POV 1: Reina Morales – Recon Sub Starlance

Location: Southern Abyss Trench, Antarctica – Ascending Toward Ice Shelf

Reina gritted her teeth as the Starlance groaned against the crushing depths. The shockwave from Solomon’s transformation had damaged more than just hull plating. The reactor output was unstable, and the navigation thrusters barely responded. She worked the manual controls, sweat trickling under her helmet despite the freezing cabin.

She glanced at the external feed. Solomon Kane hovered just ahead, the water parting around him as if reality bent to his presence. That armor—black and fluid, streaked with abyssal etchings—didn’t just shimmer. It pulsed. Alive.

“Solomon,” she said into the comms, her voice strained. “We can’t stay down here. The sub’s not going to hold much longer.”

“I know,” came his voice—deeper, slower, but still him. “Stay behind me. I’ll clear the path.”

“What the hell does that even mean?”

But she didn’t argue further. She trusted him.

The abyss stirred beneath them.

For a moment, Reina saw movement in the distance—immense, slow, serpentine. Not alive, not in the conventional sense, but ancient, crawling at the edges of space and memory. She blinked—and it was gone. But the water around them remained dark, unnaturally dark.

Then Solomon raised his hand, and from his palm, a web of flickering glyphs spiraled outward like sonar. The trench reacted. Currents shifted. Barriers bent. The ancient constructs down here—those dead and dreaming remnants—recognized him.

The waters parted.

The Starlance followed its knight toward the surface.

POV 2: Jamie Lancaster – Geneva, Elven Archives Sublevel Theta-7

The archive door slid open with a hiss and a low harmonic chime that made her ears ache.

Jamie stepped into the vault beneath Geneva—the one the Elves insisted never existed.

The room was impossibly vast, built in a circular spiral, carved not with human tools but Elven thought-magic and reinforced with something older—something not Elven at all. The stone here was embedded with fragments of nightglass and abyssal ore, subtle pulses echoing like heartbeats in the walls.

She descended past sealed tomes and stasis-scrolls until she reached the core terminal. A pedestal of pale crystal jutted from the floor, surrounded by concentric rings of glyphs.

“Okay,” she whispered, sliding the hacked interface node into place. “Time to learn what even the Elves were scared to remember.”

A projection bloomed—dozens of layers at once, flickering between language states. It wasn’t just Elven. Some were in Proto-Aurelian, and others in what her translation AI identified as Nullscript—a language designed to erase itself upon comprehension.

She isolated the search string: SEVEN SEALS.

The projection shifted. A map appeared—not of Earth, but of the Multiversal Lattice. It showed the cosmic web of leyline flows across multiple realities, and seven junction points where ancient constructs anchored existence. Some were in long-dead universes. Three remained intact. Two were fractured.

And one, the one beneath Antarctica, now glowed black.

A final seal, untouched, was marked GATE ZERO—location unknown. Hidden even from Elven records.

The deeper she dug, the more she saw:

* The Abyss Knights were born not of war, but necessity. Gatekeepers. Memory-wielders.

* The Watchers in the Shadow were the second wave—sent not to destroy, but to observe what even gods dared not gaze upon.

* Forestia, Earth, even the Elven pantheon… were byproducts of a long-forgotten containment effort.

* Queen Elara’s True Gate… was never Elven to begin with.

Jamie backed away, chest tight.

“They lied to everyone…”

POV 3: Queen Elara – Forestia, True Gate Chamber

The void-being still stood before her, though its presence warped the chamber, forcing even High Elves to avert their eyes.

“I have seen the human,” Elara said at last. “He wears your mark. But I do not trust him.”

“Trust is irrelevant,” the being replied. “He remembers. You do not.”

Vyelar stepped forward, braver than the others. “Why him? Why awaken the Abyss Knights through a human? Why not one of us?”

“You are children of derivative thought,” the being said. “Born from the scraps of forgotten wars. He, however, carries the spark of Original Memory.”

Elara’s hands trembled at her sides. For a moment, she remembered her childhood dream—a spiraling flame devouring stars. Her priestesses had told her it was a vision from Luna. Now she wasn’t so sure.

