Aeron stood before the obsidian monolith, his mind still reeling from the knowledge it had forced upon him. Even as the images faded, the weight of what he had seen refused to leave his chest.
The gods had not just wiped out the rune mages.
They had feared them.
"Aeron," Segirus's voice pulled him back. "We must move. We've lingered here too long."
Aeron turned, still shaken. "Where are we going next?"
Segirus exhaled, his gaze shifting toward the horizon. "To the Unseen City. The last refuge of those who remember what the gods tried to erase."
Aeron hesitated. "And they'll help us?"
Segirus gave a grim smile. "That depends on what you have to offer."
---
The Path to the Unseen City
Their journey continued through the ruins of Vathis-Ra, but the air had changed. Where before the silence had been heavy with forgotten echoes, now there was something else—something watching.
Aeron felt it constantly, the sensation crawling across his skin like unseen fingers.
"Do you feel that?" he asked.
Segirus nodded. "The remnants of the past are strongest here. This was a battlefield, and the dead never truly leave."
They moved carefully, avoiding the deep fissures in the ground where the land itself had been torn apart by divine wrath. At times, Aeron thought he saw shadows flickering at the edges of his vision, figures moving just beyond his sight.
But when he turned—nothing.
Night fell quickly in the Dead Lands.
As they set up camp within the hollowed remains of a temple, Segirus kept the fire low, his gaze scanning the darkness beyond. Aeron barely touched his food, his mind still fixated on the monolith's vision.
"If the gods feared the rune mages so much," he finally said, "then why didn't they destroy the Unseen City, too?"
Segirus smirked. "Because they don't know where it is."
Aeron frowned. "How is that possible?"
Segirus poked at the fire with a stick. "The Unseen City is more than just a place. It exists outside the gods' reach—hidden by magic far older than even the divine. You could walk past its gates a hundred times and never know it was there."
Aeron considered that. "So how do we find it?"
Segirus looked up, his expression serious. "By proving we are worthy."
Aeron opened his mouth to ask what that meant—but before he could, something shifted in the air around them.
The fire flickered violently.
A gust of cold wind swept through the ruins, carrying with it the faint sound of whispers.
Aeron's blood ran cold.
"Segirus…"
The old rune master was already standing, his eyes narrowed. "Stay close."
The shadows around them thickened, writhing like living things. From the darkness, figures began to emerge—twisted, half-formed specters of those who had perished in the gods' war.
Their faces were hollow, their eyes voids of consuming blackness.
Aeron's pulse pounded in his ears. "They're watching us."
Segirus raised his hand, his fingers tracing runes in the air. "They are testing us."
And then—
The spirits screamed.
The force of it sent Aeron to his knees, his skull splitting with the sheer weight of their voices. He clutched his head, his vision darkening.
Segirus didn't hesitate. He slammed his palm to the ground, and a rune flared to life beneath them.
Golden light erupted outward, pushing the spirits back.
But they did not leave.
Instead, they spoke—dozens of voices overlapping, merging into a single, terrible sound.
"You carry the blood of the Betrayers."
Aeron's breath caught. "Betrayers?"
The spirits shifted, their forms twisting unnaturally.
"Your kind was meant to be erased. You should not exist."
The ground beneath them trembled. Aeron's mind spun. His bloodline—his very existence—was something the dead themselves rejected?
Segirus stepped forward, his voice steady. "The gods erased the rune mages out of fear, not justice."
The spirits shrieked.
"The gods brought judgment. You cannot change what is already written."
Aeron clenched his fists. "Maybe not. But I can make sure their story isn't the only one that survives."
For a moment, silence.
Then, the spirits began to laugh.
Cold. Hollow.
"Then prove it, blood of the fallen. If you seek the Unseen City—walk the path of the dead."
The shadows surged forward, swallowing them whole.
---
The Trial of the Forgotten
Aeron gasped as the world shifted.
Gone were the ruins. Gone was Segirus.
He stood in a vast expanse of darkness—nothing but an endless abyss stretching in all directions.
And then—he was not alone.
Figures appeared around him. Hundreds. Thousands. Warriors clad in tattered robes, their bodies scarred with the marks of battle.
The lost souls of the rune mages.
A single figure stepped forward. Unlike the others, his form was clearer—his presence heavier.
He looked Aeron in the eyes.
"If you wish to reclaim our legacy, then fight."
Aeron barely had time to react before the figure lunged.
The battle was relentless.
Each strike from the warrior sent shockwaves through Aeron's body, forcing him to the edge of his limits. He countered, using every rune Segirus had taught him, but it wasn't enough.
The spirits were testing him.
Not just his skill.
His resolve.
Every time he faltered, they whispered:
"You should not exist."
"You are a mistake."
"Your bloodline perished for a reason."
But Aeron gritted his teeth and kept fighting.
Because he was still here.
Because the gods had tried to erase his people—and failed.
With one final surge of power, Aeron traced a rune in the air—one he had never seen before, but somehow knew.
A rune born of both past and present.
It ignited, blazing with golden fire.
The spirits recoiled—then bowed.
The darkness shattered.
Aeron awoke with a gasp, back in the ruins. Segirus stood beside him, watching.
"You passed," he said simply.
Aeron exhaled, his entire body trembling. "What… what was that?"
Segirus gave a rare smile. "Your ancestors acknowledging you."
Aeron swallowed. He had faced the dead—and they had recognized him.
"Then… the Unseen City?" he asked.
Segirus nodded, turning toward the horizon.
"We are ready."