CHAPTER 1551: STORY 1551: EMBERS OF BINDING

The sky blazed with latticework fire, chains reforged into a living web that glowed against the Gate’s fury. The battlefield, once drowning in flame and blood, stood in stunned silence. Survivors—those few who remained—stared upward, eyes wide, breaths ragged.

For the first time since the shattering began, the Gate faltered. Its roar turned guttural, strained, as though dragged backward by unseen hands. The fissure trembled, closing by inches, the Unborn’s vast silhouette writhing in resistance.

But with every inch, the boy dimmed.

Elara clutched him tighter, her arms trembling as his glow flickered. His breaths came shallow, each exhale fainter, as though the chains binding above were pulling life from him with every link restored.

Kael staggered toward them, his body scorched from holding the blade against living fire. His hands were blackened, the weapon fused to his grip, yet still he walked. He fell to one knee beside Elara, his voice a rasp. “He’s holding them. All of them. But at what cost?”

The scarred woman limped closer, her burned body cracking with every step. She looked from the boy to the sky, her eyes wide with a mix of awe and rage. “Cost? Look around you, warrior. Half our number gone. Flesh turned to ash. And now the child himself burns away to bind us in another prison. This isn’t salvation—it’s another leash.”

Her words rippled through the survivors. Some nodded, trembling, their gazes torn between gratitude and despair. What was the difference between the Gate open and the Gate bound, if the chains still ruled their fates?

Elara lifted her head, tears streaking her blistered face. “No. Can’t you feel it? The hunger is less. The screams have quieted. This isn’t the same binding. He doesn’t bind us to the Gate. He binds the Gate away from us.”

Her words rang with truth, and yet her arms quivered as the boy’s glow dimmed further. The chains above held, but their brilliance depended on him—and he was breaking.

Kael’s chest clenched. He looked at the boy, whose small hand twitched, reaching weakly toward him. For the first time, Kael felt it—not a summons, not a command, but a plea for strength.

He gripped the child’s hand, ignoring the searing pain as light burned into his veins. The boy’s glow flared, steadied, and Kael felt it—chains knitting not only to the child, but through him. Through Elara. Through every survivor who chose to stand.

The scarred woman staggered back, her charred spear rattling against stone. “You’d share his curse? Willingly chain yourselves to that horror?”

Kael met her broken gaze, his voice hoarse but resolute. “Better chains we hold together than chains that drag us apart.”

Above, the lattice burned brighter, pushing the Unborn’s silhouette deeper into shadow.

But in that brilliance came a whisper, cold and patient, sliding through the marrow of every survivor:

“Bind me tighter... it only makes the breaking sweeter.”

The Gate faltered. The survivors endured.

And Kael knew—their battle had only shifted, not ended.