Chapter 9: The Forbidden Truth

The chamber was suffocating in its silence.

Kieran stood at the edge of a long-abandoned data vault, his eyes scanning the faded badge of the Spire that was carved into the rusting metal walls. The past was buried here and forgotten, it was left to rot like the ruins above. Yet now, with the whirring hum of long-dormant consoles blinking back to life, that past was threatening to set itself free.

Rhea worked tirelessly at a console, her fingers moving across cracked keys and her breath filled with frustration. Elias loomed behind her, his arms crossed, and his gaze unreadable. Across the room, Sylvaine stood with her back to them, her arms folded, as if already knowing what they would find.

The first file loaded.

A grainy projection lit into existence above the console that had old logs, records of directives issued centuries ago. Kieran moved closer, feeling his gut twisting as the Spire's symbol pulsed cold and bright. Then they heard a voice that was tinny, distant and warped by time.

"Directive 147: Storm Barrier Initiative. Authorization granted by High Council. Full containment required."

Kieran's racing heart began to slow.

Containment.

The storm was a prison.

Elias blew out a tense breath. "No…" His voice barely steady. "No, that can't be right."

Rhea's hands tightened into fists. "Keep playing it."

The recording continued, words distorted through static.

"Projected survival rate of outer settlements: negligible. Rationale: conservation of resources. Additional measures approved. Vareth and all external colonies to be deemed—nonessential."

The words slammed into Kieran like a blow to the chest.

Nonessential.

Not abandoned and not erased.

Rhea let out a bitter, strangled laugh. "We weren't fighting to protect the last of humanity. We were protecting their lie."

Elias was shaking his head, slowly at first, then harder. "No. That doesn't make sense. The Spire—our entire existence—it was built on the belief that we were all that was left.

Rhea slammed her fist against the console. "They let Vareth rot. They let children starve in the dark while they sat behind their perfect walls—" She cut herself off, breathing hard. "They let us become their enforcers. Their executioners."

Kieran felt a sudden piercing weight in his chest. He had trained under the Stormguard, pledged his loyalty to the Spire, believing it was the last light in a broken world.

But the light had never been real.

And the storm had never been a tragedy. It had been a choice.

He forced himself to speak. "The storm… if it was made, it can be destroyed."

Rhea's eyes snapped to him very furiously with a determined look. "Then we rip it down."

Sylvaine exhaled, slow and measured. "You don't understand."

Kieran turned to her. "Then make us understand."

"Vareth's scientists predicted this years ago," she said, stepping closer to the console. "The storm was always meant to be self-sustaining. But time is breaking it down. The Spire thought they could maintain it indefinitely, but the system is failing."

Kieran's heart pounded. "You're saying it's already collapsing?"

Sylvaine nodded. "Yes. And when it does… the Wraithborns will no longer be contained."

Then followed a cold, suffocating silence of what will be.

Rhea's face paled. "The Spire has no idea, does it?"

Sylvaine's expression hardened. "No. But they will soon."

Kieran turned back to the console, staring at the projection of the Spire's symbol, feeling like they were caught in the storm's embrace from above. 

Everything they thought they knew was a lie. After all, they decided to stay with Sylvaine after being shown that last proof.

The world around Vareth felt different.

It was subtle at first like a shift in pressure or a heavy stillness—but now it had become undeniable. The storm and the endless impenetrable wall of raging winds and lightning that had loomed beyond the city's borders for generations, was faltering.

Kieran stood on top of a rusted observation platform, gripping the rail as he watched the sky churn above the ruined skyline. The storm should have been a constant, a wrathful force screaming at the edges of existence. But tonight, it was gasping.

Elias stepped up beside him, adjusting his glasses with a hand that trembled despite his best effort to hide it. "It's destabilizing."

Kieran didn't take his eyes off the horizon. "How long?"

Elias exhaled, his breath visible in the unnatural chill. "Days. Maybe less."

A deafening metallic clang echoed behind them as Rhea climbed the ladder, her face looking grim. "Sylvaine's scouts confirmed it. The storm barrier is fragmenting. The energy signatures are dropping fast."

She paused as she rubbed a gloved hand over her face. "And we're not the only ones who noticed."

A chill ran through Kieran, and it had nothing to do with the wind. "The Wraithborn."

Rhea nodded. "They're gathering at the perimeter. More than we've ever seen."

Elias turned sharply to her. "You mean they're… waiting to jump over the perimeter?"

A long silence stretched between them.

Waiting.

The Wraithborn had always been relentless, driven by hunger and madness. But if they were waiting, then it meant one thing.

