Under a twilight sky, the Aetherion training grounds glistened, with stars burning with an unnatural permanence that reflected silver light across stones etched with runes. With its arch a constellation of pulsing starlight, the first gate towered in the distance, humming with a rhythm that made Ethan Cole's bones ache. He was standing in the middle of a circle of gravel, holding a dull practice blade, his feeble attempts at gatekeeper magic failing to illuminate its runes. He had woken up four days earlier in Marcus Reed's body, his Earthly existence interrupted by the knives of cultists and the ominous chant: Nullvox rises. Not only that, but he was a stranger in a world of gates and gods. A rune on his palm, glowing dimly, like a trapped ember, now whispered once more, its voice a sharp murmur: Look for the truth.
Quit staring, stranger! Sylra Veyne's voice was as sharp as the starlight blade she was wielding, piercing his thoughts. She earned the title of "Flameheart" with each ferocious glare as her red hair blazed under the eternal dusk. The "Vardis" rune on her blade flared blue as she swung into a defensive position. "This isn't your Earth. Hesitate, and you're Voidspawn chow."
Ethan tightened his hold, the blade weighing heavily on his inexperienced palms. Ethan's coding brain slowed down, parsing this fantasy world like buggy code, while Marcus's body moved with the grace of a swordsman. Sylra was looking for the Marcus she had known—a gatekeeper prodigy, not this impostor—and it hurt to be scrutinized. His rune-hand pulsed with warmth as he looked at it, and he wondered if Marcus had also heard its whispers.
With a softer tone, Lirien Thalor said, "Feel the starlight," as she glided from the edge of the circle. Her eyes caught the twin moon-like glow of the gate as her pale cloak shimmered. "It flows from the High Gods. Let it awaken your runes."
Although he was annoyed, Lirien's composure unnerved him. When Sylra questioned her about Marcus's most recent mission during a gate patrol yesterday, she hesitated, even though she had already rescued him from the wreckage of the gate-chamber. Tucked away in his cloak, Marcus's journal weighed heavily with its deciphered warning: The Council conceals the truth. Was Lirien complicit in that deception?
Lirien insisted, "Close your eyes," and moved in closer. "Feel the pulse of the gate. It's alive, Marcus."
With the world turning to darkness, he obeyed. He felt the hum of the gate vibrate in his chest in time with a colder pulse, his void-link, which had been a shadow heartbeat since he woke up. He felt a warm, electric tingle of starlight on his skin, as though Vyrathys, Lumara, and Serathys were all watching from their celestial thrones. From Marcus's recollections, the names Serathys, the forger of order; Lumara, the weaver of light; and Vyrathys, the herald of storm, are divine yet aloof. Ethan's rune-hand was tinged as he reached for the starlight.
Lirien's voice was close as she said, "Well done. Now direct it toward your blade. Make the rune gleam."
As his Earth logic grasped at this mysticism, Ethan imagined code compiling. Like a malfunctioning pixel, the blade shook, and its "Vardis" rune flickered. Sweat trickled down his face as he pushed harder, but the glow was doused by a cold surge from his void-link. His eyes flew open, and he gasped as he stumbled.
With her blade sheathed, Sylra muttered, "Pitiful." Her voice became softer, almost apprehensive. "Marcus had the option to do that while he was asleep."
Ethan yelled, "I'm not Marcus," and then stopped. Despite her narrowed eyes, Sylra didn't press. Lirien's eyes lingered, her aura of starlight fading, a brief flicker that Ethan was unable to identify.
With her hand grazing his arm and readjusting his posture, Lirien said, "Try again. Starlight needs purpose. You're resisting it."
Ethan let out a breath as the hum of the gate grounded him. He shut his eyes and concentrated on his intent: clarity, protection. The rune sputtered out after, glowing dimly, like a weak sapphire. The cold, invasive pulse of his void-link clashed with the warmth of Aetherion. His coding instincts clashed with the magic of this world as he cursed.
