Chapter 7: Shadows of the Past

The streets of Ironhold were unlike anything Rheon had seen before. Unlike the pristine, orderly cities under the System's control, this place was raw, worn, and alive.

Buildings were stacked haphazardly, wooden walkways bridging rooftops, and banners of various clans and rebel factions fluttered above the streets. Warriors, mercenaries, and mages walked openly, their weapons displayed without fear.

But there was an edge to the air. A tension.

Ironhold had survived outside the System, but it hadn't done so easily.

Elara pulled her hood lower, her eyes darting to the figures in the alleyways. "We're being watched."

Dain snorted. "Of course we are. We just walked in with a relic weapon that probably set off every magical alarm in the city."

Rheon ignored them, his focus on the towering keep at the city's center. That was where they would find Lord Garran, Ironhold's ruler. A man who had defied the System and lived to tell the tale.

Hadric rode beside him. "Garran won't trust us easily. He's seen too many would-be heroes."

Rheon nodded. "Then we'll show him we're not here to waste his time."

As they neared the keep, a group of heavily armed warriors blocked their path. Their leader, a scarred woman with dark hair pulled into a braid, stepped forward. "Lord Garran will see you."

Her tone made it clear—they weren't being given a choice.

---

An Audience with the Unyielding

The great hall of Ironhold was built like a war chamber. Heavy stone walls lined with weapons, a massive round table at its center. The man sitting at the head of it was just as imposing.

Lord Garran.

A mountain of a man with graying hair and sharp, calculating eyes. His armor was worn but well-kept, marked with the scars of countless battles. His presence alone commanded respect.

As Rheon and his group approached, Garran leaned forward, studying them. His gaze lingered on the blackened spear.

"You bring trouble," he said finally. His voice was deep, measured. "And I have enough of that already."

Rheon met his gaze without flinching. "We bring more than trouble. We bring an opportunity."

Garran exhaled through his nose. "Bold words." He gestured to the spear. "You've already drawn the System's attention. You wouldn't have made it this far otherwise."

Hadric stepped forward. "We killed an Enforcer."

The hall fell silent.

One of Garran's advisors, a thin man with sharp features, scoffed. "Impossible."

Elara crossed her arms. "Then explain why the Veilwood is collapsing."

Garran's eyes narrowed. "The Veilwood… collapsing?"

Dain nodded. "The System is breaking."

Garran studied them for a long moment, then stood. "Follow me."

He led them to a chamber beneath the keep, where a great stone map of the continent was laid out. Cities, fortresses, and territories were marked with symbols—some glowing, some dimmed.

Garran pointed to several locations where the glow flickered. "This map shows the System's influence. If the Veilwood is failing…"

They watched as, before their eyes, one of the symbols dimmed.

Lorien muttered, "The System is bleeding."

Garran clenched his fists. "Which means it will retaliate."

He turned back to Rheon. "Tell me everything."

And so, they did.

Rheon explained the fight with the Enforcer, the whispers from the forgotten dead, the presence that had watched him ever since.

When he finished, Garran let out a slow breath. "I've fought the System for years. But I've never seen it afraid."

He looked at Rheon. "You've done what none of us could." His voice hardened. "That means you're either the world's greatest hope… or its greatest threat."

Rheon met his gaze. "Maybe both."

Garran studied him, then nodded. "Ironhold will stand with you."

But before relief could settle, the ground shook.

A deep, resonating sound, like a great bell tolling.

Hadric's face darkened. "That's not an earthquake."

The advisor turned pale. "The System is responding."

Garran's eyes gleamed with something between fear and excitement. "Then let's see how a dying god fights."

Outside, the sky began to crack.

When the Sky Shatters

The tremors grew stronger. Dust rained from the stone ceiling, and the great map of the continent flickered as its enchanted markers struggled to keep up with the shifting balance of power.

Then, the sky split open.

A rift, vast and jagged, tore through the heavens above Ironhold. It wasn't a storm, nor was it fire—it was something worse. A wound in reality itself.

From that wound, figures began to descend. Not soldiers. Not enforcers.

Something older.

The first figure landed with a sickening, unnatural grace. A being draped in flowing black robes, its face obscured by a cracked porcelain mask. A Warden.

The air in the chamber grew heavy. Hadric's grip on his axe tightened. Elara's breath hitched.

Rheon had seen one before. In the Veilwood. But this one was different.

It wasn't watching.

It was hunting.

Garran turned to one of his captains. "Sound the alarm."

The captain bolted for the door—only to stop mid-step.

Not by choice.

A pulse of energy rippled outward, and the captain's body froze in place, locked in the exact position he had been in a moment before. His eyes widened in horror as he remained trapped, unable to move, unable to speak.

The Warden tilted its head.

"Unwritten."

The voice was not spoken aloud, but it echoed inside their minds. It was not a single voice, but many. Layers upon layers, whispering, screaming, speaking in forgotten tongues.

The captain disintegrated.

No fire. No blood. Just... erased.

Lorien staggered back. "That's not possible."

Hadric snarled. "It just happened."

Rheon clenched his fists. He could feel it—the System's will pressing down upon reality itself. This wasn't an attack. It was a correction.

The Warden took a step forward.

"The cycle will not be broken."

Rheon raised his spear. He knew what had to happen next.

"Then we break it anyway."

---

The First Strike

The Warden moved.

One moment, it was at the entrance. The next, it was in front of Rheon, faster than thought, its masked face inches from his own.

A surge of pure force slammed into Rheon, sending him skidding backward. He barely managed to keep his footing before the Warden's hand reached for him.

A hand that wasn't flesh.

It was fractured time made manifest.

If it touched him—he knew—he wouldn't die.

He would be erased.

Rheon twisted, raising his spear just in time. The golden energy pulsing from it met the Warden's grasp—

And for the first time, the Warden hesitated.

The blackened spear pulsed, its glow intensifying, pushing back against the Warden's grip. Sparks of unstable energy crackled between them.

Then—a shockwave.

The Warden was forced back. It didn't stagger, didn't fall, but it did retreat.

Elara didn't waste the moment. She moved like a shadow, daggers flashing as she struck from the side—only for her blades to pass through the Warden as if it were smoke.

Lorien raised his hands. A pulse of fire erupted from his palms, engulfing the Warden.

For a second, it seemed like the flames might work. The black robes burned.

Then the fire vanished. Not extinguished—simply gone.

The Warden stepped forward, untouched.

Hadric cursed. "You can't be serious."

Garran, who had been silent until now, drew his sword.

A blade forged from a metal that shimmered with a faint, unnatural glow.

The Warden turned its masked face toward him.

Garran charged.

The clash was not like any normal fight. There was no steel-on-steel, no clash of armor.

There was only raw force meeting raw force.

The air rippled as their weapons met. The Warden's grasp pushed against the laws of reality, but Garran's sword resisted. Sparks of time itself shattered outward.

And for the first time since it had appeared—

The Warden took a step back.

A whisper, barely audible.

"Unwritten..."

The wound in the sky pulsed. More figures began to descend. More Wardens.

Garran's eyes narrowed. "We can't win this fight."

Rheon tightened his grip on the spear. He wasn't so sure.

The System was reacting. Which meant…

It was afraid.

But fear wouldn't stop it from wiping them all out.

They had to do more than fight.

They had to survive.

Garran's voice was sharp. "Fall back to the lower wards! We regroup at the second gate!"

The others hesitated, but they knew he was right. Ironhold was strong, but it wasn't built to withstand the will of a god.

As the first Warden vanished in a flicker of distorted space, appearing again at the keep's entrance, the group turned and ran.

The war for Ironhold had begun.