The wind howled low across the ravine as Mo stared at the ruined sealstone...
The remnants of the Second Seal still pulsing faintly beneath layers of shattered runes. He felt it again—the hum inside his spine—the Azure Shamshir whispering in a tongue older than the Empire, older than flame or flesh.
Jorek of the Jaw crouched beside the seal with ritual tools: hollowed obsidian prisms, a quill dipped in crimson sap. "The seal is not dead," he murmured. "Only dreaming."
Senna turned to Mo. "You asked if Vornak was gone. You should be asking if he wants to return."
Before Mo could speak, the earth trembled. Not violently—but rhythmically. Like footsteps. Deep ones.
Aylen drew her blade. "Something's stirring beneath."
The Cracked Moon warriors moved swiftly, forming a silent perimeter. Senna's spear glittered with runes as she stepped beside Mo.
And then… a crack. A seam split in the obsidian, exhaling a breath of cold, stale air. From it emerged a figure—twisted and semi-human, its flesh roiling with bone plates, a third eye sealed shut on its forehead.
Senna cursed. "A Dreamspawn."
Mo stepped forward, eyes hard. "This is from Vornak?"
Jorek's voice was hushed. "Not directly. These are... echoes. Born of his dream fragments still stitched to this plane. Each one reflects a sliver of what he was."
The Dreamspawn screeched—its voice not physical but mental, dragging jagged thoughts into Mo's skull. Visions of bodies folded inward, faces split with eyes, cities made of crawling flesh.
The warriors attacked. Mo's hand found the hilt of the Azure Shamshir.
---
He drew.
And the sword responded.
It didn't just glow—it sang, a single long note that silenced the screech, shattered the mental assault, and cut across the veil. The Dreamspawn's shell cracked like clay, its soul exposed for a moment—raw, howling, hungry.
Mo stepped forward. His blade flashed once.
The creature dissolved into silver ash.
When silence returned, everyone stared at him. Aylen's lips were tight. Jorek bowed his head slightly. Even Senna looked shaken.
"That wasn't your father's technique," she said slowly. "That was the Shamshir's."
Mo lowered the blade. "It chose me."
---
That night, as the warriors burned the creature's remains in a pit of spiritfire, Senna brought Mo to a smaller cavern off the main hall. Crystal maps hung from the walls, etched with the silverlight paths of the old world. Ancient trade lines, leyline junctions, and sealed Titan tombs.
"We have kept records," she said. "And enemies."
She pointed to a spot near the Sea of Blades. "This is where the Third Seal lies. Still whole. For now."
Mo asked, "The Flame Sect?"
"They're on the move. But they are not the only threat."
She gestured to a faint sigil carved into the southern map edge—three black blades arranged like a crown.
"The Black Crescent Order. They're older than Flame. Older than even the bloodlines. They don't want to release the Titans. They want to replace them."
Mo's jaw tightened. "And they're coming for the Seals?"
"They already have one." She met his gaze. "The First. The Seal of Flame."
Aylen stepped in, holding a scroll. "There's more. We intercepted a message before leaving the Spiritforge. One of the Black Crescent's lieutenants is moving to infiltrate the College of Elemental Law in Elkarim. They're seeking... something. A relic."
Senna nodded grimly. "Then you need to go west."
Mo frowned. "I thought you said they'd kill me on sight in Elkarim."
"They will," Senna said. "But only if you go as yourself. What if... you went as something else?"