The path ahead was narrow, lit only by the faint glow of enchanted stones embedded in the walls. With each step forward, the air thickened—not with danger, but with memory. The silence was absolute, broken only by the occasional creak of ancient stone shifting, like the ruin itself was breathing.
Alex walked at the front, the sigils' power still humming faintly beneath his skin. He could feel it now—an old presence watching, not with malice, but with intent.
"Something's here," he murmured.
Soren nodded. "I feel it too. Like… an echo."
Veridia slowed as they approached the chamber. "This one isn't like the others. It's not a trial."
They entered a circular room filled with murals—intricate paintings of Saints and humans standing side by side, wielding magic in harmony. A forgotten age. At the center stood a dais, atop which rested a small metallic box engraved with both Saint and human script.
As Alex stepped closer, the box clicked open on its own.
A glowing crystal floated within—pulsing with energy not unlike mana, but older. Deeper.
Suddenly, the walls shimmered, and a projection of light filled the space.
A man appeared—cloaked in ancient robes, his features faintly Saint-like, yet clearly human.
"If you're seeing this, then the seals are breaking."
The group froze.
"I am Arion, last Keeper of the Old Pact. The one who helped build the S-Wall, not to suppress humanity—but to protect it."
The image flickered, then continued.
"Long ago, our people discovered Zeta. Beneath its ruins lies the Nameless Horror—an entity not born of this world. It fed on mana, on life, on will. The more we used our gifts, the stronger it became. We created the S-Wall to seal Earth away, limiting mana to delay its awakening."
Gasps echoed through the room. Even Soren looked stunned.
"But over time, the pact was forgotten. Saints twisted the truth, became rulers. Humans were left to suffer. Now, the Horror stirs again."
Alex clenched his fists.
"You, half-blood child—if you've come this far, then you are the key. Not by blood, but by choice. Only one who walks between can open the gate… or keep it closed."
The projection faded.
The room fell silent.
No one spoke. The weight of that revelation was too heavy.
Alex stepped forward and touched the crystal. It pulsed, then sank into his palm—melting into his flesh like a brand. He didn't cry out, didn't flinch.
Veridia stared. "You carry the Old Pact now."
Soren looked away. "And all the consequences that come with it."
Alex turned. "We move forward. No more secrets. No more half-truths. Whatever lies ahead, we face it together."
Nyssa stepped beside him. "To the end."
Together, they walked out of the chamber, the fourth sigil glowing on Alex's arm.
Behind them, the murals began to decay—like history itself was being rewritten.
But Alex was done being a footnote in someone else's story.
It was time to write his own.