A damp mist clung to the ground as Kaelen and his party approached the edge of Myrrhwood, a once-sacred forest long since twisted by time, war, and the ripple of forbidden magic.
Kaelen's boots crunched through wet foliage as he led the group along an overgrown trail. Elara walked silently at his side, her silver staff humming softly. Behind them, Thorne's heavy steps thudded steadily, while Celine, the archer, flitted ahead like a wraith, scouting their path.
Even among warriors and mages, the weight of the forest made them whisper.
"This place was blessed once," Elara murmured, tracing a runic ward along a tree bark. "But the magic here has... turned in on itself. I feel it watching us."
"The trees do that," Thorne grunted. "Last time I walked through here, one tried to strangle my horse."
Kaelen gave a faint smile but kept his hand close to Dawnpiercer's hilt. Every instinct screamed that this forest was not merely alive—it was awake.
They passed beneath an arch of gnarled branches and entered the true heart of Myrrhwood.
The expedition had grown leaner with every passing day. After the victory at Blackthorn, much of the alliance had splintered. Wounded soldiers returned home. Cities turned inward to rebuild. But Kaelen had no such luxury.
He wasn't chasing glory now—he was chasing knowledge. Truths about the Heart, about the other fragments Loren had hinted at, about the origin of the rifts.
And he was not alone.
Their group was small but elite:
Elara, master of summoning and wielder of radiant magic. Thorne, a living mountain of strength and battle experience. Celine, whose arrows struck like whispers of death. Arin, a quiet mage who had studied rift theory obsessively. Tessan, a twin-blade fighter from the eastern deserts. Milo, a rogue who always claimed he wasn't part of the team—while being indispensable to it.
Together, they had tracked whispers of a sealed vault buried beneath Myrrhwood. A place older than any kingdom. Rumors spoke of a Shattered Star, a crystal that once held a shard of creation itself.
Kaelen knew better than to ignore such tales.
Hours passed. The forest deepened. Trees grew wider, their trunks twisted like writhing limbs. No birds sang here. Even the wind refused to pass through.
"It's too quiet," Tessan muttered.
"That's because we're being followed," Milo added nonchalantly, eyes scanning the shadows. "Two, maybe three figures, moving just out of range."
"I saw them an hour ago," Celine whispered, her bow already drawn. "Didn't say anything because they weren't hostile."
"They're not now," Kaelen said. "But when we reach the vault, that could change."
And then, through a clearing, they saw it.
A wide glade opened before them, ringed by cracked statues and standing stones. Moss had grown thick over the ancient altar at the center, shaped like a fallen sun. Obsidian slabs jutted from the earth like broken teeth.
This was it.
"The Vault of the Shattered Star," Arin breathed. "We found it."
They stepped carefully into the glade, weapons drawn. As Elara approached the altar, her staff flared.
"A seal. Still active," she said. "But decaying. The energy feels like... the Heart."
"I hate when you say that," Milo muttered.
Before they could react, the altar pulsed.
A ripple of shadow burst from the stones, and something began to rise. Not a door, not a structure—but a being. A Vault Guardian.
It emerged as if pulled from mist and starlight—a humanoid shape made of ever-shifting metal and dark crystal. Its eyes burned with voidlight.
"Back!" Kaelen shouted.
The Guardian floated inches above the altar, arms outstretched. Its voice echoed not from its mouth but inside their minds:
Turn back. This place is forbidden. The Star must remain broken.
Kaelen stepped forward. "We don't want to awaken it. Only understand."
Understanding leads to corruption.
The Guardian struck.
The battle exploded in chaos.
Kaelen ducked under a bolt of dark energy and slashed forward. Dawnpiercer shimmered with flame as it struck the Guardian's torso, but the blade passed through as if striking water.
"Intangible form," Arin shouted. "Use elemental disruption!"
Elara called forth her magic. With a word and a surge of power, she summoned a griffin of pure light, which dove toward the enemy with a screech. The Guardian screamed as the creature ripped at its form.
Celine's arrows struck its limbs, pinning it briefly, and Thorne charged, bringing his greatsword down with a deafening roar.
The ground cracked beneath the impact.
Still, the Guardian reformed, swirling around them like smoke and metal.
Then it whispered.
Each of them heard something different:
"You let your mentor die."
"You crave power."
"You fear your own weakness."
"You will fail—just like before."
Kaelen staggered, visions of Loren's fall slamming into his mind. Loren's voice, full of rage and sorrow: "I gave everything. And the world spat in my face."
Kaelen dropped to one knee. He gritted his teeth.
"No," he whispered.
The voice grew louder.
"You could have saved me."
Kaelen opened his eyes. His friends still fought. Elara screamed, blood on her face. Milo was down. The griffin struggled under the Guardian's weight.
"I won't fall," Kaelen growled, rising. "Not now. Not ever again."
His blade ignited—this time, with radiant light channeled from within. From his bond with Elara. With his allies. With the very land of Vaeloriax.
He struck.
The Guardian howled as the blade pierced its center. Elara's griffin leapt in tandem, tearing at the Guardian's form as Thorne delivered the final, devastating blow from above.
The shadow burst apart.
Silence.
When the mist cleared, the altar had split in two. Beneath it, a sealed vault door shimmered with ancient runes. Celine stepped forward, helping Milo to his feet.
"You alright?" she asked.
"Still handsome," Milo said, wiping blood from his lip. "So yeah."
Kaelen stared at the vault. The runes were familiar—he had seen them in Loren's sanctum. The same magic. The same seal.
"What's inside?" Tessan asked.
"Something we need to understand," Elara said quietly. "Before others find it."
Arin knelt by the vault and brushed his hand over a sigil. "This isn't just a prison. It's a mirror."
Kaelen looked at him. "A mirror of what?"
Arin stood. "Of us. Of what we could become—if we ever lose control."
As the group made camp around the shattered altar, the mood was heavy, but not hopeless.
Thorne roasted a hare over a small fire. Milo sharpened his blades while tossing quips at Celine, who ignored him pointedly. Arin was already scribbling notes into a thick tome. Tessan stood watch.
Kaelen sat beside Elara, his back against the cracked stone.
"That voice," he said. "It almost broke me."
"I heard mine too," Elara admitted. "It said I'd summon a creature I couldn't control. That I'd destroy everything."
"We keep moving forward," Kaelen said. "No matter what."
Elara smiled faintly. "Together."
He looked to the stars. Faint, through the mist. But they were there.