They understood what was happening.

Kieran's grip tightened on the railing. "If the storm collapses—"

"They'll come through," Rhea finished with a tight voice. "Nothing will stop them."

Elias ran a hand through his disheveled hair, muttering under his breath. "This wasn't supposed to happen.

Kieran turned to face him. "And now the cage is breaking."

A sudden gust howled through the city, rattling broken glass in empty buildings.

Rhea's voice cut through the wind. "Sylvaine's preparing for evacuation. She thinks we should move deeper underground until we know what we're dealing with."

Kieran shook his head. "Hiding won't stop this."

Elias let out a short, bitter laugh. "And what will? The Council condemned this city to die, and the storm was the only thing keeping the Wraithborn at bay. Now it's falling apart." He turned to Kieran, eyes dark with something close to desperation. "How do we fight something like this?"

Kieran had no answer. He felt like they should chip in and save people from the Spire, some of them were innocent but he didn't say it. Not yet.

Instead, he turned his gaze back to the storm, watching as the lightning struck erratically, like a failing heartbeat. The storm had been created by the Spire. It was meant to last forever. But now, all of a sudden, it was coming to it's downfall.

Another tremor rolled through the sky, and for the first time, Kieran saw a glimpse of what lay beyond the storm. Faint, distant lights.

His pulse hammered. "There's something on the other side."

Rhea and Elias followed his gaze, their expressions shifting from dread to something else. A question neither had dared to ask.

What if the Spire was wrong?

What if the world beyond still lived?

Before they could speak, a sharp crack split the sky like a gunshot.

The storm convulsed, a massive surge of energy ripping through the clouds. Then, for the first time in generations, a break formed in the swirling chaos—brief, fleeting, but enough.

And from that darkness… something moved.

A shape that was tall and Lithe.

Rhea sucked in a sharp breath. "We need to get inside. Now."

But Kieran didn't move. His hands gripped the railing, his heart a drumbeat of fear and revelation.

Because for the first time in his life, the storm did not feel like a prison.

It felt like a warning.

And it was about to be ignored.

They were now in the war room beneath's Vareth's ruined council chambers. Kieran stood at the head of the table, his hands flat against the cold metal, staring at the map laid before him. It was incomplete, fragmented by time, but one thing was clear.

The storm was dying. And when it fell, the world would burn.

Sylvaine paced at the far end of the room with an expression carved from stone. "It's worse than we thought," she said, voice clipped. "The Wraithborn aren't just gathering. They're organizing."

Elias lifted his head, eyes wary. "You mean they have a leader?"

Sylvaine exhaled sharply. "We don't know. But this isn't random movement. The way they're positioning themselves—it's deliberate and tactical. They're waiting for the moment the storm collapses, and then they'll move as one."

A cold dread settled in Kieran's chest. The Wraithborn were never supposed to be capable of this. They were cursed, twisted remnants of what had once been human—beasts driven by instinct and hunger.

Not strategists.

Rhea leaned against the table, her brow furrowed as she studied the readings on a rusted datapad. "There's something else." Her fingers tapped against the screen. "We picked up an energy surge about an hour ago. A pulse from within the storm." She looked up. "Someone is definitely accelerating its collapse."

Elias stiffened. "That's not possible. The storm was engineered to be self-sustaining."

"And yet," Rhea gestured to the readings, "it's unraveling. Fast."

Sylvaine's hands curled into fists. "That means we're out of time." She turned to Kieran. "We have two choices. We run deeper underground, abandon the surface, and hope the storm holds long enough to buy us time—"

"Or we take the fight to them," Kieran finished.

A silence fell over the room. The weight of the decision pressed against them like the ceiling might cave in at any moment.

Elias let out a breath, shaking his head. "A direct confrontation would be suicide. We don't know how many there are, how strong they've become—"

"Then we find out," Kieran said firmly. "Before it's too late."

Sylvaine studied him with her silver gray eyes. Then she nodded. "We move at first light."

Rhea let out a slow, measured breath. "Assuming we make it through this, what's the endgame here? If the Spire built the storm to keep the world out, and the Wraithborn are what's left of those they sacrificed—" She hesitated. "What happens if the barrier comes down completely?"

Kieran met her gaze, his voice quiet but unwavering.

"Then the Spire is next."

Elias paled. "You're talking about war."

"No," Kieran murmured. "I'm talking about reckoning."

A distant, hollow boom echoed through the city. A shift in the air, like the final breath before a storm breaks.

No one spoke.

There was nothing left to say.

The reckoning was already coming.

And no one—neither the Spire nor the Wraithborn—would be spared.