A Village Between Eryndall and Aerondale, DuskCarmen clutched the pendant tightly, its metallic surface strangely warm against her palm, pulsing as though it carried a heartbeat of its own. The twilight wind tugged at the hem of her cloak, stirring fallen leaves that danced like restless spirits across the path. She slipped the pendant into the hidden pocket sewn inside her cloak, her fingers trembling.She should’ve thrown it away. After what happened in Eryndall, after the confusion and fear, after the way Calen Storm had looked straight through her like a stranger—she should’ve rid herself of this cursed thing. But something deep within her refused.Not fear. Not even hope.Purpose.She didn’t know where to find him—only that she must.Her boots crunched softly on the gravel path as she approached the small cottage nestled at the village’s edge. The structure was modest, its stone walls cloaked in ivy, its thatched roof sagging slightly under the weight of time. Yellow firelight s

The fire crackled louder now, like a living thing stirring awake—its flickers dancing against the stone walls of Liora’s cottage, casting strange, twitching shadows. Outside, the wind howled against the wooden shutters, as if protesting the silence that had settled between the two women.Carmen sat stiffly by the hearth, her shoulders tense, her eyes fixed on the pendant resting in the cradle of her palm. The light it gave off had dimmed since the storm—no longer a blinding beacon, but a steady, pulsing glow. Like a heartbeat. Like the slow, deliberate thump of something ancient… something watching.Liora stood nearby, arms folded tight across her chest. She hadn’t said a word in minutes. She was studying the pendant too, but her expression held no curiosity now—only unease.Then, quietly, she spoke.“There’s still a way out of this.”Carmen blinked, startled from her trance. “What?”Liora nodded toward the fire. “Get rid of it. Throw it in. Or bury it. Drop it in the well, smash it w

Aelion’s torch cast shifting golden light across the ancient stone corridor as they descended deeper into the heart of Drakhtarion’s hidden sanctum. Calen’s boots echoed against the polished obsidian floor, each step amplifying the tension coiling up his spine. The deeper they went, the thicker the air became—dense and laced with a sharp, metallic tang, like the breath of a slumbering beast.They emerged into a vast chamber carved directly into the mountain’s core. The arched ceiling soared high above, ribbed like the hollowed bones of some forgotten god. Dormant magic thrummed in the air, vibrating faintly beneath their skin, as if the mountain itself remembered.Calen slowed, then stopped.The prison was not made of iron or stone.It was a monument.Towering columns formed a circle around a central pit inscribed with glowing runes—draconic script etched into the earth, pulsing with a deep crimson light. Chains, thick as tree trunks and forged from an iridescent alloy unlike any meta

Calen’s voice broke through the silence again—quieter than before, but heavy, as if each word had to push through a lifetime of unanswered questions.“Then… how did my father die, exactly?”The question echoed faintly within the ancient chamber, swallowed slowly by the glowing runes that pulsed beneath their feet like the heartbeat of something sleeping—something dangerous.Serenya turned to him, her expression softening. There was something in her eyes—grief, yes, but also reverence. Respect. Even guilt. She drew in a breath, then let it out in a slow, pained exhale.“He used everything he had,” she said. Her voice was quiet, but unwavering. “His strength, his sword, his life… all of it. He gave everything to seal this place. To lock Tharstan away before his wrath could burn the world to ash.”She stepped forward, her boots making no sound against the smooth stone, and approached the edge of the platform. There, the vast ring of runes shimmered in a spectral glow, pulsing gently bene

The pale light of dawn had not yet kissed the treetops when Carmen and Liora rode in silence across the mist-choked lowlands. The world around them was painted in shades of silver and slate, the air damp and heavy with dew. Their cloaks clung to their bodies, drawn tight against the biting chill that had not yet yielded to the sun. Even the horses' breaths steamed visibly in the air, soft puffs of white that vanished almost as quickly as they came.Nestled deep inside Carmen’s inner coat pocket, the pendant throbbed gently—cold against her skin, its pulse alien and dissonant, as if it beat to the rhythm of something ancient and watching. It felt neither alive nor dead, but aware—a silent passenger, ever-present and impossibly still.Their horses moved swiftly but cautiously, hooves softened by the damp loam of the forest trail. Each clop against the earth echoed a little too loud in the silence. Ahead of them, the outline of the Forbidden Forest grew ever larger, a jagged line of shad