In the deepest abyss beneath the Aether Sanctum—where stars dare not shine and even time forgets to tick—a single eye opened.
Golden.
Burning.
Ageless.
The Fallen God of Death inhaled, and the realm trembled.
Chains forged from divine law coiled around his limbs, etched with the sigils of betrayal and silence. Even the gods feared to speak his name. To do so was to summon the echoes of an era they had buried in ash.
But now, she had remembered.She, the girl who was never meant to live past the 9th moon.She, who once bore his soul within hers.
Kael.
That was the name they gave him. A mask.
His true name was something else entirely—one that could command the dead to rise, the living to bow, and the divine to bleed.
He whispered it now.
And the world listened.
In the charred lands of Draymor's Reach, Liora felt it. A pulse—not of magic, but of memory.
She collapsed to her knees.
The world blurred.
A vision gripped her skull like ice.
She stood in a garden that no longer existed.
White trees curved like ivory antlers. Birds of pure light drifted between crystal leaves.
She was young here. Barefoot. Laughing.
And beside her, a figure with midnight eyes and warm hands.
"I'll always protect you," he whispered.
But then the garden burned.
And she screamed as they tore him away, sealing him behind layers of falsehood and lies.
When she looked back, it was not Kael who stood there, but Death itself, weeping as the gods pulled it into chains.
Liora gasped, rising to her feet.
Her generals rushed to her, but she waved them off, blood dripping from her nose.
"Did you feel that?" she rasped.
Veyron knelt. "It shook the veil between realms."
Kelvir answered with a single nod. "A god is stirring. One not seen since the Sundering War."
She turned to them, eyes glowing with unfiltered necrotic flame.
"That wasn't a god awakening," she whispered. "That was Kael. The real one."
Veyron stiffened. "But Kael died—"
"No. Kael was never real. He was the shell they used to hide him from me. From everyone."
A sick feeling twisted in her gut.
"If his name is free... it means the final seal is breaking."
Kelvir's shadow flickered. "Then we are out of time."
Far in the north, across the ruined cities and bone-littered fields, the skies were crying blood.
The High Clerics of Ilyra had begun their death rites, summoning a celestial army to strike Liora down. Holy fire rained from mountain peaks. Archangels circled in golden rings.
But none dared descend.
Because something darker had awakened.
Something older than sin.
Within the Aether Sanctum, the gods gathered once more.
"He spoke," Ilyra hissed. "He spoke! His name should've been erased!"
Balthoros's hand gripped his warhammer tightly. "You lied to us," he growled. "You said it was done. That she'd never awaken him."
"She wasn't supposed to!" Ilyra's composure shattered. "We severed their bond before she was born. We broke her soul!"
"And still," said the Dreamer, "she found her way back."
They turned to the final throne—the empty one.
A tremor shook the heavens.
And then—
The black throne cracked.
A whisper rose from its ruins.
Not loud.
Not angry.
Just inevitable.
"You stole her from me."
Back on the ground, Liora stood in the shadows of Kaelvryn's Maw, a cursed chasm where the first death god had once breathed life into the undead.
Now she knew why it called to her.
This was his birthplace.
The name pulsed in her mind like a heartbeat. She still couldn't quite speak it. To say it would be to unseal him fully.
But her hands ached to reach for him.
"You all lied to me," she muttered to no one.
To the gods. To Kael's false identity. To her broken past.
Liora extended her hand over the abyss.
"Come to me," she said softly.
"I remember you now."
The pit answered with silence—then a single tendril of black mist rose, curling around her wrist like a lover's caress.
From that moment on, every undead under her command howled in unison—no longer like mindless beasts, but like wolves who had just seen the moon return.
Even the bone dragons bowed their heads.
Veyron stared in horror and awe. "What did you do?"
"I didn't summon him," she said. "I called him home."
Elsewhere…
In a fortress suspended between dimensions—the Crucible of Faith—angels armed with stars began to prepare for war.
The High Oracle screamed in a vision, her body aflame.
"She rides with the dead god beside her now. They walk as one. If we do not strike before the next moon, we will fall."
A voice from the upper heavens boomed:
"Then we do not wait. We unleash the Final Choir."
The Choir—once sealed for genocide against entire realms—had not been summoned in a thousand years.
Their song burned even memory.
And now, they were coming for Liora.