Chapter 19 – Voices of the End

The black tower was completely silent.
Not the natural silence of night or the absence of sound—but the silence that precedes collapse. Like the air in a sealed chamber before it explodes.

Kaelthar stood motionless in the circular basement room.
The floor around him was scratched with seals that no longer belonged to this world. Runes that pulsed in two rhythms: that of the present... and that of the ruin that still lives.

Only a purple flame flickered in the center.
And then, without warning, the voices came.

They didn't come from mouths.
They didn't echo off the walls. They went straight into Kaelthar's mind, as if his brain were a table on which the generals laid their words like daggers.

“You dare summon us with promises… and yet you walk as the weakest among us?”

“A mortal herald? A sealed tower? Is this your progress, Kaelthar?”

“While I, Morgath , dissolve armies with a gesture… you still collect crumbs among the living.”

“Ten millennia trapped between veils… and now we serve a spirit apprentice? This is an insult. A disrespect to the name of Zaroth.”

Kaelthar stared. The voices continued:

“ Thal'Zar would burn three kingdoms while you draw circles.”

“ Vorath would incinerate Eldoria in three breaths.”

“And Grimnar would crush the Harmony Stone with a single step.”

But then he raised his head.

"I'm not Zaroth." His voice was low but firm.
"And I don't mind being the smallest...as long as I'm the one who brings him back."

Silence.

But now, an interested silence.

Kaelthar swirled his hand over the purple flame.
The ember expanded, revealing the ritual circle of dispersion.

Six points were already scored.

— “With the catalysts… and the right blood…
I will open the rift. Not just between planes… but between ages. Zaroth will walk again.”

The voices receded. But they did not fall silent.

“Have you found the way?”

“Or did you just find another excuse?”

Kaelthar produced the circular scroll.
In its center swirled the seal of the Veil-Crossing Magic, inherited from the very ancestors who dared to seal Zaroth away in the past.

— “The ritual is not one of invocation.
It is one of transposition.”

— “He will not come as a spirit.
He will be transported, body and soul. The living armor. The Black Dragon Shield. The Dark Voragine…”

“Do you want to... open limbo?”

— “Don’t open. Tear.
And let the veil itself close behind him.”

The voices seemed to hesitate.
Some laughed. One… growled.

“Then so be it. But you have little time.”

“You bear our seal…, but not our patience.”

“When the Stone falls, we will demand our passage as well.”

“And if we are not called… we will come anyway.”

Kaelthar nodded, touching the summoning rune.

— “Then begin to align.
Prepare your armies. Soon… Earthlight will cease to be a world. And will become… a rebirth ground.”

The connection is broken.

The runes went out like candles in the wind.

Kaelthar took a step back.

Sweat was running down his forehead, but he was smiling.

“They already feel the way.
The seal… is opening.”

He walked to the tower window, where the starry sky still shone.

In the distance, the bells of Raclaw rang in his mind.

“Greg… the time has come.
Take the item. Not just for the ritual… But because it will attract the other. The fool with the Mark. The one who still thinks there is a choice.”

The training camp was no longer the same.

The battle scars had been erased by the new grass, but the wind still whistled as if memories were trapped in the air. Crooked trees, stone circles, and small wooden stakes marked the ground like a makeshift altar—but it was in the center, where Alvim drew, that the true ritual began.

“Sit down,” said the old man, his voice low but firm.

With his soot-stained claw, he traced a wide circle on the ground, made of crude symbols: three rings connected by a vertical axis, with lines that resembled root veins or broken ribs. Daishi's Condensation Circle .

Shiro and Helster stood on opposite sides, palms facing the center. No weapons. No words.

Daishi's energy wasn't meant for attacking. Not here.

"You won't move her today," Alvim said, leaning against a rock behind them. "You'll feel her move for you."

Shiro closed his eyes. The white flame in his chest responded familiarly, but there was something new there… a faint buzzing behind his eyes. As if his essence were trying to spill beyond his body, to take up more space than it should.

Helster, for his part, felt his body tremble. In the battle with Ez'Thirra , something had broken—but instead of ruin, it had been strength. A dense, raw energy that now throbbed in his back like a strained muscle.

The circle lit up slightly.

Alvim crossed his arms.

— Concentrate. But don't brake. Daishi wants to run. You have to be a river... not a dam.

The light floated between the two young men, pulsing. At first faint. Then denser. Each breath dragged a thread of essence, and each thread felt like a fragment of truth being pulled from the soul.

