The Starlit Oath

With her silver cloak soaked in crimson ichor and her rune-etched sword dripping with the void-spawn's greasy blood, Lirien Thalor charged into the Starlit Sanctum. The sight caused Ethan Cole to freeze, gasping for air. The sanctum's quartz pillars pulsed with starlight that seemed to shudder at her presence, and the air smelled of ozone and decay.

With a sharp clink, Lirien sheathed her blade and hissed, "Marcus." Her green eyes were as sharp as a blade as they stared into his. There's no time to stare. The oath is waiting.

Marcus Reed's rune on Ethan's arm tingled as his heart raced—a Chicago detective trapped in a gatekeeper's body, playing a part he hardly understood. His mind was burning with the scrawl, "The Council hides the truth," from the journal in his robe, which weighed like a guilty secret. Although Lirien's bloody return from the void-spawn battle cried out for danger, her haste drew him in. With his boots resonating on the alabaster floor and the fractal light of the sanctum creating strange shadows, he followed her.

Lirien's voice was low and urgent as she stated, "Gatekeepers bind their souls to the High Gods and the Ninegates." "You take the oath, Marcus, or Valthor will have your head."

Ethan froze. "An oath?" he demanded, raising Marcus's rough voice. "Lirien, what are the caveats?" As his investigative instincts kicked in, he looked for holes in her story. Insisting on caution, Marcus's ghost echoed the journal's warning: "Trust no elder."

Lirien's hand hovered close to her sword as her lips quirked, but not quite into a smile. "Your soul prevents realm-bleeds and void-spawn from entering the Ninegates. To keep them at bay, the High Gods provide starlight." Her eyes flicked to his journal with a gleam of interest—or intelligence? "Obligation to oneself is the catch. Their will is iron." 

The inside of Ethan roiled. Duties sounded like chains, and the void-tremors—cracking chambers, spawning monsters—had no metaphor. The gate-chamber massacre, with its ichor-soaked corpses and the violet malice of a void-spawn, flashed through his mind. Lirien's claim that Aetherion was blessed by the High Gods ran counter to the journal's assertion that the Council had lied. Marcus remembered the older Valthor, who had a sly smile, his eyes clouded by something sinister.

"What happens if I leave?" To test her, Ethan took a risk. With his fingers brushing the journal, he was prepared to run if she became hostile.

With her braid glistening in the starlight, Lirien's face hardened. "Marcus, you are a gatekeeper. For deserters, the Council has no tolerance. Her voice became gentle, almost begging. You have witnessed the hunger of the void. The tremors get worse every day." Tension was evident in the way her hand twitched.

Ethan masked relief with a silent exhale. He wasn't Marcus, but she didn't know that. But he moved forward because of her urgency and the stifling light of the sanctum. He would be exposed if he refused the oath, especially with Valthor looking on. He would pretend—for the time being. "Let's do it," he said, summoning Marcus's determination and keeping his detective instincts sharp.

Lirien nodded and ushered him to a dais surrounded by a star-shaped altar and swirling liquid starlight. The essence of each realm was reflected in the nine crystal orbs that hovered, emerald for the forests of Sylvareth, crimson for the flames of Pyrehold, and sapphire for the skies of Aetherion. Ethan's rune was burning as the air grew thicker—a warning, a call. Although the pillars of the sanctum hummed and their runes pulsed like the heartbeat of the cosmos, the beauty felt like a cage.

"Place your hand on the altar," Lirien said, her eyes wary and her voice steady. "You will either be bound or broken by the High Gods."

Ethan's heart pounded, his gatekeeper responsibilities blending with his Earth memory of a cult's knife etching Zorathys's rune into his chest. With his palm hovering over the crystal, he took a step forward. The altar flared, his shadow cast by the burning starlight—too sharp, too alien. His rune-marked hand touched the crystal, shattering reality and warping space.

His nerves were scorched by a supernova that rushed through him, raw and blazing. Three enormous figures loomed, their presence crushing, and his vision shattered. His soul was pinned by the unwavering law of Serathys, a lattice of crystalline order. Lumara, a glowing fireplace, provided warmth while concealing a possessive hold. With a voice like a blade cutting through Ethan's fears, Vyrathys, a storm of chaos, laughed. Power burned in his veins as their starlight filled him, binding his essence in a sacred ritual.

