Starlight pulsed unevenly in the Starlit Sanctum, the echo of the gate flicker breaking the celestial hum of the place. Ethan was standing by the pillar of obsidian, holding a heavy shard of quartz, the glow of its shield rune fading like a dying ember. Just moments before, Marcus Reed's chest heaved as his body strained from using the Sanctum's power to hold the shield against the Ninth Gate's surge of void energy.
Lirien moved away from the altar, her violet eyes too piercing, too keen, and her silver hair glistening, while Sylra sheathed her sword and looked into the darkness. The journal's clue, "Nullvox holds the key," and Lumara's vision awaken the unseen watcher, whose gaze lingered like a cold blade at Ethan's neck—Nullvox stirs, the tenth gate trembles. With Zorathys's shadow hovering over the chaos at the gate, Lirien's question, "What else do you know?" now sounded suspicious.
Although Ethan had gained time by lying about the vision, the pressure of his transmigration and his deception as Marcus was greater.
Ethan stumbled, the shard slipping, his shield rune flaring instinctively, a faint dome shimmering. Sylra cursed, grabbing a pillar. Lirien clutched the altar, her face paling, her eyes wide—not just fear, but something else, a flicker of guilt. The floor buckled, crystals cracking overhead, dust raining like ash, and a sudden roar shattered the calm of the Sanctum with a bone-deep tremor that dwarfed the flicker.
"Marcus, get ready! That's not a flicker—it's striking the outer gates!" yelled Sylra in a raw voice, "Void-tremor!"
Ethan's wrist rune burned—seek the truth—as the watcher's gaze tightened, almost tangible, like claws in the dark, and the rumble crescendoed, a scream of tearing stone echoing from the depths of Aetherion. The tremor stopped, leaving a heavy silence, the starlight dimming in the Sanctum, its crystal stuttering.
As she traced a sigil on the altar, Lirien's breath caught and her hands shook. "Outer gates… the Ninth's relays are breached," she said in an unsteady voice. "Void energy's flooding Aetherion." Her eyes darted to Ethan and back again, too quickly and too nervously.
With her jaw clenched, Sylra said, "We're checking it—now." Marcus, with me. Lirien, signal Torren. He's at the relays." She snatched up her satchel, her starlight dagger shining, and fixed her suspicious eyes on Lirien.
Ethan nodded, his heart racing; Lirien's nerves, her quick look—was she concealing something? The weight of the journal in his pocket burned, its Nullvox clue left unfinished, and he followed Sylra through a side passage, the crystals dimming, the air thick with a metallic tang, like blood but colder, the watcher's gaze unwavering, as if the tremor woke it.
The passage wound upward, leading to the outer gateyard of Aetherion, a huge courtyard surrounded by tall gates made of quartz and obsidian monoliths with runes of starlight engraved on them. With its cracked arches and runes that flickered like dying stars, the Ninth Gate loomed. A viscous, inky substance—void-ichor, smelling of decay—oozed from black veins that pulsed along its base. The stone was split, and the ground was scarred, as though an invisible beast had clawed at it.
Torren came out of a relay chamber with his starlight hammer stowed and his dark armor splattered with dust. He glanced at the gate, then at Ethan, his gray eyes hard and far away. "Stranger," he uttered softly. "Tremor is more severe than I anticipated. The relays in Ninth Gate are shot—the runes are being eaten by void-ichors."
With a grim expression, Sylra knelt by the gate and scraped ichor with her dagger. "This is not typical. Such traces are not left by void breaches—not without assistance." She looked first at Torren and then at Ethan. "You've seen this on the gates of Abysscara before, Marcus. Any thoughts?"
Ethan's throat grew constricted. Ethan Cole was Earth-bound and had no knowledge of gates, so he hadn't, but Marcus's body tingled, a ghost of memory stirring. "It… looks deliberate," he said in a shaky voice; he implied. "As though someone had weakened the runes." Pressed and cold, the watcher's eyes seemed to be evaluating his deception.
Torren's gaze grew strained. "Deliberate. Similar to Marcus's long-held suspicion that he was a Council traitor who was void-tainted." He indicated the ichor. "Stranger, this is so reminiscent of Nullvox."
Marcus's pursuit of the forbidden gate was similar.
Nullvox. Ethan became terrified as the word struck him like a spark. Zorathys was connected to Nullvox through Lumara's vision, the journal's hint, and Torren's caution. Was Marcus's memory of the traitor Valthor haunted by his icy stare? Or someone nearer? In his mind, he saw Lirien's anxious look.
Standing, Sylra wiped her blade. "Whether a traitor or not, this gate is being sealed. Write a binding rune with three arcs and a crossed spiral, Marcus. Even though the starlight is weak here, you must try." Despite her firm tone, her eyes were trusting, and she was not aware of his deceit.
Ethan's hands were shaky as he held onto the fragment. The watcher's gaze was a burden as he knelt by the gate, the stench of void-ichor choking him. The faint glow of the gateyard was slow and resisted as he reached for the starlight. He scratched the spiral uneven, the arcs wobbly. The rune gave a weak pulse and sputtered before dying. There was a surge of frustration—he wasn't Marcus, wasn't made for this.
