Chapter 10: The Wraith's King Warning

Kieran kept his steps light through the shattered bones of the city, his breaths measured, as he followed Sylvaine through the ruins of Vareth. The tall spires of once-grand buildings loomed overhead, their glass surfaces shattered into hollow, sightless sockets. Everything was too quiet. Even the storm that churned in the distance seemed distant and muffled, as if the city itself had swallowed sound.

His hand hovered over the grip of his weapon.

Behind him, Elias moved carefully, scanning the crumbling streets. Rhea had already mapped three possible escape routes in her mind—Kieran could see it in the way her eyes moved over the fallen structures, cataloging weaknesses. Sylvaine, however, moved like a predator through familiar hunting grounds, unconcerned by the desolation.

"I have a feeling that we're being followed," Elias murmured, the tension in his voice cutting through the stillness.

Kieran didn't need to be told.

He slowed his pace as they neared the collapsed entrance of an ancient cathedral. It was unlike the Spire's temples—where theirs were pristine and austere, this place was old, heavy with forgotten faith. Massive doors, cracked and blackened by time, sagged on broken hinges.

Sylvaine huffed in exasperation. "This was once the Hall of Vareth's Guardians." She ran her hand over the etched stone. Symbols, deep and twisting, had been carved into the walls, some filled with what looked like obsidian, others with faded silver. "Before the Council abandoned them, before the storm cut them off, they swore to protect what the Spire turned its back on."

Elias ran his fingers over the etchings. "They weren't just warriors." His voice was hushed. "They were something more."

Something moved.

Kieran's spine went rigid. The air itself seemed to tighten, the weight of it pressing against his ribs. In the darkness beyond the ruined archway, something shifted—not with the careless clatter of falling debris, but with purpose.

A deep, scraping sound. A voice like rusted metal dragged across stone.

"You are not the first to come seeking answers."

The voice didn't echo. It lived in the silence.

Kieran turned slowly, hand tightening on the hilt of his blade.

And then he saw it.

From the darkness of the cathedral's ruins, a figure emerged, too large for a man, too precise for a beast. The dull gleam of armor, long since blackened by time and war, caught the dim twilight. A helmet, cracked down one side, revealed the skeletal remains of a face—not fully human, not fully lost.

The creature—the Wraithborn—stood motionless. But its eyes, burning from within like embers barely clinging to life, were locked on Kieran.

No. Not just a Wraithborn.

Something else.

The voice came again, low and patient, carrying the weight of something older than the storm itself.

"I remember your kind."

Kieran didn't breathe.

The others tensed. Rhea's fingers twitched toward the pistol at her hip. Sylvaine, however, did not move. Her gaze stayed fixed on the towering figure.

Elias barely whispered, "What—what is it?"

The creature's slow, deliberate movements sent dust spiraling in the cold air.

"Once, we were brothers."

"Once, I had a name."

Kieran's pulse pounded against his ribs, but he forced himself to hold its gaze. He knew. Somehow, deep in his bones, he knew.

This was no mindless monster.

The Wraithborn remembered.

The Wraithborn who was a fallen Guardian—stood at the center of it all, a monument to something long forgotten.

Kieran kept his grip firm on his weapon, though he knew, instinctively, that steel would mean little here.

This thing had been human once.

"Give me your name," Kieran said, his voice steady, though his pulse betrayed him, hammering in his throat.

The Wraithborn tilted its head, the slow creak of metal and old sinew filling the silence.

"Names are for the living." A long pause. "But once, I was Reven."

The name landed like a stone in Kieran's chest. He had heard it before, in the annals of the Stormguard—a warrior lost beyond the barrier, presumed dead centuries ago. But he was here. Still standing. Still something.

"You were a Stormguard?" asked Sylvaine.

Reven's eyes—or what remained of them—shifted to her. "I was more than that. As were you, once."

Kieran saw it—the shift of something in Sylvaine's expression. A memory, perhaps. A shadow of understanding.

Elias sighed. "How are you still… alive?"

"I am not," Reven said simply.

Kieran felt the load of that truth settle over him. The thing before them—this twisted, armored specter—was neither alive nor truly dead. A bridge between the two.

Reven's voice came quieter now, as if speaking it aloud might break the brittle edges of what remained of him. "I was left behind. The storm fell, and the Spire closed its gates." His head turned slightly, the fire in his eyes flickering. "They condemned us."

Kieran's fingers curled against his palm. He knew what came next, what he had to ask. But the words felt stuck in his throat.

"The Wraithborn," he said slowly. "They weren't always like this."

Reven was silent for a long moment. Then, with a deliberate precision, he spoke.

"No."

Rhea took a half-step forward. "The Council created them, didn't they?"

Reven's laugh was low, rusted, a sound that barely belonged to something human anymore. "They made us. And when we became something they could no longer control, they abandoned us."

Kieran's stomach twisted. "You were experiments."

"We were weapons," Reven corrected. His gaze locked onto Kieran's with an intensity that sent ice down his spine. "And when the Council saw what we would become, they sealed us beyond the storm."

How much had the Spire known? How much had they buried beneath their lies?

Sylvaine. "You are saying the storm itself—"

"—was never meant to keep something out," Reven finished. His voice dropped, colder now. "It was meant to keep us in."

The silence after was unbearable.

Rhea ran a hand over her face. "If that's true—if the storm collapses—"

"—the Spire will be undone."

Kieran turned sharply at Reven's words. "What do you mean?"

Reven stepped forward, slow and deliberate. "Your city is built on a foundation of lies. The Council always knew we were here. They knew the storm would weaken one day. And when it does—" His voice was grim. "—they would face the consequences."

