Chapter 11: The Revenant Lives

The room still smelled of fire and incense.

Even with the ritual complete, even with Elian breathing calmly in a cot tucked into one of the Ember Veil's recovery chambers, the air around him trembled like something barely restrained.

Nightblade stood beside him in silence, watching the boy's chest rise and fall. He had done what most could never imagine: faced down a god and held the reins tight.

"Has it changed him?" he asked, without looking back.

Kevara leaned on her staff just beyond the doorway. "He's still Elian. But there's something else in him now. A shadow wrapped in chains. And if he weakens, even for a moment, the god will find the cracks."

Nightblade finally turned. "You said this isn't over."

Kevara nodded. "Because Revenant isn't finished."

Starflare stepped into the corridor, her boots clicking softly on the stone. "We stopped the possession. Sealed the last sigil. The gate can't open now."

Kevara's golden eye glinted in the low light. "You think Revenant was after the gate? No. That was just the first step. He needed the sigils to mark the path, but the real ritual, the final binding, happens during the eclipse. In two days' time."

Wren appeared beside Starflare, having overheard the last part. "He's still alive?"

Kevara turned toward him. "Not alive. But not dead either. Revenant exists between worlds now, in a place few can reach. A plane of soul-ashes. The Burned Veil."

Nightblade's jaw tightened. "Then we reach him. And we end it."

"You don't reach the Burned Veil by train," Kevara said. "You'll need someone who can walk between death and breath. Someone who has already crossed that threshold."

Starflare stepped closer. "Do such people exist?"

"They do," Kevara said, tapping her staff once. "But there's only one who might help you. A guide of the forgotten. A being known only as Ashwing."

Wren frowned. "That's just a ghost story."

"Every ghost story begins with truth," Kevara said. "Ashwing once led heroes from the brink of death back into light. But it was a costed bargain. Nothing is free."

Nightblade straightened. "Where do we find him?"

Kevara's lips pressed together. "Not 'where.' When."

They followed Kevara deep into the Ember Veil's underground.

At the lowest level, carved into the ancient bedrock, was a gate sealed with chains of smoke and moon-metal. Runes shimmered around it, looping in and out of sight like they were alive.

"This is the Timeless Hall," Kevara explained. "Time moves differently here. You step through this door, and the world will blur. You may return hours later or days."

Wren looked nervous. "And if you get stuck?"

"You don't," Nightblade said flatly. "You die."

Kevara placed a glowing token into the central lock. The runes shivered. The door groaned.

Inside the room, light flickered.

Not like fire.

Like memories being born.

The Timeless Hall was not a place so much as a feeling.

The world warped as they passed through the threshold. One second they stood on stone, and the next, they floated in a sea of endless night, with stars that blinked like old eyes and landmasses that shifted like thought.

Nightblade walked ahead, unafraid. Starflare followed, her light flickering with uncertainty. Wren stumbled once, but caught himself.

Shapes formed as they moved forward. Statues without faces. Towers made of bones. A clock with no hands, ticking backward.

And then, in the center of the strange plain, he appeared.

Ashwing.

He rose from the ground like smoke coalescing into form. A tall figure clad in feathered robes of shifting ash and silver. His face was hidden behind a mirrored mask, and wings, smoke and soot and stars rose from his back.

"You are not yet dead," Ashwing said, voice echoing as though from within.

"We're not here for your judgment," Nightblade replied. "We're here for your guidance."

Ashwing's head tilted. "You seek the Burned Veil."

Starflare stepped forward. "Revenant escaped there. He's building something. And we need to stop it."

"Ah," Ashwing said. "The broken flame who defied death. His presence burns holes even here. Dangerous. Hungry. But not yet complete."

"We want to find him," Nightblade said.

"You wish to enter a realm that is not of the living or the dead," Ashwing replied. "Then you must pay the toll."

Nightblade didn't blink. "Name it."

Ashwing raised one arm. "You must each surrender one memory. Not one you hate, but one you cherish. A thread from the tapestry of who you are."

The silence that followed was heavy.

Starflare looked to Nightblade, then back to Ashwing. "And if we refuse?"

"Then you return unchanged. And the Revenant remains."

Nightblade took a breath, then stepped forward.

He closed his eyes.

And offered a memory.

A field at dusk. Golden light. A girl with a laugh that sounded like wind chimes. His hand in hers. No war. No mask.

It vanished.

Ashwing bowed his head. "Accepted."

Starflare followed.

Her father's voice. The smell of ink and metal. The first time he told her she glowed even in sleep. His arms around her during the blackout storm.

Gone.

"Accepted."

Then Wren.

He hesitated.

But he stepped forward.

A boy his age, laughing in the rain. A shared sandwich. A song hummed between broken windows. His brother, before he vanished.

Taken.

"Accepted."

Ashwing stepped aside. "You may pass."

And then the world split open.

The Burned Veil was pain made land.

They stepped into a realm of black sand and crimson skies. Rivers of fire flowed slowly through jagged canyons. Every breath felt thick, like it was drawn through smoke.

Time didn't move here.

Emotion didn't obey rules.

And in the far distance, a tower stood. Blacker than night. Surrounded by twisted spires like ribs pulled from giants.

"That's him," Starflare whispered. "I feel it."

Nightblade nodded. "Then we move."

They didn't notice the figure watching them from the dunes.

Not yet.