Chapter 98: Echoes Before the Gate
The snow whispered beneath their boots.
Isaac and Lira stood at the edge of the plateau, gazing down at a wide clearing flanked by jagged cliffs and twisted frost-covered stone. And at its center—partially buried in ice and ancient earth—stood a colossal gate of smooth black stone, veined with glowing glyphs.
It hummed softly. As if breathing.
The Tomb of Takeshi Silverveil had no fanfare, no heraldry.
But it didn't need it.
It radiated history.
"Charming place," Lira muttered. "Cold, quiet, and probably cursed."
Isaac said nothing. His eyes were on the other figures already present.
Because they were not alone.
To the east, elegant silver-blue tents stood arranged in perfect geometric precision. Elven banners fluttered in the wind, and protective wards shimmered along the snow like ripples on glass.
Among them stood Sylvalen Thalara, dressed in a moon-gray cloak that seemed to drink the light. She stood still, unreadable, flanked by quiet, alert guards. Her gaze never left the tomb.
To the west, a wall of armored warriors held position, steam rising from their breath. Dragonkin—each one taller than a man, plated in windsteel and marked by the insignia of the Tyranthian Skyscourge Line.
At their center stood Prince Volmyr—his golden horns gleaming in the cold, his cape trailing in the wind like molten silk. He did not pace. He did not speak.
He simply watched.
And farther back, lounging atop a collapsed pillar as if he owned the world, was a lean, silver-haired man in a white longcoat trimmed with static-blue thread.
Atheon, the Bastard Demigod of Lightning.
He raised a floating goblet and grinned the moment he saw Isaac.
"Well, well," Atheon called, voice smooth and thunder-tinged. "The Ghostblade joins the party. I was starting to think you'd gotten lost."
Isaac didn't answer.
His attention was fixed on the tomb gate.
Because something had just changed.
The glyphs across its surface flickered—once, twice—then glowed brighter as he stepped onto the snow-covered circle of stones surrounding it.
A deep, thrumming vibration passed through the ground.
He felt it in his chest.
The phantom blade—Silverveil, the one he had recorded with [Armament Phantom]—responded. Not aloud. Not with voice or heat.
But with recognition.
As if part of its original self lay behind that gate.
The light on the tomb shimmered once—then faded.
Quiet returned.
But everyone had seen it.
Prince Volmyr narrowed his eyes.
Sylvalen's head tilted slightly.
Atheon's smirk sharpened. "Oh? And here I thought you were just here to watch. Looks like the tomb has a favorite already."
A low hum of whispers traveled among the watching retainers.
Lira stepped slightly closer to Isaac and muttered, "Well. Subtlety's out the window."
Isaac exhaled slowly. "It always was."
Then Sylvalen stepped forward.
She walked calmly, deliberately, cloak trailing behind her like moonlight.
When she reached them, her eyes met Isaac's.
"You didn't cast a spell," she said evenly.
"No."
"But the tomb reacted to you."
"It responded to something I carry," Isaac said. "Or maybe something I am."
She glanced at the glyphs. "Do you know what this means?"
"I do," he replied. "Now everyone else does too."
A pause.
Then Sylvalen said, "Walk with me."
Before Isaac could reply, Lira stepped forward, boots crunching over the snow.
"He doesn't walk alone," she said flatly.
Sylvalen blinked once, then turned her gaze. "Lira, isn't it? The lightning-user. Sharp tongue."
Lira gave her a half-smile. "That's me. Still sharp."
"I don't recall inviting you."
Isaac cut in, voice calm but firm. "Where I walk, she walks."
Sylvalen studied them both for a long breath.
Then nodded once.
"Then walk with us."
They circled the edge of the tomb site, keeping a careful distance from the other factions.
Atheon watched them from his perch, lightning crackling faintly across his fingers. Volmyr made no move, but two of his guards subtly shifted formation, just enough to block any quick retreat.
The Spiral emissary stood farther off, alone, whispering softly to the stone.
Sylvalen didn't speak until they reached a point beyond the others' hearing.
Then she turned.
"You understand what just happened," she said.
Isaac nodded. "The tomb responded. That makes me a key. Or a target."
"Likely both," she said. "Volmyr won't strike first. But he'll challenge you if he thinks you're claiming something sacred. Atheon will provoke. And the Spiral cultists…" She didn't finish.
Lira folded her arms. "They're never just here to 'observe.'"
Sylvalen looked at Isaac. "Which is why I offer you this—an alliance."
He raised a brow. "An alliance… or a leash?"
"No leash," she said. "No oaths. No collar. I'm not here to bind you."
She looked at Lira too.
"I offer support. Medical teams. Magical analysts. Safe passage through Elaraiyan lands if this tomb leads elsewhere. In return… I walk beside you when the gate opens. I see what you see."
Isaac narrowed his eyes. "Why?"
"Because I don't believe in collecting relics," she said. "I believe in understanding them. If this tomb contains the will or memories of Takeshi Silverveil—if it explains how he rose to threaten the divine—then that truth shouldn't be locked behind borders or politics. I want to learn it."
Isaac was silent for a long moment.
Then he said, "You had leverage. You didn't use it."
"I use what works."
He extended his hand. "Then I accept."
She took it.
And just as she began to withdraw, Lira slapped her hand over both of theirs.
"Okay, weird elf pact sealed," she said. "Do we spit in our palms now or just glare dramatically?"
Sylvalen raised an eyebrow, but a faint smile touched her lips. "Unexpected. But acceptable."
Isaac sighed. "Just go with it."
Across the ridge, Atheon watched the handshake and laughed.
"Well now," he murmured, sipping from his goblet. "This is going to be fun."
Volmyr said nothing.
But for the first time, he moved.
And behind them, the tomb remained sealed.
But the air had changed.
The gate had recognized someone.
And the world would never forget who.