The horizon was a wound.
A jagged tear in the world, wider than the others, pulsing with a deep, rhythmic light—like the heartbeat of some vast, unseen beast. The air smelled of rust and wet stone, thick with the metallic tang of old blood.
Kael walked toward it, his steps heavy, his mind still reeling from the Hollow King's theft. He could feel the gaps in his memory—places where moments should be but weren't. The first time he summoned lightning. The name of the village where he was born. The color of his mother's eyes.
Gone.
Sera moved beside him, her bow drawn, her gaze never settling. "It's called the Vein's Maw," she said quietly. "The oldest ruin in the world."
Kael's voice was rough. "How do you know that?"
Sera hesitated. "Because I was born to guard it."
Kael stopped.
Sera didn't look at him. "The Emperor's scholars call it the First Sin. The Hollow Ones call it the God's Grave. My people?" She exhaled sharply. "We called it the *Altar.*"
Then—
She pulled back her sleeve.
A brand marred her wrist—a circle split by three jagged lines.
The mark of the Vein.
Kael's breath caught. "You're a *priestess?*"
Sera's smile was bitter. "Not anymore."
She nodded toward the Maw.
"But *that* is why the Hollow King wants you. Why the Emperor fears you. And why the Vein is waking."
She met his gaze.
**"Because you, Kael Stormblood, are the key to the door that should *never* be opened."
The ruins around the Maw were different.
Not shattered. Not scorched.
*Preserved.*
Towers of black stone, untouched by time, their surfaces etched with symbols that *moved* when stared at too long. The ground was not glass but *flesh*—cold, pulsing, veined with gold.
Kael's boots sank slightly with every step, as if the earth itself was breathing.
Sera led him to the base of the largest tower, where a massive archway stood, its edges lined with teeth-like spikes.
"This is where they killed it," she whispered.
Kael's skin prickled. "The god?"
Sera nodded. "The first one. The one that *made* the Currents."
She pressed her hand to the archway.
The symbols *glowed.*
A voice, not hers, not human, *echoed* from the stone:
*"Three came before. Three will come again."*
Kael's pulse spiked. "What does that mean?"
Sera's eyes were dark. "The Emperor. The Hollow King. And you."
Then—
The ground *shuddered.*
A sound like a *heartbeat* thundered from the depths below.
Sera paled.
"It knows we're here."
—The Altar's Truth—
They descended.
The stairs were slick, carved from the same black stone, winding deep into the earth. The air grew heavier, thicker, until every breath felt like swallowing oil.
At the bottom—
A chamber.
Vast.
*Alive.*
The walls *breathed*, their surfaces rippling like muscle. Veins of gold and crimson threaded through the stone, pulsing in time with the distant heartbeat.
And at the center—
A *throne.*
Not of stone.
Not of metal.
Of *bone.*
Kael's steps faltered. "This is…"
Sera's voice was hollow. "Where the first Stormblood sat."
Kael turned. "What?"
Sera didn't meet his gaze. "The legends got it wrong. The Storm wasn't *born* from the god's death."
She pointed to the throne.
**"It was *stolen.*"
—The God's Carcass—**
The truth unfolded like a knife:
Long ago, three mortals came to this place.
A king.
A saint.
A thief.
They found a dying god.
And they *tore it apart.*
The king took its blood—*the Vein.*
The saint took its bones—*the Ash.*
The thief took its scream—*the Storm.*
They became the first of their kind.
The first Emperor.
The first Hollow Saint.
The first Stormblood.
Kael's hands trembled. "That's why the Hollow King has my face."
Sera nodded. "Because you're *his.* His heir. His legacy."
Then—
A *sound.*
A *laugh.*
From the throne.
The Hollow King sat there now, draped in shadows, his stolen face grinning.
"And now," he murmured, "we come full circle."