer of the forgotten flame."
Kael turned to Seren, breathing hard. "The Realm's waking up. And it remembers me."