Rebirth: Necromancer's Ascenscion-Chapter 136: The Voice That Remembers

The door rose far above, obsidian monolith scarred by time and ruin. No carvings marked its surface.

No inscription.

Only a faint pulse, like a heartbeat buried deep within stone.

Ian stood before it.

Lyra and Caelen at his side, their cloaks tattered, their eyes still stained with the memory of blood and silence.

"This is it," Ian murmured, extending his hand.

As one, they laid their Broken Relics upon the black stone floor. Nine in total—three for each soul. Decay. Hunger. Silence.

The moment the last relic clinked into place, the door groaned.

Not open. Not exactly.

It breathed.

A sound like a grave inhaling filled the air. Wind howled where there was no wind.

Dust peeled from the seams.

The stone split with the noise of ancient bones breaking. Then darkness stretched wide, swallowing light, space, sound—

And them.

They stepped forward, and the world fractured.

—

Ian was alone.

No sign of Caelen. No Lyra.

Just infinite dark.

The space felt unreal.

No floor, no sky—just a void of weightless, infinite dusk. His boots made no sound.

His breath, no mist.

Then—

A voice.

Soft. Intimate. Remembering.

"Ian."

His eyes widened.

That voice...

It wasn’t the Sovereign’s. Not the one that gave him power. Not the voice that spoke to him in death or madness or end.

This was the other voice. The one that kept calling to him. The one that he was to meet an hour before light fell upon hellscape.

He turned slowly.

There stood a man. Or something like one.

Tall, poised, regal beyond comprehension. Hair black as ink flowed past his shoulders, tied in a thick braid that brushed his back. Eyes like obsidian, but alive—watching, weighing.

His skin was moonlight cast in flesh. He wore no armor, no crown, yet power radiated from him like a second sun.

"You’re—" Ian started.

"The demon prince," the figure said, voice smooth and timeless. "Yes. Xul’Vek the Wretched, as your kind calls me."

Ian frowned. "You don’t look..."

"Like a demon?" Xul’Vek finished, smirking. "What, no horns, no dripping maw, no odd mutations? Is that what you expected? Such crude stereotypes." He sighed, feigning disappointment. "I am wretched, not hideous. There is a difference."

Ian took a cautious step forward. "You also don’t seem as I was told. I thought this would be terrifying. A beast of flame and wrath or something."

"Oh, it is, for most," Xul’Vek said lightly, walking a slow circle around Ian. "Right now, your little companions are screaming inside their heads. Seeing the worst things they’ve ever feared...or loved. Drowning in it. But you—no. I can skip the dramatics with you."

"Why?"

Xul’Vek stopped directly before him.

"Because I know you."

Ian’s chest tightened.

"I remember you," the prince said, voice lowering to something almost mournful. "Oh, my enemy. How could I have ever let you down?"

There was no threat in his words. Only ache.

"You know who I was," Ian whispered.

"Not who," Xul’Vek corrected, eyes glinting. "What."

Silence fell. A silence thick and ancient.

Then Xul’Vek turned, hands clasped behind his back, as though lecturing an old friend.

"If you’ve come this far," he said, "it means the Fourth Convergence draws near. The Sovereigns stir. The deep thrones crack. The veil thins. Demon and Sovereign shall rise once more to tear the sky—and from the ash, a new world will be born."

He glanced over his shoulder.

"A perfect prophecy, no?"

Ian said nothing.

"And you," Xul’Vek continued, voice softening, "will be at the center. As always. The cycle’s eternal fulcrum. My ruin, and my salvation."

"You speak like we’ve met before," Ian muttered.

"We have. Many times. In many names." He turned fully now, expression grave. "You wear the flesh of Ian. You carry the blade. You speak the words. But beneath it..."

He took a step closer.

"...I see him."

The truth behind his eyes chilled Ian to his bones.

"I see the one who broke my brother’s spine," Xul’Vek whispered. "The one who spoke the forbidden tongue in the Age of Ember. The one who walked the Pale Spiral. You are not new, Prophet. You are returned."

Ian’s breath caught.

"And when you fully awaken," the prince said, " maybe not even the Demon Queen shall stand against you. Though she may try."

"Demon Queen?" Ian echoed.

"Ah, yes. She rises soon. A child of evil and crown. They whisper her name in the dread of the Seventh Reach." He grinned slightly. "Velrosa."

Ian’s face stiffened.

"Oh yes, she is the queen. You didn’t think that beauty and fury was ordinary, did you?" Xul’Vek said, tilting his head. "She’s more than you know. And when her horns bloom, the sky will fall.

"You know I’ve met her?" Ian asked.

"Gods know everything," He stepped away now, gazing into the black void.

"I should destroy you. You’re still weak. Still waking." He looked back, and now his face bore true sorrow. "But I won’t. Because I remember the fire. The glory. I remember you at your height. I would rather die again than snuff that flame too early."

"What do you want from me?" Ian asked.

"Nothing," Xul’Vek said. "This is not a bargain. This is a judgment. As much your Judgement as it is mine."

He turned to face him fully. "And you’ve passed."

Light burst.

—

The world tore itself back together.

Screams. Silence. Echoes of madness burned away.

And then—solid ground. Air. Light.

Caelen coughed, staggering upright.

Lyra gasped beside him. "That was... that was horrible."

Ian stood alone a few paces away, his back to them, his cloak still smoldering with shadow.

The three of them stood before Blackfall, the gate of dark light that fell from the heavens.

Behind it: sky.

Open sky.

They were outside Hellscape.

The Black Fall Gate stood open before them, wide and eternal.

The Reach was behind them.

They had cleared it.

They had been deemed worthy.

The Prophet of Death walked forward in silence, the echoes of a forgotten war stirring behind his eyes.

And far away, in a crumbling throne of bone and silence, Xul’Vek the Wretched closed his eyes, and remembered.