CHAPTER 1540: STORY 1540: THE WEIGHT OF CHAINS

The battlefield was a grave of silence, broken only by the voice that crawled through marrow and thought. “One chain breaks for every drop of blood...” The words reverberated, not as sound, but as truth seared into the bones of all who stood before the Gate.

Kael’s chest heaved. He saw it in their faces—the survivors, hollow-eyed, trembling, staring at their bloodied hands as though their very struggle had already betrayed them. The scarred woman rose slowly, her spear steady though her body shook. Her voice cracked with conviction, sharpened by despair. “You heard him. Every fight, every cry, feeds him. And that thing—” she thrust her weapon toward the Ashborn Child, “—is the feast.”

Elara clutched the child tighter, flames wreathing her shoulders though they sputtered weakly. Her voice rang out, fierce despite exhaustion. “No! It holds him! If it dies, nothing holds the chains. You’ll set him free with your own hands!”

The survivors wavered, torn between her fire and the scarred woman’s iron. Blades shook in their hands. The ember-wrought soldiers stood still, their ember eyes fixed on the child, guardians not of the survivors but of the Gate’s will.

Kael forced himself between them all, jagged blade raised though his arms trembled from exhaustion. His voice thundered against the whispers. “Listen to me! He twists your fear, your rage, your blood! That’s his weapon. Not the child. Not Elara. It’s you!”

But even as he spoke, the truth he feared clawed deeper into him. How many chains had already snapped from the slaughter? How many had he himself broken with his blade?

The child whimpered, ember-light flickering violently. The Gate answered, the chains groaning, glowing brighter with each tremor. The Unborn’s laugh rumbled from within—low, patient, terrible.

The scarred woman’s eyes burned as she leveled her spear at Kael. “If you won’t end it, warrior, then you’ve already chosen him over us.”

Her followers stirred, blades rising once more. A few stepped toward Kael, desperation etched into every movement. Others held back, torn, their faith fraying.

Kael’s body screamed for rest, but he raised his blade higher, blood dripping from his torn palms. “Then strike me first. But know this—every cut, every drop spilled, breaks his chains faster. If you kill us, you’re not saving yourselves. You’re handing him the world.”

The words hung heavy, smoldering in the ash-thick air. The scarred woman hesitated, her grip faltering for a heartbeat.

And in that pause, the earth convulsed.

The Cinder Gate shook violently, a sound like mountains grinding together. One of the colossal chains cracked, a shattering roar that echoed across the plains. A link the size of a house burst apart, molten fragments raining into the dust.

The survivors screamed, some collapsing, others fleeing from the fiery shrapnel. The ember-wrought soldiers bowed their heads as though in reverence.

From within, the voice swelled, no longer a whisper but a promise: “One chain falls. Nine remain.”

Kael stared at the glowing ruin of the shattered link, his blade shaking in his hand.

They were running out of blood to spill. And faster still, they were running out of chains.