Sylra's patience was waning as she folded her arms. "Enough of the fundamentals. You must understand Marcus's transformation. There was more to his last mission than patrols. The tenth gate, beyond the nine, was the myth he was pursuing. That's what broke him."
Ethan's jaw dropped. The most recent line in the journal flashed: The tenth gate is prohibited. He looked into Sylra's eyes, and her suspicion of Marcus's murder mirrored his own. "A tenth gate?" he inquired, trying to hide his expertise. "What's that?"
As Lirien adjusted her cloak, Sylra looked at her. "Nobody knows," Sylra remarked. "Marcus connected it to realm-bleeds, such as the ash storms in Pyrehold and the dying glades in Sylvareth. He was digging into Council secrets when he… changed."
Lirien smiled tightly as she turned. "Conjecture, Sylra. Marcus was exhausted, chasing shadows. The Ninegates presents enough of a challenge."
Truth was whispered by the pulse of Ethan's rune. His hand was hidden, the weight of the journal a silent charge. Lirien's dismissal sounded hollow, and her aura wavered once more. Did she have her own void-taint hidden, or was she protecting the Council?
Tension was reduced when Sylra suggested that we try inscription. A rune-stone with training patterns carved on its surface was where she led them. "Carve a 'Vardis' shield rune, Stranger. Don't just focus on scratches; concentrate on purpose."
Ethan dropped to his knees, clutching a rune chisel. Sylra showed, her brushstrokes exact, the stone flaring blue in the stream of starlight. With shaky hands, Ethan imitated her. Every line, derived from the pulse of the gate, demanded the touch of starlight. Though his void-link changed, he continued to focus on Sylra's words: Purpose. The rune glowed for a moment before going out as he carved the last arc, willing a shield.
"Not bad," Sylra nodded reluctantly. "Don't give up, or you'll become a target for star-eaters."
Ethan wiped sweat, the gate's hum shifting—a low tremor rattling the gravel. A thread of black ichor leaked from the arch as the starlight faltered. Lirien stiffened, and her eyes widened as Sylra drew her blade and cursed.
"Another breach," Sylra growled. "The Council is unaware of these."
With her "Vardis" rune glowing, Lirien took a step forward. "It's small," she said, her voice tight. "I'm going to seal it." Her blade moved inward, the ichor hissing and resisting as the starlight clashed with it. With a cold shock that matched the tremor, Ethan's void-link shook, causing him to wobble.
"Are you okay, stranger?" Steadying him, Sylra inquired.
With his rune-hand clenched, Ethan lied and said, "Yes." The murmur came back: Look. Lirien's hands trembled, and her aura faded, a shadow that only he could see as he watched her, her ward, finally seal the ichor.
With her blade sheathed, Lirien declared, "Training is over. Take a break. We will patrol tomorrow."
With her gaze fixed on Ethan, Sylra stayed behind as Lirien left. "I was trusted by Marcus," she muttered. He claimed that the Council was concealing something significant that ultimately led to his death. You'd better locate his body if you're in it.
Ethan nodded, the clue from the journal still fresh in his mind. His heart pounding, he locked the door behind him and returned to his Sanctum quarters, a bleak room with walls illuminated by runes. Outside, there was the sound of faint, purposeful footsteps. Valthor's spies? Lirien? Holding his breath, he waited until the silence came back.
The fragment of Marcus's journal he had taken out was encrypted with runes that only his coder mind could decipher. Secrets had come to light after four days of decoding: the Council conceals the truth; the tenth gate is prohibited. He willingly focused starlight through his rune-hand tonight. The runes glistened, revealing: The key is in Nullvox's possession.
Ethan's heartbeat quickened. Nullvox. From his death on Earth, the cultists chanted, "Nullvox rises." The Council's lies, Marcus's mission, and the tenth gate all came together around this word. The rune pulsed again, its whisper sharp: Truth, and he scrawled the translation while concealing the journal. His resolve hardened as he clenched his fist.