The fracture spread faster than any rift Malcolm had ever sealed.
By the fourth morning after Darius Voss's arrest, Neo-Eldoria was no longer one city—it was two. The lower wards pulsed with defiant celebration: street vendors handing out free tea and dates, children painting murals of the Guardians on cracked concrete walls, hunters from independent guilds patrolling in loose coalitions under the Minaret Ward's banner. The Spire, by contrast, had gone silent—hover-traffic halted, upper-level lights dimmed, council chambers locked behind emergency protocols.
The Guardians of the Seal became the unwilling center of it all.
Malcolm woke before dawn in the small room he'd claimed in the Minaret's upper levels. The Veil of Eternal Night hung on the wall like a living shadow, its gold threads faintly glowing in the pre-dawn Noor light. He sat cross-legged on the prayer rug, Elandor's journal open before him—not the holo-pages, but the physical book Liora had delivered the night before the fracture. The leather cover was worn, the pages yellowed, but the words were his father's hand: steady, deliberate, written in both dark-elf script and human cursive.
He read the same passage again, the one that had kept him awake.
"The voids are not evil, son. They are hunger without direction. Our blood draws them because we were once their wardens—before greed turned us into prey. Your mother showed me the truth: light doesn't destroy shadow. It gives it shape. Purpose. If you ever bind one, remember: you are not its vessel. You are its guide."
Malcolm closed the book. The Cosmic Eater stirred—softly, almost curiously. Hunger at 8%. For the first time in months, it didn't feel like a threat. It felt like… family.
A soft knock.
Margarita slipped inside, two mugs of cardamom tea in hand, red braids loose over her shoulders. She wore the simple tunic she favored off-duty, the Thorne sigil pinned above her heart.
Margarita: "You didn't sleep."
Malcolm: "Thinking."
She sat beside him, handing him a mug. Their fingers brushed—deliberate now, no longer accidental.
Margarita: "About your father?"
Malcolm: "About what he left me. And what the Spire wants to take."
She sipped her tea, golden eyes steady.
Margarita: "They won't take it. Not while we're breathing."
He met her gaze—longer than usual.
Malcolm: "I know."
The moment stretched—quiet, warm, heavy with everything they hadn't said yet.
Then the alert came.
Every HUD in the ward lit up simultaneously.
Critical Alert: Spire Breach – Unknown Intruders. Level 78–85. Containment Failing. Guardians Requested Immediately.
Malcolm was on his feet before the message finished.
Malcolm: "It's not over."
Margarita was already moving, rifle slung, destabilizer charged.
Margarita: "Never is."
The team assembled in minutes—Gronk cracking his neck, Kira's arms humming, Elara already stringing arrows. Shaykha Amina met them at the gate.
Amina: "The Spire calls for aid. But go with open eyes. This may be trap or test—or both."
They took the fastest route: a commandeered Guild hover-transport, now painted with Minaret symbols. The city blurred beneath them—lower wards alive with torchlight marches, upper levels dark except for emergency strobes.
They landed on Level 80—chaos.
Guild security forces were retreating in disarray. Corridors smoked, walls scorched, bodies of elite guards slumped against bulkheads. The intruders weren't human—or devil.
They were voids.
Not full devourers—fragments, like the one Malcolm had once bound. But these were unbound, feral, phasing through walls, consuming light itself. They moved in packs, eyes burning with the same crimson hunger Malcolm knew too well.
One lunged at a fleeing technician. Gronk intercepted—hammer swing shattering the fragment into dissipating mist.
Gronk: "They're fast. And hungry."
Kira scanned the corridor.
Kira: "Energy signature matches the Eater—but wild. No control. Someone set them loose."
Malcolm felt it—the Eater recognizing its kin. Hunger ticked up to 15%. Not temptation. Recognition.
Malcolm: "They're calling me."
They pushed deeper.
Level 82: a research wing—sealed doors blown open, containment chambers shattered. Inside: empty holding cells labeled "Subject Zero – Purified Fragment." Syringes, data pads, blood on the floor.
Darius's project—already in motion.
Elara: (quiet horror) "He started before the memo leaked."
A larger fragment waited in the central lab—humanoid, composed of writhing void tendrils, eyes fixed on Malcolm.
Fragment: "Brother… join… consume…"
Malcolm stepped forward.
Malcolm: "No."
He triggered Blood Eclipse for the first time.
The room darkened—shadows swallowing light, forming a pocket domain. The fragment was pulled inside. Time slowed. Noor damage doubled. Malcolm's tendrils lashed out—golden veins burning through void flesh.
The team struck in unison: Margarita's destabilizer rounds unraveling its core, Gronk's hammer crushing limbs, Kira's lightning chaining through weak points, Elara's arrows piercing eyes.
Malcolm finished it—Purifying Lash wrapping the fragment, burning away corruption until only light remained.
The domain collapsed.
The fragment dissolved—not consumed, but released.
Silence.
Then alarms—new ones.
Spire Core Compromised – Self-Destruct Sequence Initiated. Evacuation Mandatory.
Someone had triggered the failsafe.
They ran.
Elevators offline. Stairwells blocked by collapsing debris. They fought through smoke and falling rubble, Malcolm Shadow Stepping ahead to clear paths, Margarita covering their rear.
They reached the roof just as the Spire began to shudder.
Hover-transports were already lifting off—council members fleeing.
Valeria Kane waited—alone, armor scorched, standing on the edge.
Valeria: "Darius is gone. Slipped away in the chaos. This was his contingency."
Malcolm: "He'll come back."
Valeria: "He will. And when he does, the city will burn unless we stop him."
She extended a hand—not in surrender, but in pact.
Valeria: "The Spire is compromised. We need a new center. The Minaret Ward."
Malcolm looked at his team—then at the city below, still burning with hope despite everything