"Marcus, pay attention!" Sylra Veyne's voice was sharp and commanding, piercing his fog. With her leather armor creaking and her auburn hair catching the starlight like embers, the fiery warden paced in front of him and pointed to the quartz shard. "Rune inscription channels starlight, the breath of the High Gods, rather than merely carving lines. This is the hundredth time you've done it. Why is today so difficult?"
Ethan swallowed, his throat dry. Even though he wanted to scream, the words stuck because I'm not him. "Nullvox holds the key," the journal fragment he had decoded the previous evening, was ingrained in his memory. He forced a feeble nod, managing to say, "I… I'm just off, Sylra." "We should give it another go."
With patience and skepticism, Sylra's emerald eyes narrowed. "Fine. Keep the fragment stable. Yesterday, Lirien demonstrated how to feel the starlight. Take it from the air and channel it into the rune through your core. Write the ward pattern, which consists of a crossbar and two curves. You will be protected if a gate trembles once more." Her eyes darted to the edge of the chamber, where a small crack in the wall was left by the tremor of last night, a wave of void energy that had almost knocked them over during Lirien's lesson.
Ethan closed his eyes and let out a breath, attempting to imitate Marcus's assurance. "Starlight is the gift of the High Gods, Marcus—Serathys, Lumara, and Vyrathys wove it into the gates to hold the realms," Lirien said, echoing her words. The warm, tingling pulse she had led him to sense was what he reached for, but his mind faltered. It wasn't starlight that suddenly and sharply flashed forth, but memory.
Once more, he was Ethan rather than Marcus, crouched in a wet alley on Earth, his jacket slick with rain. He was holding a notebook that was filled with notes about the Order of the Veiled Dawn, a cult that he had been following as a freelance journalist for months. Their guttural, low chants drifted from a warehouse, promising "the embrace of the void." He approached cautiously, camera ready, but a shadow loomed, and his heart raced. A cultist's rasping voice accompanied the glint of a blade and the cold steel against his throat: "You've seen too much." The world turned black, the pain burned in his chest, the blood pooled—
"Marcus!" Sylra yanked him back with a shout. The shard of quartz clattered to the ground, its partially carved rune flickering madly. Ethan staggered, his breath ragged and his brow beading with perspiration. When his hand reached for his chest, expecting blood, he discovered only Marcus's leather tunic, with the faintly pulsing starlight rune on his palm.
"You alright?" With a softer tone and a worried expression on her face, Sylra held onto his shoulder. "You appeared to have seen a wraith—you went pale."
With a hoarse voice, Ethan lied and said, "I… yeah, I'm fine." His passing seemed all too real, a shard of a life that was not supposed to be in Ninegates. Did this have anything to do with Zorathys, the betrayed god Lirien mentioned, or Nullvox? The journal's hint that "Nullvox holds the key" was a mystery he could not unravel, and it haunted him. He leaned to pick up the shard, his hands shaking. "Let's move on."
However, Sylra frowned and took a step back, nodding. "Okay, Marcus. Bring the starlight into focus. Walk slowly around the ward. Precision is important; you're not forging a blade in Pyrehold." As an example, she demonstrated how to manipulate an invisible flow with her fingers, mimicking the crossbar and curves while leaving a faint glow in her wake. A shield of light flickered momentarily in front of her as the air hummed.
Ethan made another attempt, clutching the shard while his thoughts were racing. The glow of the chamber tingled against his skin as he reached for the starlight, but it slipped as erratically as water through his fingers. The lines of the rune were unstable and uneven as he scratched at the quartz. The light flickered and then went out. Anger erupted—Ethan Cole had never protected gates or used magic. He was Marcus Reed, but how?
With her arms crossed, Sylra uttered the word 'sloppy.' "Marcus, your hands are steady enough to hold a blade, but this? It's as though you've never written anything before. Why are you acting strangely?"
He was about to respond when a shadow shifted at the edge of the room. With his dark armored tall frame and unreadable stern face, Torren emerged. With his gray eyes searching Ethan with silent intensity, the stoic gatekeeper held a starlight hammer, its edge glowing faintly. Torren said in a steady, low voice, "Sylra, calm down. Marcus has endured enough. He was transformed by that final mission—the forbidden gate."
Sylra nodded, though her jaw tensed. "All right, Torren. It's your turn. I need a break from his fumbling." She stalked over to a bench and grabbed a waterskin while continuing to worryingly glance at Ethan.
Torren stepped forward, his boots making no sound against the alabaster. Take a stroll with me, Marcus. He pointed toward a side passage that led to a smaller alcove and had glowing crystals adorning its walls. Ethan followed, the quartz shard heavy in his hand, a prickle of unease crawling up his spine. He felt eyes on him—not Torren's, but something else, a weight from the shadows. The chamber was deserted when he looked back, except for Lirien, who had left after last night's lesson, muttering about gate checks, and Sylra drinking water.
Leaning against a crystal pillar in the alcove, Torren had his hammer next to him. "You're not yourself, Marcus," he said in a quiet but piercing voice. "We've been fighting together for years: Voidspawn in Abysscara, Tremors in Sylvareth. He never faltered. However, now…" He stopped, looking into Ethan's eyes.
"Him?" Ethan asked.
"Marcus Reed!"
