The silence after the gate's collapse lasted only seconds.
Then the chain moved.
Not violently. Not with a dramatic snap. It simply... uncoiled. Slowly. Deliberately. Like a serpent waking from centuries of sleep. The black iron links shifted against the frozen earth, scraping softly, almost politely, as if asking permission to rise.
Elara felt it before she saw it fully—the pull. Not physical. Deeper. A tug at the rhythm inside her chest, the same place where Liora's final gift still burned warm against her skin.
She took one step back.
Thorne was already in front of her, sword drawn, body angled to shield. "Stay behind me."
But she couldn't. Not this time.
The chain lifted itself from the ground—endless, impossibly long, rising like smoke made solid. No rust. No wear. Just perfect, gleaming black metal that drank the moonlight and gave nothing back.
Mira's staff flared crimson. "It's not just a chain. It's... alive."
Kael landed hard beside them, wings spread wide. It's calling something.
The chain's movement stopped.
Then it spoke.
Not with sound. With vibration. The links hummed—low, resonant, a single note that felt like grief and hunger twisted together.
Elara's drum answered before she could stop it. The runes flared gold and crimson, pulsing in time with the chain's hum.
The chain paused—as if listening.
Then it spoke again. This time in words. A voice that came from everywhere and nowhere. Old. Tired. Furious.
You broke the seal.
Elara's throat tightened. "We didn't—"
You opened the gate. You let the Keepers speak. You took what was never yours.
The chain shifted—links sliding over each other like fingers flexing.
And now the wound bleeds faster.
Thorne's grip on his sword tightened. "Who are you?"
The chain laughed—a sound like metal grinding bone.
I am the First Binding. Forged when the betrayal began. I held the source when the first ones tried to take it. I failed. And I have waited ever since.
Elara stepped forward despite Thorne's warning hand on her arm.
"Why now?" she asked. "Why come through now?"
The chain's hum deepened—almost mournful.
Because you healed the first wound. You began the balance. The source noticed. It called for the rest. And I... I was the closest.
The links tightened, coiling tighter.
But I am not the only one who remembers.
A second chain rose from the earth—smaller, thinner, but no less deadly. Then a third. A fourth. Five. Six.
Seven in total.
One for each fragment.
The chains hovered in the air, forming a loose circle around the party. The hum became a chorus—seven voices, all the same, all different.
We were made to bind. To hold. To prevent.
We failed.
Now we will finish.
Mira's voice was steady despite the fear in her eyes. "You're the chains from the First Accord?"
The chains answered as one. We are what remains. The last echo of the betrayal. We will bind the source again. Forever. No more healing. No more balance. Only silence.
Elara felt the drum in her hands grow hotter—Liora's gift fighting back.
She looked at Thorne. At Mira. At Kael and Nyx. At the dragons circling above.
Then she looked at the chains.
"No," she said.
The word was quiet.
But the drum answered.
A single beat—clear, strong, defiant.
The chains recoiled.
The hum stuttered.
Elara stepped forward.
"You were made to bind. But binding isn't the only answer."
Another beat.
The chains trembled.
"You were forged in fear. We were forged in loss. And we choose something else."
Beat after beat—slow at first, then building. Not just rhythm. Not just melody. Something older. Something new. The fusion of everything they had fought for.
The chains began to fracture.
One by one, links cracked—small at first, then larger. Black metal flaking away like ash.
The voices screamed—rage, grief, and denial.
You cannot—
But Elara kept beating.
Thorne stepped up beside her, hand on her shoulder. Mira joined, staff adding harmony. Kael and Nyx added their roars—dragon essence weaving through the sound.
The chains shattered.
All seven.
The pieces fell to the ground—harmless now, just broken iron.
Silence returned.
Real silence this time.
Elara lowered the drum.
Her hands shook.
Thorne pulled her into his arms.
She buried her face in his chest and let the tears come.
The others gathered around—silent, awed, exhausted.
After a long moment, Mira spoke.
"We did it."
Elara lifted her head. "Not yet."
She looked toward the gate.
The main arch was gone.
But the smaller, jagged one—the one the chains had come through—was still there.
And something was moving behind it.
Not chains.
Not shadows.
A figure.
Tall. Cloaked. Hooded.
It stepped forward slowly.
The figure lowered its hood.
A woman.
Silver hair. Pale eyes.
Liora.
But not Liora.
Her mother's face—older, colder, eyes burning with something that wasn't love.
The figure smiled.
"You forgave the wrong mother."
Elara was staring at the figure who wore her mother's face.
And the figure spoke one last time—soft, almost tender.
"Hello, daughter."