The air grew thick with the scent of rust and damp stone as Celestine Vaeloria stepped onto the crumbling streets of Blackspire District. Once a thriving industrial hub, the district had fallen into decay after the Usurper's Rebellion. Now, its skeletal towers loomed over the narrow alleyways like forgotten sentinels, their gears long since silenced.
Beside her, Alistair Dorne kept his hand near the hilt of his mechanical sword, its crystalline core humming faintly. His silver eyes swept over the ruins, ever watchful. "I don't like this," he muttered. "Too quiet."
Celestine agreed. A place like Blackspire should have had scavengers lurking in its shadows, remnants of the old world picking through its remains. Yet tonight, there was only silence.
A flickering street lamp buzzed overhead, casting erratic light on the cobblestone road ahead. It led to the abandoned rail yard, where the wreckage of the corrupted automaton had been found.
Alistair moved ahead, scanning the area. "The patrol reported finding the remains just beyond this gate." He motioned toward a rusted iron archway, half-collapsed under its own weight.
Celestine stepped forward, the pendant of Elias Draven still tucked safely in her pocket. If Elias was alive, if he had truly returned… what had he become?
They moved carefully through the ruins until they found it—the shattered automaton, its body twisted unnaturally, its gears embedded with the same obsidian filaments Celestine had seen earlier. The eerie glow pulsed faintly, as if the machine was still clinging to life.
She crouched beside it, running her gloved fingers over the engraved sigil on its chestplate.
The sigil of the Obsidian Order.
Her stomach tightened. This confirmed her fears.
Alistair let out a slow breath. "This is worse than I thought."
Before Celestine could respond, a voice cut through the silence.
"I never thought you'd come here yourself, Celestine."
She froze.
From the shadows beyond the wreckage, a figure emerged—a man draped in a long, midnight-blue coat, his dark hair streaked with silver at the temples. His piercing amber eyes locked onto hers, filled with something between amusement and calculation.
Elias Draven.
The air around them grew heavy. Alistair tensed beside her, his fingers twitching toward his weapon. But Celestine held up a hand, keeping him still.
She stared at Elias, her mind racing. He was older now, hardened by time, but there was no mistaking him. The man she had once trusted above all others, the man she had mourned—stood before her, very much alive.
"You should be dead," she finally said.
A ghost of a smirk touched Elias's lips. "And yet, here I am."
The street lamp flickered again, casting jagged shadows across his face.
The past had finally come for her.