Chapter 8: The Obsidian Court
The sky above the mountains had changed.
Where once hung a cold, pale moon, now glowed a crimson eclipse. Faint tremors echoed through the earth like a slow, deliberate heartbeat.
Kaela and I emerged from the collapsed temple—me covered in soot, glowing faintly with silver-and-black fire. I could feel the Ashborn still within me, silent, resting, but ever-watchful. He wasn’t gone. He was part of me now.
"Darian," Kaela whispered, her voice thin, "what did you become back there?"
I didn’t answer right away.
I didn’t know.
But I could sense it—something had changed in the weave of the world. As though the fabric of fate had torn slightly... just enough to make room for something that was never meant to exist.
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Far from us, in the Hollowed Wastes...
Seven thrones carved of obsidian floated in a void of molten stone. Upon each sat a figure cloaked in shadow, faces hidden behind masks of bone, flame, or voidsteel. The Obsidian Court—ancient, cursed, and bound to the prophecy of the Last Flame.
The Watcher stood before them, his face unreadable, eyes aglow with crimson runes.