"Marcus, concentrate!" With a sharp voice, Sylra yelled. "Feel the gate—it's centered on starlight. You've already done this."
Lirien showed up before Ethan could try again, her breath ragged, her robes rumpled. "Torren, relays are holding—barely," she snapped, her eyes darting and her voice high. "However, the void energy is spiking once more." Her knuckles turned white as her hands twisted, and she avoided looking at Ethan.
Torren shifted his hammer and fixed his intense gaze. "Spiking? Lirien, you were checking the sigils on the altar. What's off?"
A tiny crack in Lirien's composure caused her to flinch. Her voice was fragile, and she spoke too quickly. "I stabilized them—nothing's off," she said. "Nullvox is pushing more forcefully. The Council is required—this could be accomplished with Valthor's runes."
Sylra narrowed her eyes. "Valthor? Considering what Torren said? No, Lirien. This is something we handle ourselves. The tone of her voice was severe, and she glanced at Ethan as if seeking permission.
Ethan felt his stomach turn. Was Lirien the traitor, given her trepidation and her support for Valthor? Or was she, like him, afraid? The next clue was waiting, and the weight of the journal called. "Let's seal it," he said in a low voice, mimicking Marcus. "I'll give the rune another go."
He traced tighter spirals and steadier arcs. Slowly, starlight trickled, but the rune glowed, a binding sigil flaring, its light contrasting with the dark of the ichor. The cracks in the gate pulsed, stabilizing, but the ichor hissed, restraining itself like a living creature. The watcher's gaze was a vice, Ethan's vision was swimming, and his chest was burning.
"Good, Marcus," Sylra nodded consentingly. "It's holding—for now."
Keeping his gaze on Lirien, Torrens holstered his hammer. "For the time being." This ichor, however, is not a coincidence. Someone is allowing Nullvox to seep through." His gaze flicked to Ethan, who was stranger than Marcus, and his voice was low and warning.
Lirien's mouth opened in protest but was cut off by a low hum—a slight but increasing pulse coming from the gate. Ethan didn't recognize the sigil formed by the ichor's writhing, black tendrils coiling—a jagged star, pulsing void. A whisper echoed as his wrist rune flared, pain shooting through his arm: "The traitor wanders among us."
Ethan's breath was ragged as he stumbled, and the shard fell. Sylra took hold of his arm. "Marcus, what's wrong? You're pale again."
He gasped, "A… pulse," trying to conceal the whisper. He had to figure out how to decode the journal. With wide, nearly panicked eyes, Lirien stared at him before quickly moving to the sigil while her hands shook.
"Pulse?" Torren's hammer was partially stowed, and his voice was sharp. "Out of the gate? Or something else?" With his gaze fixed on Ethan and then Lirien, he took a step closer.
"Nothing," Lirien said, her voice cracking as she spoke too quickly. "Just the void—residual energy. I'll take another look at the relays." She spun around and ran to the relay chamber, her robes twirling, her steps shaky.
Sylra clenched her jaw. She's rattled. "Torren, Marcus, we're not finished yet. Void is marking the gate with that new sigil. Answers are needed."
As his heart raced, Ethan nodded. The cipher of the journal, which he had sneaked a glimpse of and was unable to decipher until now, matched the whisper: "The traitor walks among us." He traced the leather of the journal with his fingers as he slipped it out of his pocket and concealed it in his tunic. When he returned to the Sanctum, he would decode and verify it. Was it Lirien, judging by her apprehensive looks? His eyes, a shadow, Valthor? Or an invisible one, bound to the observer?
Sylra and Torren reinforced runes while Ethan etched bindings in tense silence. Fear had made his hands steadier. The ichor's tendrils retreated as the gate's hum subsided, but the jagged star remained, a scar. Cold and unrelenting, the watcher's eyes never left the scene, seemingly relishing the mayhem.
A few hours later, Ethan was sitting by himself in a side room off the Sanctum, with his journal open and a flickering starlight lamp. Lirien remained at (or stayed away from) the relays while Sylra and Torren patrolled the gateyard. With his Earth memories, Marcus's scrawl gave way as his fingers traced the cipher. "The traitor walks among us" was the phrase that came out. With its weight crushing, the whisper confirmed that his breath had caught. The void-ichor, Lumara's vision, and Lirien's nerves all suggested betrayal right here and now.
A shadow shifted—Lirien, standing at the door of the chamber, her eyes haunted, her face pale. "Marcus," she said, her voice trembling and low. "Even though the relays are stable, the void is still whispering. You felt it, didn't you? At the gate?" Her eyes were desperate, almost begging, as they stared into his.
Ethan's heart was a drum as his hand closed the journal. Would she be confessing or fishing? The watcher felt a chill run down his spine as his gaze surged. His voice was tight, and Marcus's mask was firm as he said, "I felt… something." "Lirien, did you hear anything?"
She trembled and then pressed her lips thin. She falsely said, "Nothing clear," as her eyes darted away. "Just, Marcus, exercise caution. The gates don't seem secure." She turned, her footsteps resonating as she disappeared into the passage.