POV 1: Solomon Kane – Subterranean Abyss, Beneath Antarctica

The descent had become a crawl.

Solomon Kane, bruised and breathless, gritted his teeth as he followed the flickering light of Reina’s plasma torch. The Starlance had been damaged by the shockwave from the living pyramid. Now, with only fragments of their operational equipment and dwindling oxygen, they crept deeper into the tunnels beneath Antarctica’s ice shelf—through obsidian corridors that had no right to exist on Earth.

The walls breathed. Not figuratively—literally. The stone pulsed faintly, in rhythm with something ancient and slow, like the heartbeat of a planet that had been asleep far too long.

“Left venting is failing,” Reina whispered behind her mask. “We’re burning recycled breath.”

Solomon tapped his suit's control pad. “Two hours max, if we’re lucky.”

She said nothing. She just pointed.

Ahead, the tunnel opened into a vast underground chamber. Suspended in its center, weightless yet unmoving, was a black obelisk etched with glyphs that shifted when looked at directly. Around it stood statues, dozens—no, hundreds—of beings that resembled neither elves nor humans. Their elongated faces were serene. Their eyes were sealed shut. Their limbs coiled like roots, and their bodies had an architecture of design rather than evolution.

Reina took a step forward. “What… are these?”

Solomon felt the pressure in his skull rise again. A hum. A word. A warning.

“Witness.”

And then—eyes opened.

The statues weren’t statues.

They breathed.

POV 2: Jamie Lancaster – UN Scientific Core, Geneva

Jamie’s fingers flew across the digital interface, isolating the signals received from the last burst transmission from the Starlance before it vanished.

“The waveform pattern—this isn’t a language we know,” her assistant murmured.

“It’s not language. It’s intention,” Jamie replied. “It’s emotional compression. These things… they don’t communicate through sound. They imprint meaning.”

The translation algorithm stuttered, broke, then reformed. Fragments of impressions slid across the screen:

* First Awakening Failed.

* Seal Breached.

* Reclamation Protocol Active.

* Primordial Vector: Earth.

Jamie backed away. “Oh no. Oh no.”

A security alert chimed. Then another. Then fifteen more. Screens flashed red.

“Antarctic surface—Forward Bases Alpha through Delta—gone.”

Her grandfather, now an advisor to the Council, stepped in beside her. “What the hell’s happening?”

Jamie looked him dead in the eye.

“They’re not just waking up… They’re reclaiming.”

POV 3: Princess Dyana von Forestia – Geneva Defense Nexus

The table vibrated as another tremor struck—distant but unmissable.

Dyana’s silver-blonde hair shimmered under the emergency lighting. Around her, Earth’s military brass shouted over one another—debating evacuation, containment, retaliation. But Dyana was still, eyes closed, breathing shallowly.

“You feel it,” Isabella said beside her.

Dyana nodded. “It’s like standing on Luna’s altar… during an eclipse.”

“Can the Royal Elves contain this?” Isabella asked.

Dyana opened her eyes. “Not unless we bring every priestess from Forestia and even then—no. These things aren’t from our world.”

General Koizumi from Japan’s Strategic Corps slammed a fist on the table. “Then we need to bury the site. Nukes.”

“No,” Dyana snapped, voice colder than frost. “You bury what you understand. This isn’t a threat. It’s an inversion. Your physics won’t obey you there. Your weapons may not either.”

The room quieted.

“Then what do you propose?” asked a cautious voice.

Dyana stood. “We reopen the Celestial Passage.”

A gasp.

“You want to go back to Forestia?” someone said.

“No,” she answered. “I want to bring Forestia’s Seers here.”

POV 4: Queen Elara – The True Gate Complex, Forestia

The Gate had not closed.

It pulsed, like a wound in the world.

Elara stood before it, the blood of seven priests still wet on her robe. Vyelar lay unconscious behind her—burned by the backlash of summoning. Beyond the shimmering surface, she could see them now: the walkers without time. The Pale Architects. The First-born of Silence.

And they were watching her

.

One of them stepped forward. Its body shimmered in and out of existence, not as illusion but as disobedience—its form refused to obey reality’s terms.

“You opened the Gate,” it said. Its voice was a choir of things. “Therefore, you are Keeper.”

“I am Queen Elara of Forestia,” she said.

“You are Keeper,” the entity repeated. “You have bound your world by the Rite of Witness. You must choose.”

“Choose what?” she demanded.

A sphere of memory rose between them—an image of Earth, not as it was, but as it had been. Lush. Untouched. One continent.

Then came the fractures. The searing of ley lines. The arrival of the First Rift.

“You sealed us once. In fear. In arrogance. Now, you will help us return.”

Elara clenched her fists. “If I refuse?”

“You cannot. It has already begun.”

POV 5: Dyug – Earth Orbital Research Station

Dyug snapped awake.

Alarms blared. The ship rotated.

Mary, restrained by her harness, screamed something—but he couldn’t hear it through the pressure in his skull. He grabbed the wall, disoriented.

The stars outside the viewport shifted.

No—space was folding. Below them, Earth shimmered… and so did something else. A shadow within the ocean. Vast. Circular.

“Dyug!” Mary shouted. “The Eye! It’s awakening!”

He remembered the visions now.

When he’d been in stasis, drifting between life and death, he had seen a door beneath the waves. An eye watching from inside Earth’s crust. It hadn’t come through a gate.

It had waited.

And now, it rose.

POV 6: Solomon Kane – Deep Chamber, Antarctic Catacombs

The obelisk had cracked.

The beings that surrounded it began to hum—not a song, but a frequency that distorted time around them. Solomon watched as Reina fell to her knees, weeping uncontrollably. Her nose bled. Her breath steamed.

“They’re singing…” she gasped. “It’s so beautiful—”

“No,” Solomon said. “Don’t listen.”

The largest of the beings stepped forward. Its voice was no longer a whisper, but a command.

“You are marked.”

“By who?” Solomon growled.

“By silence.”

A beam of light struck his chest—not burning, but binding. He fell to one knee, memories unraveling in flashes: the war in Antarctica, the Ravager Gate, the first elf he ever killed, the last one he let live.

And then, something else: a child’s face—his daughter?

No. Not his.

Someone else’s.

The being leaned closer.

“You are anchor. You hold the lock. You will choose the seal or the shatter.”

And just like that—Solomon understood.

POV 7: Jamie Lancaster – UN Command, Geneva

The satellite feeds went black—one by one. The southern hemisphere’s sky turned faintly red, not with fire, but distortion. Clouds twisted. Weather patterns failed.

Jamie grabbed the communicator.

“Get me Solomon. Get me anyone.”

There was no answer.

Until—

A single voice on all frequencies. Not human. Not Elven.

But clear.

“The world you built stands upon our bones.”

Then silence.

Then…

A second voice. A child. Human. Whispering.

“Mom… they’re waking up. And they’re hungry.”

Jamie dropped the comm.

“Grandfather,” she said breathlessly, “we have to evacuate.”

Admiral Lancaster turned to her. “Evacuate where?”

And Jamie, for once, had no answer.