The air Ardyn breathed was sharp, sterile, and ancient. It wasn't the smoke of a forge, but the pulverized remains of a thousand-year-old civilization. He had used the Flicker Step, a desperate, short-range activation of the newly forged Aetherial Shard, to escape the Void Guardian's grasp, but the cost was crippling.
He stumbled out of the dense Void mist and into the desolate openness of The Ruined Age. The world here was an endless canvas of faded brown and gray.
The first thing that seized his attention was the sky. It wasn't blue, or even gray with storm clouds. It was a vast, silent dome cracked like shattered porcelain. Great, shimmering seams of violet and green energy spider-webbed across the firmament—the permanent scar left by the Soulfall Cataclysm when the Void first breached Aetherion.
It took everything, Ardyn thought, the sight a physical punch to his gut. The raw, terrifying silence of this ruined landscape was heavier than any battle cry.
His current Soul Core integrity of 25\% felt like a cruel joke. He had gained stability, but at the ultimate price. He pressed the empty space on his neck where the silver locket had rested. The locket was gone. All that remained was a burning, hollow feeling—the memory of his mother's pure essence being forcefully consumed by the starving Last Soul Furnace.
"It was necessary," he muttered, forcing the words into the barren air. His voice was cold, echoing the ruthless logic of survival he'd been raised on. "Sentiment is a weakness in the face of the Void."
Yet, the Aetherial Shard—the invisible, delicate spirit forged from that purest fragment—pulsed with a quiet energy at the edge of his awareness. It wasn't a cry of distress, but a silent presence. It was a part of her, now a part of him, forever bound to his destiny as a weapon.
I am a monster now, wearing my mother's ghost as a shield.
The thought fueled a familiar, searing rage. It wasn't aimed at the Aetherial Shard or the Furnace. It was purely directed at Lord Vorath, the ancient commander of The Hollow Dominion whose presence had just driven him to this ultimate betrayal of memory.
<
Vorath's voice echoed in his mind, sickeningly casual. The message confirmed Ardyn's deepest fear: the annihilation of the Soulforgers wasn't a mere war of extermination. It was a harvest. And Ardyn, the last seed, was meant to grow strong only to be reaped later.
🌍 The Dead World of Aetherion
Ardyn began walking, his gait uneven. The Void Hide Armor on his arms had dissolved, its temporary Void Essence fuel depleted. He kept his Shadow Mace clenched tightly, its jagged stone and infused Void glow his only visible defense.
He needed distance from the ruins and that infuriated Void Guardian.
He moved across terrain that was less earth and more hardened ash. Miles stretched before him, broken only by the skeletal remains of gigantic structures—relics of The First Cycle that had been too strong to completely crumble, but too weak to survive the Cataclysm.
The world was dangerously quiet. The silence was broken only by a distant, faint electrical crackle high above.
Aether Storms.
These were localized disturbances, spiraling tempests of raw, untamed Soul Essence released by the shattered sky. They were lethal to anyone relying on modern Arcane magic, burning out crystals and frying the nervous system. But for a Soulforger, they represented both extreme danger and incredible potential. A concentrated Aether storm could instantly stabilize his Soul Core or just as quickly tear it apart.
Ardyn kept his gaze glued to the horizon. In the distance, he saw the faint outline of what used to be a bustling settlement. It was now flat, a field of rubble dominated by one dark, ominous spire.
Ash Cities. The graveyard of human aspiration.
He'd heard the legends, of course. Back in The First Cycle, the Soulforgers were the undisputed masters of this world, their Forged Spirits defending civilization against the burgeoning Void. They built their forges with the fire of creation. Now, they were a myth whispered by the few survivors who clung to life in the new, smaller kingdoms.
If I reveal myself, I will either be worshiped as a god or hunted as a weapon.
Ardyn preferred the latter. Worship bred dependence. Hunting bred strength.
He pushed his Soul Core to scan the environment. The Aetherial Shard helped, granting him a subtle awareness of the flow of Soul energy. And what he sensed was terrifying: the entire landscape was polluted.
In the far west, several dark, flapping forms were circling, drawn by the residual Void essence he had left behind.
Wraithborn. These were pure, malevolent spirits, the souls of the dead twisted by Void infection. They craved the warmth of a living Soul Core. And Ardyn's, though strengthened, was still an irresistible beacon.
They're closing the gap. I have maybe an hour before they swarm.
He needed a safe harbor, a place to fully activate the Aetherial Shard and perhaps, just maybe, forge a proper, permanent weapon—not a Void artifact with a five-minute lifespan.
He recalled his father's final lesson, etched into his very being: To forge permanence, you must consume the temporary.
His current Soul Core was at 25\%. He had to reach 40\% to attempt a stable, permanent forge.
