The rain hadn't stopped since they left Thorne Hollow.
It wasn't gentle either. It hit hard, cold and loud, drowning the world in a constant rhythm that made everything feel heavier.
Lysander pulled his hood tighter as he walked, boots sinking into wet earth with every step. Roan followed beside him, silent, just as soaked. Behind them, Thorne Hollow was fading into the mist, like it was never real.
Neither of them had said much since the fight with the Warden.
Not because they didn't have questions.
But because they both knew something had changed.
And it wasn't just the blade Lysander had forged from nothing. Or the way the Fragment now pulsed quietly inside his chest, like a second heartbeat.
The world felt closer now. Like it was leaning in.
Watching.
Waiting.
---
They camped near a fallen tree that night, using its roots as a cover from the wind.
Roan poked at the small fire between them, her brows low.
"You hear that?"
Lysander paused, listening.
The wind had stopped.
The rain too.
For a second, everything was still.
Then he heard it.
A faint whistle—not wind.
It was low. Drawn out. Like someone exhaling through their teeth.
Lysander stood fast, hand reaching for the new weapon that hadn't left his side since Thorne Hollow.
Roan was already moving, eyes sharp.
From the shadows behind the tree line, something stepped out.
Not beast.
Not human.
Something in between.
Its face was covered by a white mask—smooth and blank, with only a vertical slit where the mouth should be. Its body was wrapped in deep crimson robes that moved like they were underwater.
Its hands—long, clawed fingers—hung at its sides.
But the worst part?
Lysander couldn't feel it.
No presence. No pressure. No sound of footsteps.
It was just there.
Roan whispered, "That's not a Warden."
"No," Lysander said, tightening his grip. "It's something worse."
---
The creature didn't speak.
It just watched.
Then it raised one hand.
A symbol appeared in the air—burning red, a perfect circle of ancient runes.
Roan cursed. "Get down!"
The spell hit the fire first—extinguishing it instantly.
Then the world exploded.
The roots behind them tore apart. The ground cracked. Trees snapped like twigs. Wind howled with force, throwing Lysander and Roan across the clearing.
Lysander hit the ground hard, rolling until his shoulder slammed into a boulder. Pain shot through his arm. He gasped—but stayed conscious.
Roan wasn't as lucky. She lay nearby, blood running down her cheek.
The creature stepped through the dust like it was floating.
Its mask tilted toward Lysander.
Then, it spoke.
But not in words.
It pressed thoughts directly into his head.
> "You carry the first." "The seal weakens." "He calls through you."
Lysander's head throbbed. He grabbed his temple, stumbling back.
"Who are you?" he shouted.
> "A Watcher of the Divine Concord."
> "Your death was marked the moment you touched Him."
Lysander's breath caught.
The Divine Concord.
The ruling order. The ones who had erased the Fallen God from history. Who hunted his worshippers. Who feared him so much, they burned entire villages to keep his name forgotten.
They knew.
They knew he existed again.
And they had sent this thing to kill him.
---
The creature moved again.
This time, fast.
A blur of red and white.
Lysander barely raised his arm before the claws were at his throat.
He blocked with the shadow-forged blade—sparks flew as claw met energy.
The force of the strike sent him flying again, crashing into a tree.
He coughed blood, trying to stand.
"Roan!" he shouted.
She stirred, groaning. Still alive—but not in the fight.
It was up to him.
The Watcher lunged again.
Lysander rolled under its swing, slashed upward—but the blade passed through mist. The thing vanished mid-attack and reappeared behind him.
Its hand reached for his spine.
He spun—driving the blade through its chest.
A clean strike.
But no blood.
The creature didn't even flinch.
It grabbed the blade with both hands, stopping it mid-push.
Its mask leaned close.
> "You are no Disciple yet."
Then—shattered light.
Lysander screamed as a surge of energy exploded from the Watcher's grip, launching him into the air. He hit the ground with a crunch, his body limp, the blade falling beside him.
He couldn't move.
Couldn't breathe.
The world blurred.
The Watcher stepped forward, claws raised.
"Not yet," Roan muttered.
She appeared behind it, dragging herself forward.
And plunged a dagger into the back of its knee.
The Watcher hissed—finally reacting.
It turned, slashing at her, but she was already falling back, rolling toward Lysander.
She grabbed his shoulder. "Hey. You still breathing?"
He gave the weakest nod.
Roan whispered, "I bought you two seconds. You better make it count."
He looked at her.
Then at the blade.
And for a moment—he saw it.
Not just the weapon.
But the bond.
The connection to something beyond.
He reached for it.
And the Fragment answered.
The mark on his palm surged.
The blade changed.
From a simple edge of shadow into something more real. Like it had grown. Sharper. Darker. Pulsing with red veins like it drank from his heartbeat.
He stood.
The Watcher turned.
Lysander didn't speak.
He just moved.
---
The final clash was fast.
Blades and claws.
Red energy against black flame.
The Watcher was faster—but Lysander wasn't thinking anymore.
The power moved with him.
It remembered.
And with one final strike—he didn't slash.
He cut through space itself.
A crack opened in the air behind the Watcher. A thin tear of red and black.
And the creature fell into it.
Gone.
The tear closed.
Silence returned.
---
Lysander collapsed to his knees, chest heaving.
Roan sat nearby, pale and bruised.
She looked at him. "You okay?"
He laughed. "No."
They sat like that for a long time.
Just breathing.
Then she asked, "What was that at the end?"
"I don't know," he said. "It just... felt right."
Roan nodded. "That was a Watcher. The Concord doesn't send them unless they want something erased completely. You just survived one."
Lysander stared at the sky.
"What does that mean?"
Roan leaned back.
"It means they know you're real now".