The submarine shuddered again.
Water sprayed from the crack in the viewport, cold and relentless. The demons outside pressed against the hull, their claws scraping, their eyes glowing through the darkness like drowned stars.
Aurelion raised Gatekeeper. The blade blazed with crimson light, illuminating the cabin.
"Corrin, Kael—get the suits ready. Ami, with me."
Ami was already at his side. "What's the plan?"
"Buy time."
He moved to the crack in the viewport. The glass was spiderwebbed, seconds away from shattering. Through the fractured surface, he could see the demons—dozens of them, circling, waiting, hunting.
He pressed Gatekeeper's edge against the glass.
"Back up," he said.
The viewport shattered.
Water exploded into the cabin—cold, crushing, absolute. But Aurelion was already moving, Gatekeeper swinging in a wide arc. The blade's crimson light cut through the water like a beacon, and the demons recoiled.
Not from the blade. From the light.
"They don't like it," Ami shouted.
"Then we give them more."
He pushed mana into Gatekeeper. The shard flared, and a wave of crimson energy burst from the blade, pushing back the water, pushing back the demons, pushing back the darkness itself.
The submarine stabilized. The pilot shouted something unintelligible. Corrin and Kael were already in their suits, hauling the others toward the airlock.
"We're going out!" Aurelion said. "Get to the city!"
"Are you insane?" the pilot yelled.
"Yes."
The airlock cycled.
The water rushed in.
And Aurelion stepped into the abyss.
The pressure was immense—a weight that pressed against his suit, his bones, his will. But Gatekeeper's light held it back, creating a pocket of warmth in the freezing dark.
The demons circled, hesitant now. The crimson light confused them, burned them, made them hesitate.
Ami emerged beside him, her blade drawn. Corrin and Kael followed, Kael's pistols already firing.
"Go!" Aurelion shouted. "The city!"
They swam.
The city loomed ahead—spires and pyramids, streets and plazas, all of it impossibly preserved. The buildings were covered in symbols that caught Gatekeeper's light, glowing faintly in response.
The demons pursued, but they were slower now. The light was a barrier they couldn't cross.
Aurelion swam toward the pyramid at the city's center.
The structure was even larger than it had appeared from the submarine. Its base stretched for hundreds of meters, its sides covered in carvings that told a story he couldn't read.
But he recognized the symbols.
The spiral. Always the spiral.
He landed at the base of the pyramid, his boots touching stone that had not been touched by anything in millennia.
Ami landed beside him, gasping.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"I've been better." She looked up at the pyramid. "What is this place?"
"An answer. I hope."
They moved toward the pyramid's entrance.
The doors were open—massive slabs of black stone, carved with the same spiraling symbols. They had been opened recently. The tracks in the sediment were fresh.
"Someone's been here," Kael said.
"Someone still is," Aurelion replied.
The interior was dark, but Gatekeeper's light pushed back the shadows.
The walls were covered in murals—gigantic, ancient, depicting scenes of war and peace, of kings and queens, of a world that had existed before recorded history.
Corrin was already studying them, his voice distant with awe.
"This is... this is the First Kingdom. The texts were right. It was real."
"What happened to it?" Ami asked.
Corrin pointed at a mural. "They sealed something. Something they couldn't destroy."
Aurelion followed his gaze.
The mural showed a door. A gate. The same gate he had seen in his dreams, in Zarveth's throne room, in the temple beneath the crater.
And standing before it, a figure.
White-haired. Silver-armored.
Him.
"What is that?" Ami whispered.
Aurelion didn't answer.
He walked toward the mural, his hand outstretched.
The memory hit him like a wave.
Snow.
Darkness.
A scream from beyond the gate.
A figure falling to their knees.
A voice, ancient and desperate.
"The First King..."
He pulled his hand back, gasping.
Ami caught him. "Aurelion—"
"I'm fine."
"You're not."
He looked at the mural. At the white-haired figure.
The First King, he thought. That's what they called him.
But who was he?
And why did he look like me?
The demons did not follow them into the pyramid.
The light from Gatekeeper had driven them back, and now they circled outside, their glowing eyes fixed on the entrance.
Aurelion stood at the threshold, watching them.
"They're waiting," Kael said.
"For what?"
"For us to come out. Or for something else to come out first."
Aurelion touched the wall. The symbols pulsed.
"Then we don't come out. Not yet."
The expedition moved deeper into the pyramid.
The corridors were narrow, lined with more murals, more symbols. The air was cold and still, untouched by the currents outside.
Corrin was at the front, his notes forgotten, his eyes fixed on the walls.
"These carvings—they're not just records. They're warnings."
"Warnings of what?" Ami asked.
Corrin stopped at a mural that showed the gate—the same gate, but this time it was open. Darkness poured out, consuming everything in its path. Figures fell. Cities crumbled. The world ended.
"Of what happens if the gate opens," he said.
Aurelion studied the mural.
"How do we stop it?"
Corrin pointed at the white-haired figure. "He stood before the gate. Alone. And held it shut."
"Who was he?"
Corrin shook his head. "The text doesn't say. Just... The First King."
The corridor opened into a vast chamber.
At its center, a pedestal. And on the pedestal, a shard.
Aurelion's breath caught.
The shard was identical to the ones in Gatekeeper—obsidian, pulsing with crimson light. But larger. More powerful.
He walked toward it, his hand outstretched.
"Aurelion," Ami said. "Be careful."
"I know."
He touched the shard.
The world disappeared.
Not faded—vanished. He was no longer in the pyramid, no longer in the city. He was standing in a void, surrounded by shadows and light and something that was neither.
And before him, the gate.
Not a mural. The real gate. Enormous, dark, bound in chains of shadow and light. The chains were cracking. Light bled through the cracks—not golden, not crimson, just... absence.
Behind the gate, something pressed.
Not a hand. Not a face. A weight. A hunger. A patience that had endured for millennia.
And a voice.
Not heard. Felt.
"Help me hold it."
Aurelion turned.
The white-haired figure stood behind him. Not a ghost—a presence. His face was blurry, indistinct, but his voice was clear.
"Please."
The chains cracked.
"It's almost through."
The vision ended.
Aurelion was back in the chamber, his hand still on the shard. Ami was shaking him. Corrin and Kael were shouting.
He pulled his hand away.
The shard went dark.
"I'm fine," he said.
"You were gone for ten seconds," Ami said.
"Ten seconds?"
"You were staring at nothing. Not responding. We thought you were dead."
He looked at the shard. It was cold now, inert.
"I saw the gate," he said. "The real gate. And I saw him—the white-haired figure. He was holding it shut."
"He's still alive?"
Aurelion shook his head. "I don't know."
The expedition left the pyramid an hour later.
The shard was strapped to Aurelion's back, joining the others. Gatekeeper hummed with new energy, the blade pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat.
The demons were still circling, but they were fewer now. The light from Gatekeeper had driven most of them away.
"We need to get back to the submarine," Ami said.
"We need to get back to the surface," Corrin added. "I need to study these carvings. This changes everything."
Aurelion looked at the city. At the spires and pyramids, silent and waiting.
What are you? he thought. Who built you?
And why do I feel like I belong here?
He turned and swam toward the submarine.
Behind him, the city waited.