Silence.
It hung in the air for just a second too long.
Not the kind of silence that comes from surprise. This one was different. Heavier. Like the world itself was holding its breath, waiting to see what would happen next.
Ragan cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck.
"So, uh. Just to reiterate. No thanks."
Vael'thari didn't blink.
Her throne of swords didn't shudder. Her expression didn't change.
But the sky did.
The floating blades above them tilted ever so slightly. The silver fire in the sky seemed to dim.
She took a step forward.
And in the span of a blink, she changed.
The titanic presence that had towered above him began to shrink. Her divine armor contracted into something more form-fitting, elegant, less god-empress and more steel-clad fury. Her glow dimmed just enough for him to look directly at her without feeling like his eyes would melt. She stopped when she reached his height.
Then she slapped him.
The kind of slap that cracked across his face with a sound sharp enough to make even the watching swords flinch.
He stumbled sideways, caught himself, and stared at her with wide eyes as his cheek throbbed with heat.
"Jesus Christ—"
"Wrong answer," she replied coldly.
Ragan rubbed the side of his face. "What the hell was that for?"
"For being an idiot," she said. "Do not mistake my invitation for optional service. The moment you touched the blade, you accepted."
"I didn't sign anything."
"You didn't need to. The Archeblade is no tool. It is a will, same as I am. When it acknowledged you, the pact formed. You are now my Avatar."
Ragan stared at her, squinting. "And you didn't feel like saying that before I made a smartass comment?"
"I was giving you the dignity of acceptance," she said. "An old courtesy. One I see now was wasted."
He sighed and muttered something under his breath, then looked back up at her. "Okay. Fine. I touched the magic sword. So now I'm your chosen one? Is that it? I have to go on some holy crusade? Fight dragons? Kill demons?"
Her face didn't change.
"I just beat the hell out of three guys in an alley," he continued. "I'm probably going to get arrested. Or worse. You want me to throw more chaos into that?"
"You should forget your old life," she said simply.
"Easier said than done."
"No," she corrected. "It will be done. The moment you touched the Archeblade, the echoes of who you were began unraveling. You think the world you left behind will stay the same, but it won't. Those ties will fray. Your name, your debts, your enemies—soon they will mean less than dust. Because from this point on, your existence no longer belongs solely to that world."
Ragan opened his mouth, then shut it again. He stood there quietly for a moment.
Then he pointed at her.
"You slapped me."
"You deserved it."
He let out a low breath, dragging his hand down his face.
"Alright. Let's pretend I'm not completely in over my head. Let's say I'm playing along. What exactly do you expect me to do?"
She nodded. Finally. Movement that wasn't annoyance.
"The multiverse is vast," she said. "Your world is but a spark within a bonfire. Countless realms. Countless truths. And within that endless sprawl, there are rules."
She began pacing slowly around him, like a general briefing a soldier.
"There are entities older than stars. Powers greater than what your kind calls gods. These powers are known as Aspects. Not beings. Not people. Not myths. Concepts. Forces. Laws."
She stopped and raised a hand to the sky. At her gesture, the silver flames shifted, forming vague silhouettes—shadows that moved like memory across the stars.
"Dream. Destiny. Death. Desire. Delirium. These are some you might have heard in whispers or fiction. They exist. They shape. They bind. So too do their kin—Flame. Hunger. Motion. Knowledge. Judgment. They are infinite. They rule by function, not will."
She turned back to him.
"I am one of them. I am the Will that does not break. The motion that pushes forward when everything else would stop. I am not compassion. I am not cruelty. I am survival. Persistence."
"And you're losing," Ragan said softly.
That made her pause.
"Yes."
She didn't sound ashamed. Just… honest.
"My domain has weakened. Worship faded long ago, and without an Avatar to act in my name, my voice has been silent. There is a war—one not seen by mortal eyes. Aspects move against each other in quiet, cold games. Their Avatars act. Their pawns spread. And while they play their pieces, those like me, unanchored, vanish."
She raised her hand again. This time, the stars behind her flickered.
"Already, regions of existence are falling into disarray. In some realms, those who should not live walk freely. In others, Will itself is suppressed—nations ruled by despair, resistance crushed at the soul. These are violations of what I am. And without an Avatar, I am forbidden from ending it."
"Forbidden?" Ragan asked.
"I cannot act against the nature of my function," she said. "An Aspect may not contradict itself. I cannot destroy. I cannot kill. For to do so would be to yield, to stop forward motion. But you are not bound. You are the exception. The blade in motion. Through you, my Will becomes action."
"So I'm your loophole."
"You are my answer."
He stared at her for a long moment. "And let me guess. I'm not ready for any of this."
"Not even close."
He winced.
"The Archeblade is dormant," she continued. "It acknowledged your potential. But it has not yet given you its strength. That must be earned. You will train. You will struggle. And you will bleed. And only then will you be sent where you are needed most."
He crossed his arms. "And what about my problems back home?"
She gave him a look.
"You were nearly beaten to death and left to rot in the street," she said. "You own nothing. You command nothing. Your greatest achievement in years was not dying out of spite. And now, you stand in the presence of an eternal force asking if she'll cover your rent."
He frowned. "That's a strong maybe then?"
"If you return stronger," she said, a faint grin flickering at the edge of her lips, "I may see fit to adjust your fate."
He sighed, staring up at the sky.
"You don't give people choices, do you?"
"I offer paths. Your feet chose one the moment they stood up in that alley."
There was a long pause.
He nodded slowly.
"Fine," he said. "Let's get this over with."
Vael'thari turned and ascended back toward her throne.
"You will return when you are ready," she said. "Not before. The sword will call you. Listen when it does."
The throne of blades began to glow. Light spilled across the surface of the glass-like floor.
Ragan felt the ground tremble under his feet.
"Wait," he said. "What happens now?"
"You wake," she said simply.
The floor cracked.
He looked down as the obsidian beneath him fractured, splitting into geometric pieces, each one falling away into nothing.
"Wait—"
Then he fell.
Again.
The sky collapsed upward. The throne vanished into a fading blur.
And her final words echoed in his ears as the void pulled him down.
"Grow strong, Ragan Hart. Or die as the universe forgets you."