His heart trembled as their voices thundered. The Ninegates is where you stand, stranger. Close the realms. Watch over the gates. Serathys's lattice grew more rigid. "Watch out for Zorathys's stirring on the tenth." Lumara's warmth cooled. "Look for truth, but don't trust anyone." The storm of Vyrathys roared. "You either break or defy." A silhouette appeared—Zorathys, shackled outside a violet gate, her voice coiling in Ethan's brain, "Set me free."

The name of the tenth gate, which was related to Zorathys's disobedience and the rune's directive from the gate chamber, was burning in Ethan's rune. The silent threat of the High God's gaze was palpable. Were they manipulators like the Council, or were they allies? In the lingering shadow of Zorathys, Valthor's void-tainted smile flashed.

Ethan gasped and stumbled back, the altar growing dimmer. Lirien's hands held him steady, causing bruises, and her eyes peered too intently into his face. "You made it through," she said in a tight voice. "Marcus, what did you see?"

Ethan's gut told him to lie. Her loyalty was unclear, and Lirien's curiosity was a trap. "Light. Power. Duty," he growled, looking directly into her eyes and challenging her to push.

She narrowed her eyes and a glimmer of doubt—or scheme?—flitted through them. "The binding is complete. You are obligated to starlight as a gatekeeper." With her sword glinting, she took a step back. "Make good use of it."

With the faint glow of the rune pulsing with starlight magic, a divine force that he would need to master in order to survive, Ethan flexed his hand. Unknown to its rules, it moved through him like a chain and a weapon. "Beware the tenth," the High Gods' caution, was a riddle. Like the Council, did they conceal the truth about the gate? Or was Zorathys, with her whisper connected to the void-tremors, the true danger?

He followed Lirien to an alcove, the walls of which were carved with gatekeeper sigils that glistened like veins of starlight. "Tomorrow is the first day of training," she stated in a clipped voice. "Starlight is a blade, but it can cut in both directions. Get some rest now." Too hungry, she kept her eyes on his journal. "Is there anything worth sharing from those notes?"

Ethan's detective instincts took over, protecting the journal as though it were proof. Lirien's curiosity was too keen and inquisitive. His Earth days breaking cult ciphers, he opened it and let the rune lead his fingers to a new line, deciphering the code. "The tenth gate is forbidden," he read quietly, his heart pounding. "Nullvox holds the key."

Covering his surprise, he put the journal away. With a steady voice, he lied, "Just gatekeeper drills." "Training stuff."

Lirien smiled, but it stopped short of her eyes. "All right. Don't be distracted by old notes." With her hand flitting toward her sword, her words sounded hollow.

Ethan felt nauseous. The tenth gate wasn't a diversion; it was the key, concealed in the shadows of Nullvox and prohibited by both the Council and the gods. The earlier hint in the journal, "The Council hides the truth," screamed conspiracy. Lirien's questioning, Valthor's stare, and the High Gods' caution were all strands in a web that Ethan had to either unravel or become entangled in.

The sanctum trembled, the quartz floor split by spiderweb cracks. There were gatekeepers outside shouting, their blades blazing in the starlight. The auroras flickered overhead, choked by an unseen force. Unlike the others, a violet rune in the alcove sparked, and Zorathys whispered, "Nullvox." Her shadow tightened as Ethan's rune burned.

"Void-pulse!" As she scanned the alcove, Lirien flashed her blade and barked. Marcus, the gates are going to wake up. Keep your wits intact. Her face was marked with suspicion as her gaze shifted to the violet rune and then to Ethan.

Ethan gripped the journal tightly, feeling the weight of Marcus's legacy. His bones ached from the echo of the void-pulse, Bolt's seismic warnings echoing in the fault lines of Aetherion. Through a window of quartz, the runes of the First Gate grew fainter, like a dying star. The crystalline order of Aetherion was a façade that broke apart under chaos.

With his journal open, Ethan sat by himself in the alcove under a fluttering starlight orb. He was haunted by Lirien's final, circumspect, and calculating look. As a leash for the High Gods' gaze, the oath forced him into a role he didn't choose. Marcus gave his life in pursuit of truth, following the journal's hints—"Nullvox" and "forbidden"—and his blood-soaked trail. "Why you, Marcus?" Ethan muttered, his determination strengthening. He would discover the secret of the tenth gate, the lies of the Council, and Zorathys's scheme—or suffer the consequences.