The vastness of the galaxy stretched before Maraak as he left the ruins of Nithrax-7 behind, the crimson skies and barren wastelands receding like a memory. His ship, weathered and ancient, bore new scars from its descent and battles, but it still carried him onward. There was a strange and deep silence in the cabin. The silence created by the absence of Veilsunder's murmurs was neither menacing nor oppressive; it was just silent.
As he sailed clear of the cursed planet, its shadow fading into the stars, the sound of the ship's engines reverberated through the atmosphere. He had been put to the test by Nithrax-7, which had broken him down and made him face his inner demon. He no longer had a voice of ravenous hunger or a cursed weapon. He was the only one left.
Maraak knew that peace would not be easy, even with his newfound knowledge. The Blood Eternal, the enigmatic entity that had drawn him to Nithrax-7, would not idle away. Since he had ignored their objective and the path they had laid out for him, they would not permit such disobedience to go unpunished.
The control panel flashed and a proximity alert sounded. Leaning forward, Maraak looked over the readouts. A huge building stood in the way, partially obscured by the shadow of a nearby moon. It was old and majestic, its surface smoothed by time. A faint ring of glyphs pulsed around its edge, sparkling with a force that echoed deep inside Maraak's breast.
This was more than just a crash. It was a relic from a long time ago, when the galaxy had been torn apart by conflict. The markings were clearly visible. Veilsunder and other weapons were previously produced at a Blood Forge, a location of power.
As he approached, Maraak's ship's systems failed. The lights flickered and the engines sputtered and finally died out. The spacecraft drifted silently inexorably toward the Forge, pulled by an unseen power. Maraak tightened his hold on the controls, but they did not respond.
The ship docked with a low groan, its hull vibrating as it latched onto the Forge's surface. The airlock hissed open, and Maraak stepped out onto the ancient platform, his boots clanging against the metal. The atmosphere was breathable but heavy, infused with an energy that made his skin prickle.
The Forge's interior was enormous, with elaborate carvings lining its walls that appeared to move and writhe as he went by. Latent power hummed through the air, and the faint murmur of machinery reverberated down the hallways. As he made his way forward within the building, Maraak's movements were firm and his senses were keenly aware.
The central chamber was a massive hall, its ceiling lost in darkness. In the center stood a pedestal, its surface carved with the same pulsating glyphs that adorned the Forge's exterior. Above the pedestal hovered a fragment of obsidian, its edges jagged and its surface swirling with a faint, inner light.
With caution, Maraak moved closer, his eyes narrowing as the piece beat in time with his own heartbeat. A voice, deeper and more resonant than Veilsunder's harsh, relentless murmurs, reverberated around the room as he approached.
"Maraak, you've come a long way," the voice murmured in a tone that was neither benevolent nor cruel. As if speaking for the stars themselves, it bore the weight of eternity.
As a result of centuries of fighting, Maraak's hand hovered close to his empty sheath. "Who are you?"
As the voice filled the room, it answered, "I am the Forge." "I am both the start and the finish of who you were. and what you might still develop into.
The piece pulsed brighter this time, causing the walls' shadows to change. Maraak sensed the strength of the longing tugging at him, a slight echo of what he had previously felt.
Maraak said firmly, "I don't need your gifts." "I have seen the destruction, death, and never-ending hunger they bring. That life is enough for me.
The Forge gave a low, almost melancholy laugh. "You're not understanding, Blood Reaver. I don't want to reestablish the bonds you broke. I merely offer a choice.
Maraak saw a vision as the symbols on the pedestal flashed. He recognized himself as he had been, a shadow-wrapped figure brandishing Veilsunder with deadly accuracy. His might was fueled by the souls of entire armies that died before him. He had been engulfed by a never-ending cycle of violence, and the weight of it all was oppressive.
The vision changed. He saw a new route now, a different version of himself, free from the blade and the hunger it had sparked, traveling among the stars. He viewed himself as a guardian, a stabilizing influence in a galaxy on the verge of anarchy. Though it was no longer a curse, the emptiness inside him persisted. It served as a source of opportunity, a place for development and rejuvenation.
Maraak stood at the piece as the visions faded. Its vigor was now muted, its light had faded.
"Select, Maraak," the Forge commanded. "With your own determination alone, you can regain the power you previously possessed. Alternatively, you can choose to move on from it and create a new, independent path. However, be aware that either option will require all of your remaining resources.
Maraak kept staring at the piece. Its vitality beckoned, offering him power and direction. However, he was aware of the toll that power would have on his soul. His fists were tight, the recollection of Veilsunder's murmurs still vivid.
"No," he finally answered in a stern voice. "I'm not going down that route again. I'll fend for myself.
There was a pause in which the Forge seemed to consider his answer. The fragment then started to break apart, its light splintering into innumerable particles that whirled around Maraak before disappearing into thin air.
"Excellent," the Forge remarked. But keep in mind that your trip is far from over. The galaxy is huge, and it is always black. You will encounter challenges that will try your resolve to the breaking point. You have to rely on something bigger when you lack power.
With a slight smile pulling at the corner of his lips, Maraak nodded. "I'm prepared."
The pedestal's glyphs dimmed, and the chamber fell silent. The energy that had permeated the Forge began to fade, leaving behind only the faint hum of ancient machinery.
The Forge's walls appeared to shimmer as Maraak turned to go, the carvings changing into new designs. He experienced an odd sensation of closure, as if the building itself accepted his decision.
He went back to his ship, and as he walked on board, its systems sprang back to life. The engines roared to life, and the vessel lifted off, leaving the Blood Forge behind.
Sitting in the cockpit, Maraak gazed out at the infinite sky. He was free of Veilsunder and the thirst it had represented, and he was no longer the Blood Reaver. He had the freedom to choose his own path and shape his own future.
A calmness descended upon him as the spacecraft sped into the emptiness. For the first time in generations, Maraak approached the difficulties that lay ahead with purpose and clarity.
The vast, unknowable galaxy waited. And Maraak was prepared to meet it, free and reborn.