The repairs took two days.
Submarine One had been battered, its hull scarred, its systems damaged. But the engineers worked quickly, replacing the cracked viewport, reinforcing the hull, upgrading the weapons systems.
Aurelion watched from the edge of the platform as they installed the new turrets.
They were sleek, compact, designed for underwater combat. Instead of torpedoes, they fired concentrated beams of mana-infused energy—lasers that could cut through demon flesh like paper.
"Impressive," Corrin said, appearing beside him.
"Very."
"Kael's been eyeing them all morning."
"Let him. He'll get his chance."
Kael was already at the control station, his hands hovering over the laser interface. His eyes were bright, focused, hungry.
"These are beautiful," he said.
"They're weapons."
"They're beautiful weapons."
Aurelion almost smiled. "Try not to break them."
"I make no promises."
The descent was scheduled for dawn.
Aurelion stood at the edge of the platform, Gatekeeper in his hand, the shards on his back humming softly. The city was down there, waiting. The truth was down there, waiting.
Ami joined him, her arm finally out of the sling. The medics had cleared her—not fully, but enough. She could fight.
"You're ready?" she asked.
"I'm ready."
"Good. Because I'm not letting you go down there alone."
He almost smiled. "I know."
The submarine descended.
The light faded quickly. The world outside became a deep, eternal blue, then black. The pressure groaned against the hull. The temperature dropped.
Aurelion sat in the front, Gatekeeper across his knees. The shards on his back hummed in harmony, their light pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat.
Ami sat beside him. Corrin and Kael were in the back, checking their equipment, their faces set with quiet determination.
"Two hours," the pilot announced. "We're making good time."
"Keep your eyes open," Aurelion said. "The demons will be waiting."
They came at the halfway point.
A shape in the darkness—large, moving fast. The pilot saw it first.
"Contact! Starboard side!"
The submarine shuddered as something slammed into the hull. Then another. Then another.
"Kael!" Aurelion shouted. "Light them up!"
Kael's hands flew across the interface. The turrets swiveled, locked on, and fired.
Beams of concentrated energy lanced through the water, cutting into the demon formation. The creatures scattered, their glowing eyes flickering with confusion.
"One down!" Kael called out. "Two! Three!"
The lasers carved through the demons, but more kept coming. They were relentless, driven by something that wasn't hunger—something darker.
"They're testing us," Aurelion said. "They want to see what we can do."
"Then let's show them."
The battle lasted ten minutes.
Kael was a whirlwind at the controls, his fingers dancing across the interface, his eyes tracking the demons with predatory precision. Every shot found its mark. Every laser carved through another creature.
"Twenty-three," he counted. "Twenty-four. Twenty-five."
"Save some for us," Corrin muttered.
"Never."
Aurelion stood at the viewport, watching the creatures circle. They were slower now, more cautious. The lasers had bought them time.
They're not trying to kill us, he realized. They're trying to delay us.
They want to keep us from reaching the city.
"We need to go faster," he said.
The pilot looked at him. "The hull can't take—"
"We need to go faster."
The pilot nodded and pushed the throttle forward.
The city appeared in the distance.
But it was different now. The symbols on the walls were pulsing faster, their light brighter, their rhythm more frantic.
The demons fell back.
"They're retreating," Ami said.
"They're not retreating. They're regrouping."
The submarine settled near the pyramid's base. The airlock cycled. Aurelion stepped into the water.
The cold was immediate, but he barely noticed. The shards on his back hummed with anticipation.
"Follow me," he said. "Stay close. Stay alive."
They swam toward the entrance.
The chamber was waiting.
Deeper than the last. Darker. The symbols on the walls were older—more worn, more faded. But they were still visible.
And at the center of the chamber, a pedestal.
And on the pedestal, a shard.
Aurelion walked toward it, his hand reaching out.
"Careful," Ami said.
"I know."
He touched the shard.
The vision came without warning.
He was standing in a throne room—not the Hall of Kings, but a different place. A place he had never seen.
Before him, a figure sat on a throne of obsidian and bone.
The First King.
But he was not a prisoner. He was not bound.
He was seated.
"You have come," the First King said.
"I have come."
"You seek the truth."
"I seek understanding."
The First King leaned forward. His face was blurry, indistinct, but his voice was clear.
