Chapter 35: The Gate of Truth

The air was too still.

As they stepped from the skimmer, no wind stirred, no Riftbeasts howled. The world had gone silent, holding its breath as Ethan, Zeila, and Kael approached the obsidian spiral.

The ground was jagged stone laced with veins of Riftcrystal, pulsing faintly underfoot. The tower loomed at the center—half architecture, half growth, rising like a spine cracked through the earth.

"It's too quiet," Kael murmured, adjusting the dials on his rifle. "Feels like we're already inside something's mouth."

Zeila nodded, eyes sharp. "That's not a tower. It's a conduit. Look at the glyphs—same language as the Warden."

Ethan traced one glowing line with his fingers. It shimmered at his touch. Responded.

The third shard pulsed in his pack, answering the tower's call.

"They built this," Ethan said softly, voice reverent. "Whoever—whatever—they were. This was meant to contain the Rift. Seal it. Until the key arrived."

Kael stared at him. "You mean you."

Ethan didn't answer.

They reached the center of the spiral, where the floor dropped away into a narrow staircase of floating stone. It spiraled down into a core of dark light—like looking into the pupil of a god.

"The Gate is below," Zeila said. "Do we go in together?"

Ethan looked back at them. "I need to go in alone."

Kael's eyes narrowed. "That never ends well in stories like this."

Ethan smiled faintly. "Then let's change how this story ends."

Zeila stepped closer, pressing a hand to his shoulder. "You come back, Ethan. Beastmarked or not."

"I will."

Ethan descended.

Each step echoed.

Time stretched as the Riftlight around him warped into shapes—visions—memories not his own. Cities consumed by Riftfire. Warriors with marks like his, battling shadowed beasts. A great door sealed by bone and blood.

And above it all, the same voice:

You carry the lock. But do you carry the will to open it?

At the bottom of the stairs, Ethan found the gate.

It wasn't made of stone or crystal—but of himself.

A mirror. Liquid and shifting. Reflecting not his form, but every truth he tried to bury.

He saw himself as a child, clutching his mother's hand. Then older, hiding his mark under layers of fear. He saw himself killing, surviving, losing.

And finally… he saw a version of himself fully consumed. Rift energy burning in his veins. Eyes white with light. Voice inhuman.

That version of him stared from the other side of the gate—and smiled.

Let me out, it whispered.

Ethan clenched his fists. "You're not me. You're what they want me to be."

I'm what you could become. Power without guilt. Purpose without doubt.

He pulled the final shard from his pack.

Break the seal, the voice said. Free us both.

He raised the shard—and stopped.

His mother's words echoed in his mind.

You were never meant to be a weapon…

Ethan looked into the gate. Into himself.

And said, "Then I choose to be more."

He plunged the shard into the mirror.

The gate exploded in light.

Far above, the tower shook.

Kael and Zeila braced themselves as waves of Rift energy surged skyward. The spiral glyphs lit like stars. The basin trembled.

Then—silence again.

Ethan emerged moments later, skin glowing with faint light, eyes clear. The mark on his arm had changed—no longer chaotic, but controlled. Threaded with gold.

Zeila exhaled. "You did it."

Kael looked around. "So… what now?"

Ethan stared into the distance, where the Rift winds were calming.

"Now," he said, "we stop what's coming."

Zeila tilted her head. "The Heart?"

Ethan nodded. "And the ones trying to wake it."

The ground beneath them rumbled.

And deep in the Hollow, the ancient Heart stirred—aware now that the lock had shifted. Not broken. But changed.

And the war wasn't over. It was just beginning.