🩸 The Collapse and the Soul Dream
The pace he had maintained for the last half hour began to exact its toll. The Flicker Step was too draining for a 25\% core. His lungs burned, his muscles screamed, but worse was the internal vibration.
Warning: Soul Energy Instability Detected. Forced Absorption Required.
The Furnace was complaining. It had gorged on the pure essence of his mother's fragment, but it now lacked the base Void fuel to keep the energy stable. The pure, chaotic energy was starting to self-destruct.
Ardyn's vision tunneled. The Cracked Sky above seemed to whirl. He staggered, dropping the Shadow Mace.
"No... not here," he gasped, fighting the overwhelming gravitational pull of unconsciousness. He had to keep moving. He couldn't die now, not after the sacrifice.
Crash!
His body gave out. He fell hard onto the jagged ash, the impact forcing a guttural sound from his throat. The world went dark, but his Soul Core remained painfully, vividly awake.
He was no longer in the barren lands. He was floating in a warm, golden void. This was a Soul Dream, a forced state entered when the Soul Core is under extreme stress.
In the distance, a figure coalesced from the light. It was her. The same gentle smile, the same silver hair woven with Soulfire sparks. It was his Mother, but not as a memory—as the Aetherial Shard.
"Ardyn, my dear," her voice was soft, resonating deep within the Soul Core. "You are alive. And you have burned the last of me to survive."
Ardyn felt the guilt rise, hot and heavy. "Mother, I—"
"Silence, my Son. There is no time for regret. A Soulforger's existence is fueled by necessity. The pain you feel is the price of power." She looked past him, her eyes widening in solemn warning.
"Listen to the Furnace. It is hungry, yes, but it is also a signpost. The Furnace marked you."
Ardyn frowned. "Marked me? Vorath said I was a target, a tool."
"Worse than a tool. The Last Soul Furnace is not just a relic of creation. It is the key to unlocking the true essence of Aetherion. The Dominion knows this. Vorath knows this. But you must understand this, too: The Forge is now part of the great cycle of the world. And the cycle demands balance."
Her light flickered, growing frantic. The golden void began to darken, and the temperature dropped sharply.
"You must learn the truth of the Void Path! The path you took to live... it is watched."
Then, the true horror of the dream manifested.
From the deepest shadow of the golden void, a figure emerged. It was impossibly tall, skeletal, and wrapped in tattered robes woven from pure darkness. In its hand, it held a massive scythe, the blade curved and cold, radiating an ancient, primordial terror that froze the Soul Core.
This was not a Void Guardian. This was something far older, far more potent—the shadow of the very concept of Soul Reaping itself.
The figure didn't move towards Ardyn, but towards the Furnace pulsing in his chest. It lifted the scythe slowly, silently.
"The Soulreaper," Ardyn whispered, pure, instinctive dread seizing him.
His Mother's Shard screamed, an echoing, soundless shriek of pure light that cracked the dream space. "Run, Ardyn! Forge your destiny, or the cycle will claim you!"
🔦 Rescue in the Ruined Lands
Ardyn woke with a jolt, gasping violently. His eyes snapped open, reflecting the desolate gray of the Cracked Sky. Sweat beaded on his forehead, though the air was freezing.
His internal state was chaotic. The Soul Dream had been terrifyingly real. The warning felt like a physical weight pressing on his chest.
"The Furnace marked me... The cycle demands balance..."
"You talk too much for a dead man."
A low, guttural voice sliced through his dazed state.
Ardyn instinctively tried to move, but a heavy, leather-clad boot was planted firmly on his chest, pinning him to the ground. His Shadow Mace was gone.
He looked up. Standing over him was a woman. She was lean and compact, clad in heavily worn, oil-stained leather armor reinforced with scavenged metal plates. Her hair was a dark, cropped mess, and her face was scarred by frostbite and old battles. She carried a massive, customized rifle on her back—a mix of ancient steel and modern Arcane tech—and in her hand, she held his Shadow Mace.
Her eyes were the most striking feature: a sharp, predatory hazel that scanned the horizon with unnerving vigilance.
"Who are you?" Ardyn demanded, his voice weak but his tone glacial.
The woman didn't lower her foot. "The one who just saved your sorry Soul Core from being feasted upon by three hungry Wraithborn that were circling you like vultures."
She nudged him with her boot. "You reek of Soulfire, kid. And something else... something pure and ancient. You're a walking disaster magnet. Tell me, Soulforger," she used the title with casual, dangerous certainty, "where did you get that kind of energy signature?"
Ardyn's mind raced. She knew the terminology. She was too powerful to be a mere Arcane peasant.
"My origins are irrelevant," Ardyn bit back, trying to push her foot off.
"Wrong answer." She pressed down harder, forcing the air out of his lungs. "Everything is relevant in the Ruined Lands. That energy spike you released? It didn't just kill three Wraithborn. It drew everything within five miles. You smell like fresh bread in a starving camp."