“You said I must choose,” Elara said, stepping closer. “But choose what, exactly?”

The void-being turned toward the Gate.

“To awaken your memory, or remain blind. If you open the second layer of the Gate, your people will remember their origin. Their true origin. But some may not survive the return of that knowledge.”

“What happens if I refuse?”

“Then the Watchers will choose for you.”

The Gate pulsed again. Within its frame, Solomon Kane stood at the edge of the world—armor burning against the white of the Antarctic.

Elara closed her eyes.

“Then I will remember.”

POV 4: Solomon Kane – Surface Ice, Antarctica

The wind battered him, but the storm no longer touched him. His armor shimmered against the elements, his presence distorting the ley currents around the world’s southern pole.

He knelt beside the abyssal glyph he’d carved—a spiral wrapped around a crescent. An ancient signal. A warning. And a beacon.

As he etched it deeper into the ice, a pulse rippled outward. The signal would travel not just through Earth—but through the lattice of forgotten gates across all realms. It was time to wake the others.

He turned as Reina emerged from the damaged Starlance, wrapped in a thermal cloak.

“Signal sent?” she asked.

“Yes. They’ll feel it.”

“Who?”

“Those who remember. Or those who were made to forget.”

He paused, and then looked up—past the aurora, into the veil between stars.

“They’re coming. Not the Elves. Not the Watchers. The True Forgotten. The ones we locked away.”

Reina stepped back, eyes wide. “So what now?”

He stood, his blade reforming into a staff of shifting glass and shadow.

“Now we buy time. Or we burn it.”

POV 5: Jamie Lancaster – Geneva, UN Arcology Rooftop

She sprinted across the rooftop with a hard drive in her bag and a pair of Elven scouts on her heels.

The diplomatic breach she’d committed by accessing the Archive would cost her everything—if she survived long enough to be prosecuted.

But none of that mattered.

She uploaded the decrypted files to the private satellite network tied to Solomon’s last known location. As the signal reached orbit, a burst of old code transmitted in Abyssal Pattern Language.

Far above, hidden relay satellites activated—ones built long before humanity’s first city-states. Monitoring devices left dormant until now.

They woke.

And someone out there—something

—acknowledged the signal.

Her eyes widened as her satellite feed showed the Antarctic storm bending unnaturally. Like something vast was turning its attention back to Earth.

He wasn’t the only one waking up.

POV 6: Queen Elara – Hours Later, Forestia’s Inner Moonlight Temple

Elara stood in silence as the priests screamed behind her. The Remembrance Rite was underway.

A circle of elder priestesses surrounded her, channeling the second layer of the True Gate directly into her mind. Glyphs long lost to Elven culture bloomed in the air—runes that bent light into memory, sound into time.

And Elara remembered.

Not as Queen. Not even as Elf.

But as one of the last Witnesses of the First Gatefall.

A world of silver trees and black suns. A time when Elara stood beside the first Abyss Knights—watching as they sealed the Wound at the heart of the Lattice. She had helped. She had sacrificed her own name, her own race, to ensure the Watchers remained bound.

And then she had chosen amnesia, given to her by Luna herself.

Now she remembered. And the weight of that memory shattered part of her.

But she stood.

And whispered: “We were never meant to rule. We were meant to guard.”

POV 7: Solomon Kane – Standing Beneath Aurora, Final Scene

He stood atop a jagged ice cliff, watching as the aurora convulsed like a living wound.

Behind him, he heard a note—a low chime like the breathing of a dying universe.

He turned—and saw her.

Queen Elara. Projected through the aurora itself, a figure of moonlight and memory. Her silver crown dimmed, her eyes no longer filled with arrogance, but with truth.

“I remember now,” she said.

Solomon nodded.

“Then you know what’s coming.”

She looked past him, toward the trench.

“There were seven Abyss Knights,” she said. “Only one survived. And now…”

“Now there are two who remember,” Solomon said.

They stood in silence.

The sky cracked.

And far beyond the stars, something vast and hungry stirred.