A dark, sinking realization clawed into Kieran's mind.

The Wraithborn weren't the only ones beyond the storm.

The Council had created something they could no longer contain.

And now, time was running out.

Kieran stared at Reven, the fallen Stormguard, once a guardian of the Spire—now something else entirely. He was now someone that wasn't dead or alive, he was trapped between.

Reven stood like a monument carved from shadow and steel, his voice low, steady, a storm contained within a single man.

"You need to leave while you still can." said Reven.

"Because of the storm?" asked Kieran.

Reven's helm tilted slightly, "Because of what comes after."

Sylvaine folded her arms. "Be more specific."

"The storm was the last prison the Spire had left," Reven said. "And now, it is failing." He stepped forward, "Once it collapses, the Wraithborn will march on the Spire, and nothing will stop them."

"They've been waiting," Reven continued, his voice edged with something dark. "Trapped here, abandoned here. But now? Now they will break free. And when they do, the Spire will fall."

The sheer gravity of what he was saying hung in the air like a gathering storm.

Kieran took a slow breath, trying to steady the racing of his thoughts.

He had to ask.

"How many?" His voice came quieter than he intended.

Reven didn't hesitate. "More than the Spire can fight. More than you can count."

Elias let out a sharp breath, shaking his head. "This—this doesn't make sense. If the Council knew this was coming, they would have already planned for this."

"They did," Reven said flatly. "They left you in the dark."

Sylvaine's expression remained unreadable. "So what are you telling us, Reven? That we should warn them? That we should save the people who abandoned you?"

For the first time, Reven's voice wavered—just slightly.

"I am telling you to make a choice."

Kieran met his gaze, feeling the weight of it settle into his bones.

"There is no saving the Spire," Reven continued. "Even if you warn them, it will change nothing. The people will panic, and the Council will try and strengthen its forces." He paused, something almost like regret buried deep in his voice. "And when the storm falls, so will the Spire."

Sylvaine's jaw clenched. "Then what do you suggest?"

Reven's gaze turned cold. "You let them fall."

Elias took a step back. "You want us to do nothing? To let thousands die?"

Reven's voice was calm, but unshakable. "The Spire condemned us first."

The silence that followed was deafening.

Kieran had fought his whole life for the Spire. For the people inside it.

But now, faced with the truth—with what the Spire had done, what it had hidden, what it had created—he wasn't sure if it deserved to be saved.

The Wraithborn had been people once.

And now, they were coming.

Sylvaine's voice broke through the silence. A challenge.

"If the Spire truly falls, what happens next?"

Reven tilted his head slightly. "That depends," he said. "On what you do next."

His gaze locked onto Kieran's. With a heavy final decision.

"You have a choice, Stormguard."

The words settled into Kieran's bones, cold and unyielding.

Turn his back on the Spire… or try to save a city built on lies.

For the first time, he didn't know the answer.

Kieran had grown quieter holding his breath

He stood apart from the others, staring at the cracks in the stone beneath his boots, at the worn edges of his gauntlet, at anything that might ground him against the tide of his thoughts.

Let the Spire fall.

The words still lingered in his mind like an open wound.

Behind him, the silence stretched too long. Too heavy.

Then Sylvaine's voice, quiet but unwavering.

"We need to decide."

Kieran turned.

Elias sat on the broken edge of a pew, hands laced together, shoulders tense. Rhea stood near one of the shattered windows, arms crossed, staring out at the dark skyline of Vareth.

And Reven—the ghost of the Stormguard, the one who should have died long ago—stood as still as a statue, waiting.

"This is insane. We shouldn't even be having this discussion. The Spire is our home. People will die if we don't warn them." Said Elias with a concerned voice.

"And what will they do if we do warn them?" Sylvaine countered. "You think the Council will listen? That they'll admit the truth? Or will they double down, lie to the people, tighten their control?"

Elias frowned. "That doesn't mean we just—let it happen."

"They let it happen." Sylvaine's voice was sharp. "They left Vareth to die. They let the Wraithborn be created. And now they'll let the storm collapse without ever telling the people inside."

Elias stood. "That's the Council, not the people. The Spire isn't just them."

Reven, silent until now, took a step forward. His voice was like the distant roll of thunder.

"It doesn't matter who the Spire is," he said. "It only matters what it has done."

A tense silence settled between them.

Kieran looked at Rhea. She hadn't spoken but her expression was evident. Was there really anything to say than to make a final decision?

"You haven't said anything," he said.

She sighed, closing her eyes briefly before looking at him. "Because I don't know." A pause. "Because I don't think there's a right answer."

Kieran frowned.

She tilted her head slightly, searching his face. "And neither do you."

That hit harder than it should have.

Kieran glanced back at Reven. The Wraithborn warrior watched him, with a stiff stature beneath his helm.

You have a choice, Stormguard.

For so long, he had believed the Spire was worth protecting. That everything he had done, every battle he had fought, was in service of something greater.

But now, he had seen what lay beyond the storm.

He had seen the truth of the Wraithborn. The truth of Vareth. The truth of the Council.

And the truth was, he didn't know if the Spire deserved saving.

"I don't have an answer," Kieran admitted. The words tasted bitter.

Sylvaine studied him for a long moment, then nodded.

"Then we wait," she said.

Elias was frustrated, but he didn't argue.

Reven tilted his head, something almost amused in the motion. "The storm doesn't wait for you, Stormguard."

Kieran met his gaze.

"I know." and he still didn't make a choice.