The storm had quieted, but Steven's soul was still in turmoil.
He sat alone atop a ridge overlooking the ruins left by the emissary's assault. His staff rested beside him, scorched at the tip. The battle had been short—but what it lacked in length, it made up for in terror. That voice… those tendrils… the way the creature seemed to know him.
And Seraphis. She was gone now, like a passing dream—but her words echoed in his mind louder than the storm ever had.
"You are fighting the truth of your existence."
Steven looked down at his hands. Trembling. Burned. Still pulsing with leftover magic. The Codex was supposed to be a source of knowledge, a guide. But all it had given him so far were more questions.
Who am I really? Why am I bound to this?
"Steven."
The voice behind him was familiar—calm, measured, but filled with urgency.
He turned. "Master Aravon?"
The old mage stood there, robes billowing in the wind, eyes sharper than Steven remembered. Behind him, a faint shimmer suggested he'd come through a gate. He looked like he'd seen the storm from afar—and rushed through time itself to get here.
"You've opened the First Seal," Aravon said grimly.
Steven blinked. "What are you talking about?"
"The Codex… It was locked. Sealed for a reason. The moment you faced the emissary and survived, a fragment awakened. That's why Seraphis came."
Steven stood. "You knew about her?"
Aravon hesitated. "Seraphis was a guardian. One of the last. She was never meant to intervene unless the Absence touched you."
Steven's eyes narrowed. "Then why didn't you tell me? Why hide all this?"
"Because knowledge too soon can be a curse," Aravon said softly. "And some truths… destroy faster than any blade."
A pause stretched between them—until Steven asked, "What is the Absence really, Master?"
This time, Aravon looked away. His voice was barely audible. "The Absence is not just a force. It was once… a being."
Steven stepped closer. "What do you mean?"
"A long time ago, before the Codex was even written, before magic had laws… there was a weaver. A creator. A being of impossible insight. He sought to bind all realities together in harmony—but he failed. He tried to rewrite fate, and in doing so, he shattered himself. What remains is the Absence: the memory of a god who broke his own soul."
Steven's mouth went dry. "And I'm connected to that?"
"More than connected," Aravon said. "You are carrying a piece of that broken soul."
Silence.
Wind howled again, carrying the scent of ozone and burnt magic.
Steven barely whispered: "Am I… the villain?"
"No." Aravon stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You are the choice. The line between salvation and collapse."
Suddenly, a shriek tore through the sky—unnatural and guttural.
A flash of red lightning cracked open the clouds, and descending through it was a new creature—this one far larger, armored in obsidian plates, its wings stretched wide like a fallen angel.
Aravon's eyes widened. "Second Harbinger…"
Steven summoned his staff. "Guess I don't get time to think."
Aravon's expression turned steely. "No. But you will learn to fight with purpose."
The harbinger screamed again, and the earth shattered beneath it.
Steven leapt into the air, magic exploding around him, and for the first time—he didn't run from the darkness.
He dove straight into it.
---
To be continued