She finally relented, lifting her boot. Ardyn rolled over, grabbing for his Shadow Mace, but she kept it just out of reach.
"I am Kael. I track and harvest highly concentrated Soul Essence," she said, tapping the Mace. "This thing... it's temporary, made with low-grade Void essence, but you used a catalyst of immense purity to stabilize your Core. Only the legends of the Soulforgers talk about such purity. You're either a myth or a death sentence."
Ardyn ignored the pain and sat up. "I need that. It's my only defense."
"It's a liability," Kael corrected, tossing the Mace to him. "It's radiating instability. You just collapsed because your Soul Core can't handle the power you forced into it. You need a proper Forged Spirit template, not that scrap."
"And you just happen to be an expert in the extinct art of Soulforging?" Ardyn challenged, fixing his coldest stare on her.
Kael smirked, a flicker of dark amusement in her eyes. "I know enough to know that your current state is dangerous to my harvest. I saw the Void Guardian that was tracking you. You are valuable bait, Ardyn Valen. But I prefer live bait."
She knelt, pointing a finger toward the ground. Embedded in the ash were dozens of small, almost invisible black tendrils.
"Look around, Soulforger. Those are Shadow Threads. They're everywhere, linking the local Void to whatever entity sent that Guardian." Kael stood up, her eyes narrowing at the darkening horizon. "And they are vibrating. That means the Wraithborn are coming, and they're bringing friends."
🌑 The Approaching Shadow Wall
Ardyn scanned the area Kael had been watching. It was faint at first, but with his heightened Soul Sense and the aid of the Aetherial Shard, he saw it: a black wall of swirling, malicious energy moving rapidly towards them. It was dozens of Wraithborn grouped together—a terrifying, mobile entity driven by the signal of his unstable Soul Core.
"How long?" Ardyn asked, his tone devoid of panic, simply calculating.
"Twenty minutes, max, before they're on us. And I'm not equipped to handle a full swarm. I'm a hunter, not a wall." Kael began strapping her rifle across her back. "We move. Now."
Ardyn didn't argue. Kael was a seasoned survivor, and her assessment was accurate. But where could they run? The Ash Cities were too far. The open land was a death trap.
"Where are we going?"
"The only place where the Void signal gets drowned out by ambient Arcane energy," Kael replied, her voice low and urgent. "The capital of the Silverlight Kingdom. It's loud, crowded, and heavily shielded."
"That's suicide. I'm marked by Vorath. And I just insulted one of their Arcane Knights—Lysara."
Kael gave a dry, humorless chuckle. "Lysara Silverlight? Tough luck. But listen, Soulforger. You need safety to forge, and Silverlight has the biggest concentration of Soul Essence in the new kingdoms, even if it's the weak, Arcane kind. And I, Ardyn Valen, need someone to carry my supplies past the kingdom's checkpoints."
She extended a hand, the gesture practical, not friendly. "It's a mutually beneficial partnership. You get temporary shelter and fuel. I get a disposable mule. Agree to my terms, or stay here and become part of the Wraithborn wall."
Ardyn stared at the approaching darkness, then at Kael's resolute face. He saw no deception, only cold pragmatism. It was the logic of survival he himself adhered to.
He reached out and grabbed her forearm. The moment their skin touched, Ardyn felt Kael's own Soul Core—it was strong, but guarded, encased in layers of complex, primitive Spirit Barriers he'd never encountered before. She was far more than just a hunter.
💥 Cliffhanger
"Deal," Ardyn agreed, his voice a rasp of steel. "But I'm no mule. I'm the Last Soulforger. My only currency is vengeance."
"Good," Kael nodded sharply, pulling him up. "Now, run."
They turned and sprinted toward the distant, hazy silhouette of the Silverlight Kingdom.
As they ran, Ardyn glanced back one last time. The wall of Wraithborn was vast, and now, he noticed something new about the shadow mass. It wasn't just a random swarm. It was being directed.
And emerging from the center of the dark wall was a towering, heavily armed figure that moved with terrifying speed—the Void Guardian. It had found its quarry.
Ardyn felt the Shadow Mace in his hand vibrate wildly, not with Void essence, but with the cold, demanding essence of his Mother's Shard.
[Warning: Void Guardian closing. Cannot use Flicker Step. Required: Immediate High-Tier Soulforging. Risk: The Guardian is not alone.]
Ardyn's heart slammed against his ribs. The Guardian was faster than before, but that wasn't the terror. The terror was that the Guardian was moving too accurately, too precisely, as if it was being given directions.
Vorath has an eye here. Someone is watching me right now, leading them to me.
"Kael! We've got a spy among us!" Ardyn yelled, but his voice was swallowed by the sudden, deafening crackle of an Aether storm that exploded overhead, illuminating the encroaching darkness and revealing a tiny, hidden figure perched atop the nearest spire—watching them flee.