"Then listen."
The vision faded.
Aurelion stood in the chamber, his hand still on the shard, his heart pounding. The image of the First King lingered in his mind—the throne, the words, the sense of something vast and ancient pressing against his consciousness.
Then the shard began to move.
Slowly at first. A faint rotation, almost imperceptible. But then it grew faster, spinning in place, its light pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat.
"What's happening?" Ami asked.
Aurelion didn't answer. He couldn't.
The shard was pulling at him—not physically, but deeper. The other shards on his back were responding, humming in harmony, resonating with the spinning piece in his hand.
Then they moved.
The shards on his back—the ones he had collected from the temple, from the pyramid, from the depths—began to vibrate. They lifted from their harness, hovering in the air behind him.
Then they shot forward.
But they weren't alone.
Gatekeeper began to tremble in his grip. The blade pulsed wildly, its crimson veins flaring, then dimming, then flaring again. The shard embedded in the sword—the one he had forged into the blade—was being pulled.
Aurelion tried to hold on. His grip tightened. His knuckles went white.
But the shard wanted to be free.
The blade cracked. A fissure ran along its length, glowing with white-hot light. The runes on the surface flickered and died.
"No," Aurelion breathed. "Not again—"
The blade shattered.
Gatekeeper exploded into a thousand pieces, the shard at its core flying free. The fragments scattered across the chamber, glittering in the dim light.
Aurelion was left holding nothing but the hilt.
Goddammit, he thought. I just forged this. I just—NOT AGAIN.
The shard from Gatekeeper joined the others, hovering in the air, spinning in a circle around him.
Then, together, they shot forward.
They slammed into his back—not against him, through him. He felt them pierce his skin, his muscle, his bone, burying themselves deep within his body. The pain was excruciating, white-hot, absolute.
He screamed.
Not a battle cry—a sound of pure, unfiltered agony. His body convulsed. His vision went white. His hands clawed at the air, trying to find something to hold onto.
"AURELION!"
Ami's voice, distant, muffled, as if she was shouting through water. He couldn't respond. Couldn't think. Couldn't do anything but feel the shards burning their way into his flesh.
I just healed, he thought through the haze of pain. I just healed. I just forged that sword. And now—AGAIN.
The shards settled deep within him—not in his chest, not in his organs, but in his soul. He could feel them, a warmth that spread through his body, through his veins, through his very being.
The water around them began to move.
Not flowing—receding. As if something was pushing it away, creating a pocket of air around them. The pressure lessened. The cold faded. They were being lowered to the seabed, the water parting like a curtain before them.
Aurelion's body lifted into the air.
Not by his own will—by the power of the shards. He floated above the stone floor, his limbs hanging limp, his eyes closed, his body convulsing with the energy coursing through him.
Mana swirled around him—not just mana, but something else. Something older. Something that felt like the gate, like the First King, like the weight of centuries pressing against his consciousness.
The shards began to glow.
Through his skin, through his flesh, through his very bones. He could see the light beneath his skin—crimson and white, swirling together, merging into something new.
The pain faded.
Not completely—but enough. Enough for him to think, to breathe, to see.
The shards were inside him now. Part of him. They had been separate, scattered, waiting. Now they were whole.
And they had chosen him.
He lowered to the ground.
His feet touched the stone. His body was healed—the wounds from the shards' passage had closed, the scars faded, the pain gone.
He opened his eyes.
Ami was staring at him, her face pale, her hand reaching toward him. Corrin and Kael were behind her, their weapons forgotten, their eyes wide.
"Aurelion?" Ami's voice was barely a whisper. "Are you… are you okay?"
He looked at his hands. They were steady. His body was whole.
He looked at what remained of Gatekeeper—a hilt, useless and cold, still clutched in his fingers.
The sword was gone.
He let the hilt fall. It clattered against the stone.
"I'm fine," he said. "I'm… I'm more than fine."
He touched his chest. The shards were there, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat. He could feel them—not as foreign objects, but as part of him.
The Convergence, he thought. That's what this is.
The shards were meant to be whole.
And I was meant to carry them.
The water came crashing back down.
Not gently—violently. The bubble of air collapsed, the pressure returning in an instant. The cold engulfed them, the darkness swallowing the chamber.