THE SHATTERED SIGIL: CHRONICLES OF THE LAST DAWN

Chapter 7: The Masked Man's Shadow

Chapter 7: The Masked Man’s Shadow

The wind carried the scent of salt and iron. Morning broke cold and gray across the cliffs, where the three companions had camped beside the ruins of the Temple of Winds. The sea below churned restlessly, whitecaps flashing like blades under the weak sun.

Alysandra sat apart from the others, the newly recovered shard cradled in her hands. It pulsed softly — once every few seconds, like a heartbeat. Each throb sent a tingle of warmth through her skin and a flicker of images through her mind: a golden hall, a shattered crown, a man’s scream drowned in light.

Her father’s scream.

She closed her eyes. “What are you trying to tell me?” she whispered to the shard. But it gave no answer — only the faint hum of power waiting to be understood.

Behind her, Kael was sharpening his sword on a whetstone, while Varin fussed with a half-burned piece of bread over the fire.

“If we’re going to keep doing this,” Varin said, breaking the silence, “I vote we invest in better breakfasts. Maybe something that doesn’t taste like regret and charcoal.”

Kael smirked without looking up. “You could always try hunting.”

“I’d rather starve.”

Alysandra rose, tucking the shard safely into her cloak. “Eat quickly. We move at sunrise.”

Varin groaned. “You just said we move— wait, sunrise is now, isn’t it?”

Kael chuckled. “Welcome to the life of the Chosen.”

They left the cliffs behind by midmorning, following a narrow trail that wound through a forest of twisted pines. The world here felt older — every rock, every branch heavy with unseen memory.

Kael walked at Alysandra’s side, his tone quiet for once. “You’ve been distant since the Hall. And now this shard… you keep staring at it like it’s going to answer you.”

Alysandra didn’t look at him. “Maybe it will.”

“You think it’s really part of your father?”

She hesitated. “I know it is. I felt him when I touched it — his thoughts, his pain.”

Varin shivered. “Sounds like a terrible family reunion.”

Alysandra ignored him. “If the shards are fragments of his soul, then finding them isn’t just about power. It’s about… restoring him. Bringing him back from whatever prison he’s trapped in.”

Kael frowned. “And what if he doesn’t want to come back?”

Her steps slowed. “Then we’ll find out why.”

By afternoon, they reached the edge of the forest. Beyond lay rolling plains of yellow grass and broken stone. In the distance, the faint outline of a fortress rose against the sky — the Ruins of Vareth Keep.

“That’s where the next shard is hidden,” Alysandra said. “The third one.”

Varin adjusted his pack. “And let me guess — it’s guarded by something enormous and very, very stabby.”

“Probably,” Kael said. “Though I’d prefer ‘deadly’ to ‘stabby.’ Sounds more heroic.”

They started down the slope — but before they could reach the open plain, Kael raised a hand. “Wait.”

A shadow flickered across the grass. Then another.

Alysandra tensed. “We’re being followed.”

Kael drew his sword. “Show yourselves!”

Nothing. Only the whisper of wind. Then suddenly, three figures emerged from the mist — cloaked, silent, and moving with inhuman grace. Each wore a mask of bone.

Varin took a step back. “Oh, great. Bone-faced nightmares. Just what I needed.”

Alysandra’s pendant began to glow again, reacting to something unseen. “They’re not alive,” she said. “Not entirely.”

The lead figure tilted its head. “The Daughter of the Crownless King,” it said, voice hollow like wind through a tomb. “You walk too close to truths that should remain buried.”

Kael’s blade flashed. “I’ve got a better idea — let’s see how buried you are after I cut you in half.”

The masked figure moved faster than sight. Its twin daggers met Kael’s sword mid-swing, sparks flying. The other two assassins lunged for Alysandra and Varin.

Chaos erupted.

Varin ducked behind a rock, fumbling for his crossbow. “I’m really starting to hate ancient magic and dead people!” he shouted, loosing a bolt that whistled harmlessly past one assassin’s head.

Kael met the lead attacker blow for blow. “You’re fast,” he grunted, “but I’ve fought worse nightmares before breakfast.”

The assassin’s eyes gleamed through the mask. “Then die before lunch.”

Meanwhile, Alysandra raised her hands, summoning energy from the shard. Blue light flared around her, and the assassin nearest her froze mid-strike — its mask cracking under the pressure of her spell.

“Who sent you?” she demanded.

The assassin trembled, its voice breaking into static. “He watches through the mirror… the King Who Never Died.”

The phrase struck Alysandra like a hammer. “The same words my father spoke…”

The assassin lunged again — but Kael was faster this time. His blade cut through the air, severing the creature’s arm. Instead of blood, black mist poured from the wound.

The creature shrieked — not in pain, but in fury. Then it exploded into smoke, dissolving into the wind.

The remaining two retreated into the mist as quickly as they had come, their whispers fading:

“Two shards found… four remain… He waits beyond the veil…”

Silence returned. The three stood panting amid the tall grass, the scent of ozone and burnt magic heavy in the air.

Varin lowered his crossbow. “Anyone else think running away sounds like a great plan?”

Kael sheathed his sword with a grunt. “They weren’t human. I’ve fought mages, but nothing like that.”

Alysandra’s eyes were distant again. “They mentioned the mirror.”

Kael frowned. “What mirror?”

“There’s a legend,” she said softly. “Of a mirror forged from the tears of the first seer — it reflects not the face, but the soul. My father used to speak of it.”

Varin rubbed his temples. “And I bet our new bone-faced friends are working for the guy who owns it.”

“The one they called the King Who Never Died,” Kael added.

Alysandra nodded slowly. “If he’s truly immortal, he might be the reason my father was cursed.”

Kael looked toward the ruins of Vareth Keep, dark against the horizon. “Then I guess we’ll find our answers there.”

That night, they made camp near a stream. The air was still, and the stars shimmered faintly through a veil of mist. Varin snored softly beside the fire, while Kael sat cleaning his blade in silence.

Alysandra stood at the edge of the water, staring at her reflection. For a moment, her face rippled — and another face looked back at her.

Her father’s.

He smiled sadly. “You’re close, my daughter. But each shard you claim draws him closer as well. Be wary.”

“Who is he?” she whispered.

“The King Who Never Died. The one who took everything from us.”

“Then why do the shards bring him power?”

Her father’s image flickered. “Because my curse and his are bound. To restore me… is to awaken him.”

Alysandra’s eyes widened. “Then I can’t—”

“—And yet you must,” the voice said. “Because only together can you end the cycle.”

The reflection vanished.

Kael approached quietly. “You were talking again,” he said gently. “To him?”

She nodded. “He says if I keep gathering the shards, I’ll bring back the one thing he died to destroy.”

Kael’s gaze hardened. “Then we find a way to break the link. No king, no curse.”

Alysandra smiled faintly, though her eyes were full of stormlight. “And if there isn’t a way?”

He looked at her — the firelight dancing in his eyes. “Then we make one.”

Far away, aboard the ship with golden sails, the masked man placed his hand upon the Mirror of Souls. In its depths, Alysandra’s face shimmered like a candle flame.

He smiled behind the bone mask.

“So, the daughter walks the path of ruin,” he whispered. “Good. Let her come.”

The mirror pulsed once — and in its reflection, two souls flickered as one.