Episode 2 – The Chains That Whisper
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The cell was ancient.
Stone carved by time, smoothed by centuries of despair. The walls whispered. Not with words, but with echoes—of the condemned, the forgotten, the forsaken.
Zane sat in the center of it all. His hands were still bound, chains etched with runes that pulsed in dull crimson. They weren't normal chains. They didn't just bind flesh—they suppressed him. Whatever he was now.
The pain from the summoning hadn't left. His body still ached in places he didn't know could hurt. But more than that, it was the pressure inside him that disturbed him most. Like something massive and ancient was breathing within his chest.
That presence—Veyrion.
He didn't know how or why, but it had taken root inside him. A fractured god, a forgotten echo. And now… it was part of him.
The silence was broken by the groan of the cell door. A soft creak, deliberate.
Zane looked up.
A girl stepped in.
Not cloaked like the others. Not armored. She was young—maybe his age, maybe younger—with dark violet eyes that gleamed like twilight and long white hair tied loosely behind her. She wore a long silver-blue robe and carried a crystalline staff at her side. But what stood out most wasn't her attire. It was her aura.
She didn't radiate malice like the others. In fact, she looked… curious.
"You're the Mistaken One," she said softly. "The soul that shouldn't have come."
Zane gritted his teeth. "Yeah? Starting to get that impression."
She knelt in front of him, not quite close enough for him to reach—if he could move at all. "What's your name?"
He narrowed his eyes. "You're asking that now?"
"Yes." Her tone was calm. Too calm. "Because the moment they find out what's inside you, they'll erase you. Completely. Name and all."
Zane hesitated, then: "Zane."
"Zane," she repeated. "You can call me Sylfa. Apprentice Magister. And… possibly the only one in this entire sanctum who doesn't want to see you incinerated."
"Great. Love those odds."
She didn't smile. "Tell me what happened during the summon."
He didn't know what to say. So he told the truth—at least the parts that made sense. The voices. The light. The pain. The presence. The way the other robed figures recoiled.
When he finished, Sylfa's eyes were wide. She gripped her staff like it was the only thing keeping her upright.
"You were soulbound to Veyrion?"
"I don't know what that means," Zane said flatly, "but I'm guessing it's bad."
"It's worse than bad." She swallowed. "Veyrion was a Forsaken God. The World-Eater. The god of twisted time, dying stars, and eternal recursion. He was killed in the War of Sealing… over two thousand years ago."
Zane leaned forward, as far as the chains would let him. "Then why is he in me?"
She shook her head. "Because something went wrong. The summoning circle was meant to bind a Hero. You were never supposed to come."
Zane stared at the stone beneath him. "I was falling when I vanished. Off a building. I was ready to disappear."
"That's the part that makes sense," Sylfa whispered. "Only those on the verge of death can be pulled through the Veil."
He met her gaze. "So what now?"
"I don't know." She stood up. "But you have three days. That's when the High Council arrives. When they do… there won't be a trial. Only purification."
Zane didn't ask what that meant. He could already guess. Magic words for burning him alive.
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Later that night, Zane awoke from a nightmare that wasn't his.
The sky was red. A battlefield of dying worlds stretched across a void. Screaming stars. Broken titans. Gods with mouths stitched shut, weeping fire.
He stood atop a mountain made of bones. And at its peak—he stood.
Not Zane. Not exactly. A figure draped in black feathers, his eyes molten gold, wings of voidlight stretching behind him.
The vision ended when his heart stopped.
He woke gasping, drenched in sweat, chains rattling violently as he convulsed.
But someone was watching him.
A boy—maybe seventeen—was sitting across the room, just inside the edge of the magic seals. He had sharp green eyes, unruly white hair, and a cocky smirk. He held a glowing apple in his hand and tossed it lazily.
"Nightmares, huh?" the boy said. "Yeah, that's part of the package."
Zane growled. "Who the hell are you?"
"Riven. Soulbound, just like you. Sort of. You're the accident. I'm the prototype."
Zane blinked. "You're soulbound too?"
"Yep. Difference is, mine's manageable. Yours? You're a walking calamity." He stood up. "Still, I figured I'd see what all the fuss was about. Can't let them execute you before the fun starts."
"Fun?" Zane asked. "What fun?"
Riven grinned. "The Forsaken Trials. You'll see. Assuming you survive the next three days."