Ethan gulped, his eyes widening before Torren. "Before that final mission, I told him something that I'll share with you. Marcus thought the Council might be hiding something sinister. He described the elder as void-tainted—someone who had been corrupted, perhaps by Nullvox itself."
It made Ethan's heart thump. The journal had whispered that Nullvox held the key, and now this—an elder tainted by void? Ethan forced himself to remain calm and asked, "What… what did he say, Torren?" Could this be connected to his transmigration, to the rune's insistence? His thoughts raced.
Torren's gaze hardened. "He refused to give them names. He asserted that he required proof and insider information from that gate. He went alone and came back barely alive and covered in blood. Afterward, his group was murdered. He trailed off, a look of pain flickering across his face. Marcus, I trusted him. He promised that he would expose the traitor."
Ethan's lips became parched. He had no past to share, but he did have the journal and the clue. Grasping the shard, he uttered, "I… I've heard of Nullvox. It's significant—possibly a key. I'm still… trying to figure it out." There was a chill in the air as the invisible eyes pressed closer.
Torren gave a slow nod. "Nullvox. Marcus had spoken of it previously—in a curse-like whisper. Should an elder become corrupted by that emptiness, the gates may collapse. Marcus, we have to be certain." He moved in closer, his voice trailing off. "Observe the Council. Auralis, Valthor—something is being concealed."
Another flash, vivid and unexpected, was triggered by the name Valthor. Above them loomed the Council of Gatewards, five elders with grim expressions and silver robes. Tall and thin, with icy-cold eyes, Valthor Drayce gazed down with a smooth yet scathing voice: "Marcus Reed, your quest for forbidden gates puts us all at risk. Stop or risk being banished." The stare cut through Ethan—Marcus—cool, calculating, a predator assessing its prey. Marcus has a nagging suspicion that he knows too much. The void clings to him.
With the alcove spinning, Ethan stumbled. Torren grabbed his arm. "What's wrong, Marcus?" "You're trembling."
The journal's hint, Nullvox, pulsed in his mind, and that unseen stare bore into him again, a chill down his spine. Ethan gasped, the quartz shard digging into his palm. Marcus's fear, that cold gaze—Valthor's—felt real. Was Valthor void-tainted? He looked around the alcove, finding crystals, shadows, nothing, but the feeling persisted, heavy, oppressive.
"Remember?" Torren's forehead furrowed. "Where? If you have Marcus's leads, share them. We can't lose this battle by ourselves."
"The Council," Ethan said softly after pausing, "Valthor… his eyes." They weren't friendly, Torren. "I think… I think he's concealing something."
With a hand resting on his hammer, Torren's face darkened. "Valthor. I've wondered too. He's too quick to silence us, to bury Marcus Reed's mission. If he's touched by the void, the gates aren't safe." He paused, his eyes wide. "Marcus, we'll keep an eye on him, Sylra, you, and I. But you need to master those runes—starlight's our edge against the void."
Earth's cult, Valthor's gaze, Nullvox's key—who was watching, Zorathys, the traitor? Ethan nodded, his heart thumping. The weight of eyes lingered, unseen, as if the shadows themselves listened. "Right. I'll get it, Torren." He gripped the shard, Marcus's memory and his own death tangling—Valthor's gaze with the shard.
They made their way back to the room, where Sylra stood with her arms folded. Her tone was wry as she asked, "Are you done whispering, boys?" "Marcus, back to it. Inscribe the ward—two curves, crossbar. Embrace the starlight, or we will be buried by the next tremor."
Ethan clutched the fragment, his thoughts shattered—Ethan Cole killed by a cult; Marcus Reed pursuing an elder tainted by void. The glow in the air was tingling and slow as he reached for the starlight. The crossbar was crooked as his fingers traced the rune, the curves swaying. The quartz sputtered out after, flaring and flickering like a feeble shield. His frustration was boiling, and he muttered a curse.
Sylra sighed. "You're resisting, Marcus. Calm down. Allow the starlight to flow, as if breathing. This was given to us by the High Gods to guard the gates. Try once more."
With a tight jaw, he nodded and tried again. Warmer now, the starlight gathered in his chest and buzzed. He maneuvered it slowly and deliberately, sculpting the crossbar and curves. A faint shield shimmered before him, fragile but real, and the rune glowed steadily. A tiny victory lifted his heart.
Sylra's rare smile flickered as she said, "Better." "Marcus, you're improving, but you're still not perfect. Gates do not wait for blunders, so keep going."
He got a shoulder clap from Torren. "Well done, Marcus. Starlight serves as both your blade and shield. Whatever comes up, whether it's Nullvox or the Council, we'll need it." His eyes darted to the corners of the room, as though he could sense the invisible gaze as well.
While pretending to be Marcus, Ethan forced a smile, but the pressure was greater. His eyes scanned the darkness—nothing moved, but the cold hung there, a hint of peril. There was a slight shudder on the floor, and crystals were rattling overhead. Torren's hand shot to his blade, Sylra stiffened, and Ethan's rune throbbed warmly against his skin.
"Another tremor," Sylra whispered, looking around. "The void is becoming audacious. Remain alert, Marcus. We haven't finished training you yet."
Ethan nodded while holding the shard firmly in his hand and dealing with a barrage of jumbled memories, including Earth's blood, Valthor's eyes, and Nullvox's key. By whom was he observed? The traitor? Zorathys?