She grabbed Arel's arm and dragged him backward as the ground split open where he had been standing.
Red light surged up from the fracture, hot and blinding, carrying with it a sound like screaming stone. The ruins shuddered violently. Broken pillars collapsed, crashing into one another as the air twisted and bent around Kael's raised hand.
Arel stumbled, barely keeping his footing as Seris pulled him behind a half-fallen wall. His mark flared white-gold, reacting instinctively, pushing back against the crimson force clawing at the space around them.
Kael lowered his hand slightly, studying the effect with interest. "Still anchoring without training," he said. "Impressive. Dangerous—but impressive."
"Stop this!" Arel shouted. "You're tearing the land apart!"
Kael's gaze sharpened. "No. I'm reminding it of what it used to be."
The crack in the ground widened, branching outward like veins. Through it, Arel glimpsed something impossible—not fire, not light, but depth. As though the world had split open to reveal a vast emptiness beneath reality itself.
Seris pressed her palm to the stone, her silver mark blazing. The trembling lessened, just slightly.
"He's using resonance," she said through clenched teeth. "He's not opening the gate—he's forcing the world to align with it."
Arel swallowed hard. "Can you stop him?"
Seris hesitated. "Not alone."
The Guardian's presence surged within Arel, stronger than ever, heavy with urgency.
"This fracture must be sealed," it said. "If it stabilizes, the Second Gate will awaken fully."
"I don't know how," Arel whispered back.
"You do," the Guardian replied. "As you did before. Not by force—by balance."
Kael laughed softly, as if he could hear only half the conversation. "Talking to yourself already? The weight settles in quickly, doesn't it?"
Arel stepped out from behind the wall before Seris could stop him.
"Arel—!" she snapped.
He raised his glowing hand, palm outward, facing the spreading fracture. The pull in his chest intensified, sharp and dizzying, but he did not retreat.
"You think this is evolution," Arel said, his voice shaking but firm. "But you don't care who gets crushed along the way."
Kael's smile faded, just a little. "Sacrifice is the cost of ascent."
"Then you've already failed," Arel replied.
He closed his eyes.
Instead of pushing against the power tearing the ground apart, he leaned into it—feeling the rhythm beneath the chaos. The same deep hum he had heard within the First Gate echoed now through the fractured earth, uneven and strained, like a heartbeat out of sync.
Arel breathed slowly, matching it.
The mark on his palm burned, then softened, its light spreading outward in gentle waves. The red glow faltered as gold and white lines traced themselves across the crack, weaving through it like stitches.
The ground groaned.
Kael's eyes widened. "You're not suppressing it," he said. "You're harmonizing."
Seris stared, astonished. "Arel… keep going."
The fracture began to close—not sealing completely, but stabilizing, the violent energy settling into a low, uneasy thrum. The ruins steadied. Dust drifted down as the shaking subsided.
Kael took an involuntary step back.
For the first time, uncertainty crossed his face.
"Huh," he murmured. "So that's what they changed."
Arel opened his eyes, sweat running down his face, legs trembling. "Changed what?"
"The anchors," Kael said quietly. "You're not like the old ones."
The silence that followed was different—tense, wary, fragile.
Seris moved to Arel's side, steadying him. "We need to leave. Now."
Kael did not stop them this time.
"No," he said, watching closely. "Go. Run while the world is still pretending to be stable."
Arel met his gaze. "You're going to keep doing this."
"Yes," Kael replied simply. "Because sooner or later, you'll have to choose."
"Between what?" Arel asked.
Kael smiled again, but there was no warmth in it. "Between holding the gates shut forever… or opening them on your own terms."
The air shifted.
Kael's form blurred, his robes dissolving into drifting smoke and crimson light. A heartbeat later, he was gone—leaving behind only faint scorch marks on the stone and the lingering sense of something unfinished.
Seris exhaled slowly. "That was too easy."
Arel nodded weakly. "He wanted us to survive."
"Yes," she said. "Which means he expects us to follow."
They did not linger.
By the time dawn broke, they were far from the ruins, moving through a forest where the trees grew in strange, spiral patterns, their leaves faintly luminous in the early light. The world here felt bruised but intact, like skin after a wound had closed.
Arel finally collapsed against a tree, exhaustion overtaking him.
Seris sat beside him. "You held the fracture without training," she said quietly. "That shouldn't be possible."
Arel stared at his hand. "The Guardian helped."
Seris hesitated. "Not like that."
He looked at her. "What aren't you saying?"
She met his gaze steadily. "The old anchors bound the gates by force. You're doing something else. You're… negotiating."
The Guardian stirred again, thoughtful.
"He is correct," it said. "The world has changed. So must we."
Arel let out a slow breath. "Then Kael is right about one thing."
Seris raised an eyebrow. "Which part?"
"That the past can't be repeated," Arel said. "Not exactly."
He stood, unsteady but resolute.
"Whatever happens with the Second Gate," he continued, "we can't just react anymore. We need to find the others. Build something new."
Seris nodded. "There's a place east of here. An old sanctuary. If any marked ones are hiding, it's there."
Arel glanced toward the horizon, where the light bent strangely, as if the world itself were holding its breath.
"Then that's where we go," he said.
Far away, deep beneath layers of stone and memory, the Second Gate shifted again—no longer dreaming quietly, but listening.
And this time, it recognized Arel's voice.