The trek from the Vault of Myrrhwood was silent. Each footstep echoed the weight of what they'd just encountered. El'Rhaz was gone—but the unease he left behind wasn't. The shard they had recovered pulsed gently inside Arin's warded case, but no one dared get too close to it now.
Celine walked beside Kaelen, her fingers resting lightly on the fletching of her arrows.
"You really think he was just the beginning?" she asked.
Kaelen nodded. "He was bound to the shard. Someone had to do that. And if there's one shard… there are more guardians."
"Or worse," muttered Thorne, nursing a bruised rib.
They reached the outer woods as twilight fell, where Ariana awaited them with supplies and a flickering campfire. She immediately rushed to Elara's side, helping her to sit and pouring a warm herbal salve into her hands.
"You should've called for me," she scolded gently. "You're burning mana like a mad mage."
Elara smiled tiredly. "We needed every drop."
Kaelen knelt beside the fire, staring into the flames. "He said we were awakening what should never rise."
Milo sat down with a grunt. "Yeah. Usually when someone says that, they're either the villain—or someone who actually knows what's coming."
"And I think this time," Elara said softly, "he might've been both."
That night, Kaelen dreamed.
He stood in a field of black lilies, under a sky that bled red. In the distance, the spires of Loren's fortress loomed—Duskwatch, the last bastion of shadow in the east. Its towers were jagged like broken fangs. Lightning danced around them, silent and golden.
Then a voice spoke from behind him.
"You're not ready."
Kaelen turned.
It wasn't Loren.
It was himself—older, scarred, his eyes hollowed by grief.
"You think courage is enough?" the echo asked. "You'll break. And when you do, he'll take everything."
Kaelen reached for his sword—but it wasn't there.
Only the shard, floating in his palm, now glowing black.
He woke gasping.
By morning, the group was on the move again, heading toward Viremoor, the ruined city on the edge of the Azure Wastes. According to old records, another fragment of the Heart was sealed beneath its ancient catacombs.
"This one might be different," Arin warned. "Viremoor was a city of arcane scholars. The protections could be… academic."
Milo laughed. "You're scared of homework traps?"
"I'm scared of magical essays that eat your soul."
As they crested a ridge, the ruined city came into view—once proud, now half-swallowed by sand and stone. Spires bent at unnatural angles. Statues wept molten stone. And over it all, a storm raged silently in the sky, locked in a single frame of thundercloud and starlight.
"Looks cozy," Thorne muttered.
Kaelen's grip on Dawnpiercer tightened. "Let's move."
Navigating the city was a nightmare. Magic still clung to the ruins like cobwebs. Time warped around them—sometimes footsteps echoed before they were taken, other times light bent the wrong way.
In the plaza, they found the first ward: a massive arcane gate etched into the cobbles, sealed with eleven glyphs. Arin whistled low.
"This was meant to keep gods out."
Celine frowned. "Then how do we get in?"
"We cheat," Arin said. "Give me a moment."
Elara moved closer to Kaelen while Arin and Milo worked. "You look pale."
"I had a dream," he admitted. "I saw myself. Older. Hollow."
"Visions?" she asked.
"Warnings," he said. "But I don't know if it was from the shard… or Loren."
Before Elara could reply, Arin gave a triumphant shout. "Gate's open!"
The stone parted with a low groan, revealing stairs descending into the earth. Cold air rushed upward, smelling of parchment and ash.
Kaelen nodded. "Keep tight. No mistakes."
The Viremoor catacombs were like a maze drawn by a madman. Endless halls lined with glowing runes, whispers in every direction. Shadows moved without light. And worse—there were statues. Dozens of them.
Too many.
"These were people," Ariana whispered. "Petrified."
"By what?" Celine asked, arrow nocked.
"I don't want to meet it," Milo said, glancing over his shoulder for the fifth time in a minute.
But they did.
At the central chamber stood a figure—stone-fleshed, twelve feet tall, with six arms and a single vertical eye across its chest. It was not asleep. Not dead. It breathed.
"Elara," Kaelen said quietly, "tell me that's not what I think it is."
"It's a Gorgon-Keeper," she said grimly. "They were built to guard forgotten truths."
As if hearing its name, the creature stirred.
The central eye opened.
Everything went white.
Kaelen blinked—and he was alone.
Not in the catacombs.
In a library. Ancient. Infinite. Books towered around him, stacked to the heavens. Each one bound in flesh, scale, or shadow.
He stepped forward.
The books opened by themselves.
Inside them: scenes of his life. His failures. His pain. His fear.
He stumbled back.
From the shelves came a voice.
"Truth is suffering."
And then another.
"Face it, or perish."
Kaelen looked into the darkness between the shelves—and saw Loren.
Not in battle.
But reading.
Loren turned to him.
"You opened the door, Kaelen."
The chamber collapsed inward.
Kaelen gasped, stumbling out of the illusion. All around him, the others were waking too—each having seen their own truth.
Elara looked shaken. Arin was sweating. Even Thorne had dropped to one knee.
The Gorgon-Keeper loomed, silent.
Then, it stepped aside.
The path was clear.
"That was a trial," Kaelen said hoarsely.
"Knowledge," Elara whispered, "always has a cost."
In the room beyond, the second shard floated above a pedestal of obsidian.
It was different from the first.
This one sang.
A haunting, beautiful hum that spoke of the stars—and something beneath them.
Kaelen reached for it.
As his fingers touched it, the song stopped.
A presence entered his mind.
"Two now. The path opens. The Black Flame stirs."
Kaelen reeled back, heart pounding.
"What did it say?" Elara asked.
Kaelen didn't answer.
He couldn't.
Because now, he was starting to understand what El'Rhaz had meant.
And what Loren truly wanted.
Not just the Heart.
Not just power.
But the awakening of something older than gods.
And Kaelen?
He was walking right into it.