"You still think power comes from shouting," Alvim murmured. "But true control... comes from overflowing."

Shiro moaned softly. His chest burned, and his arms trembled. The flow was intense, as if his inner flame were trying to rise into living form—something he had felt once before, in beast form , when he lost control.

But now, it wasn't anger. It was calling .

On the other side, Helster was already sweating. Energy was building in his shoulders, in his forearms—not as impact force, but as spiritual mass .

The same force that had allowed him to stop Ez'Thirra was there. But now, it pulsed more heavily , almost structurally .

"She wants to break," Helster growled. "She wants to come out through the bones."

"Let her want to," Alvim replied. "But teach her that you're still the one in charge."

The circle glowed brighter. And then, the energy between them trembled.

For an instant, there was no field. No wind. No time.

Just the flame and the shield.
The instinct and the limit. The soul and the form.

And in the center… Daishi beating like a legendary heart.

Shiro saw flashes.

The bestial form. Fire-white claws. Beastly eyes.
But now, the image didn't roar. It just watched.

— I am you, — said the beast in his mind.

And he answered:

— And I won't run away anymore.

Helster, for his part, felt the bones in his arm vibrate like sacred steel. His posture firmed, and the imaginary shield he had erected in so many fights now seemed like a part of his own body .

— You don't need to carry me, — he said to the energy.

— I am your weight, — replied the force.

And he smiled.

The circle glowed once more. Then… it faded.

They both fell to their knees. Panting. But alive.

Alvim approached slowly.

— You did it.

Shiro looked at his palm.
It was still trembling, but now… it glowed faintly.

Helster looked at his forearm.
Veins of energy ran like lightning marks beneath the skin.

"The form will no longer dominate you," Alvim said to Shiro. "But now it demands an answer."

— And your strength… — he added, looking at Helster — ... will break the ground if you don't learn to contain it.

They both nodded.

And in the silence that followed, a single leaf fell into the center of the circle, dull and calm—as if even the wind knew something had changed.

The forest closed in around it like an ancient gorge.

Twisted branches intertwined over the trail, letting in only sparse shafts of blue light. Towering roots formed natural steps, covered in damp moss and silence.

Grumak led the way, his combat gloves shrouded in a soft glow—pulsing with earthy tones, as if the ground breathed through his fingers. Each step sank slightly, but the vibration beneath his sole spoke volumes.

Malias followed close behind, golden eyes intent, a black energy stone with pulsating veins spinning between her fingers. One touch, and the ethereal bow would appear in her hand—but she hadn't summoned it yet.

Tibrok came last. The two daggers rested at his sides, but his body was already tense. Ears pricked, nose sniffing the wind. The rabbit had been on alert since the previous valley.

“The trail should end just beyond the cliff,” Tibrok whispered. “After that… just the entrance.”

“I can feel it now,” Grumak replied, without looking back. “The air has grown denser. Older.”

Malias stopped, his body rigid.

— Something's wrong.

Grumak turned, facing her.

— Something about the smell?

“Not by smell,” she murmured, her eyes scanning the treetops. “By trail.”

Tibrok approached cautiously.

— What kind of trail?

— The kind that… doesn’t leave footprints.

She touched the power stone with two fingers. The air around her crackled. The arc hadn't yet formed, but the crystal's vibration whispered that they were surrounded.

"They've been following us for at least half an hour," he continued. "But they're doing well. I never see them... I only notice when they stop."

Grumak frowned. His gloves vibrated slightly, and he clenched his fists.

- How many?

“I don’t know,” Malias said grimly. “Two, maybe three. Maybe more.
But they’re not beasts. They’re using the wind. The mist.”

Tibrok growled.

— Kaelthar's henchmen?

"Or worse," she replied. "People of the veil. Those who no longer carry their own scent."

The silence that followed weighed like dust on his shoulders.

The group continued, more slowly.

The trail led them to a slope covered in black rocks. And then… she appeared.

The entrance to the cave.

There was no door. No signs.

Just a vertical crack in a wall of blue rock, alive, vibrating faintly with ancient energy. Circular engravings surrounded the crack—symbols from the time before the Alliance, extinct languages that even the mages of Eldoria feared to decipher.

Tibrok stopped.

— That's the mouth.

—Of what? — asked Grumak.

The rabbit didn't answer. He just pointed to the sky—where no birds flew.

