The Priestess of Chains
New POV — Seris, Priestess of the Gate
She felt it when the Hollowborn died.
Not in the way others did—not as magic bending or storms screaming—but deep inside her ribs, where the ancient chains she had worn since childhood tightened for the first time in two centuries.
Seris dropped to her knees in the Temple of the Last Binding, her breath stolen, her heartbeat syncing with something beneath the world.
The Gate was waking.
And that meant one thing:
He would walk again.
---
The Temple of the Last Binding
Built atop the world's first wound, the Temple was not meant for beauty. It was forged of black stone, circled by teeth, sealed with blood of the Seven Martyrs.
Only one priestess remained.
Seris.
Chosen by the whispers.
Marked with the rune of the Fifth Lock.
Her chains were not metal—they were runes bound to bone, scars on her wrists and back that could never be removed. They reminded her of who she served.
What she served.
And what she was sworn to prevent.
---
The Prophecy of the Unmade
It had always been clear:
> "When the Hollow falls, the Gate shall breathe.
And in the breath of the void, the Unmade shall rise.
Not beast. Not god. Not king.
But the memory of ruin made flesh."
Seris had waited her whole life for the sign.
Now it was here.
She left the Temple with her staff, her runes alight, and her eyes fixed toward the shattered mountains of Veilmar.
There, the prince who doomed them waited.
And she would not go alone.
---
Ashren
He stood in the ruined city of Faethrin, watching the Couriers of the New Moon fan across the land like whispers on parchment. They said little. Offered less. But they all watched him.
Because he had done what none before him dared.
He had unmade a myth.
Now he was the myth.
And they feared what that meant.
Ashren didn't care for prophecy.
But he knew this: something else had awakened.
And he would face it.
Even if it killed him.
---
Somewhere Below
The Gate pulsed once.
The stone cracked.
And in the dark…
Something smiled.