“This place is not marked on the maps,” he said. “But the old men spoke of it.
Of a living throat. Of a path that does not echo. Of a place where even echoes prefer silence.”

Malias stepped forward. The crystal in her hand whispered more intensely. She was about to summon the bow.

Grumak lifted one of his gloves, and the earth beneath his feet trembled slightly.

— No. Not yet.
If they wanted to attack us, they would have already. They're waiting for us to enter.

Tibrok sniffed the air.

— Or waiting for someone… or something… to wake up inside.

Malias took a deep breath.

— I hate ambushes. I hate caves. And I hate it when the enemy has patience.

Grumak smiled, the first since they left the Warrior Rabbits' village.

— Then you'll hate what comes next.

They stopped in front of the crevice.

The wind there didn't blow — it was sucked in.

As if the world itself breathed into the stone.

Inside, a very faint blue light flickered in the background.
Like an eye.

Or an invitation.

"Is it now?" Tibrok asked.

Grumak nodded.

— If it's a trap… we'll deal with it inside.

Malias touched the crystal. The bow appeared in his hand, ethereal, tense.

— Let hell break loose, then.

Tibrok drew both daggers.

Grumak inhaled.
The gloves glowed with an earthy light—and a faint blue smoke escaped between the fingers.

— The brand feels this place.

“Me too,” Malias murmured.

They took the first step.

And the shadows of the rift swallowed them.

In the treetops above, eyes appeared between the leaves.
Pupils vertical. Faces covered in veils of energy and rags.

One of them held up a black crystal.

He whispered in a forgotten language:

— "The chosen one has entered.
The ancient blood is at the center. The veil may begin to fold."

The answer came… from nowhere.

Just a warmth in the crystal.

And the sound of claws… getting ready.

Night in Terralume was never just the absence of light.

It was a presence.

Something that lay on the mountains, on the lakes, on the skin and bones of those who dared to remain with their eyes open when the sky closed.

In the tower forgotten by time, Kaelthar watched the maps burn slowly. Not with fire—but with destiny.

Six points.
Six keys. A veil ready to be torn, not by hands … but by will.

The generals on the other side whispered closer and closer.
And the seal—once dormant—began to throb like a festering tooth beneath the fabric of reality.

Kaelthar didn't need to run.

Because time was already moving on him.

Elsewhere on the continent, on a field that had seen training, battle, and mourning, Shiro stared at his hands—and they finally stopped shaking.

Not because the fear had ceased. But because he had learned to listen to the roaring inside his chest, and not let it swallow him up.

His beastly form was no longer a burden.

It was a deal.

Beside him, Helster stared at the sky, feeling his own strength pulsing like thunder contained beneath his skin.

They had both crossed an invisible line.

The childhood of power was over.

And now… came the choices that shape who one is.

Alvim, watching from afar, knew this.

Lysara knew too.

And the crow, flying over the field with its feathers shimmering blue, too.

Because the next lesson wouldn't come with shouting.

It would come with loss.

Further south, deep within the silent forest, Grumak, Malias, and Tibrok crossed the gorge of the ancient cave.

Inside, the echoes did not return.
The words faded. Even courage had to whisper so as not to be heard too much.

The ancient energy trembling beneath his feet was not hostile.

It was expectant.

As if it was waiting there… for them.

Malias felt the crystal on her necklace quicken its pace.

Tibrok smelled fear …, but it was the fear of the world.

Grumak, his gloves shimmering in earthy colors, felt the mark between his shoulders throb with stone.

Something there recognized him.

Or expected something worse.

Above, hidden among the branches of the oldest trees, impure eyes watched.
And waited for the moment to close the trail they had entered.

At another point, Greg walked through the cold corridors of Karmil , silently carrying out a mission he had not yet revealed even to himself.

His smile was restrained.

His hunger… growing.

Kaelthar had asked for an item.

But Greg wanted more than an object.

He wanted confrontation.

And somewhere between the veils—where light does not reach and darkness does not reign—something opened its eyes.

Not meat.

Not even in spirit.

But as a souvenir.

Because the Harmony Stone held.
But I could already hear footsteps on the other side.

And she knew:

If the bearer of the Mark,
the ruler of Daishi, and the harbinger of ruin were to cross paths…

…the world would need to choose what it wanted to protect.

Or what I was willing to forget. Continued…

Book 2: The Echo of Blood and the Veil of Souls