They didn't speak as they moved, slipping through the jagged woods under cover of night. The trees here were gnarled and ancient, their trunks split open like mouths gasping in silent screams. Something about this place felt alive, not in a natural way—but as though the land itself remembered pain.
Emberlynn kept close to Malphas, her breath shallow, her heartbeat still rattled by his last words.
Even if it means killing you.
Those words echoed in her mind, but strangely, not with fear. It wasn't a threat. It was a promise. One forged from something deeper than violence—duty, sorrow... maybe even guilt.
They stopped at a cliff edge where twisted rock overlooked the valley below. A strange, low humming sound vibrated through the air. Emberlynn looked down.
In the distance stood a crumbling temple of obsidian and bone. No torches lit its path. No guards circled its perimeter. And yet it thrummed with presence.
"What is that place?" she whispered.
Malphas's jaw tightened. "A prison. Or what's left of one."
Her eyes remained fixed on the structure. "And you brought me here... why?"
He didn't answer right away.
Instead, he knelt, touching a glyph carved into the ground beneath them. The symbol glowed faintly at his touch—red, like ember sparks in snow.
"It's not just your enemies who seek you," he said. "Others are awakening. Powers that were meant to stay buried."
Emberlynn slowly crouched beside him. "And this temple… it's connected to them?"
He nodded. "It once held the Tenth Gate. One of seven locks sealing the Hollow Rift."
She frowned. "You said there were seven gates. But—Tenth?"
He hesitated. "The number was meant to mislead. There are thirteen. Always were. The last six were hidden from the realm—and from the court."
"And you know where they are."
"I helped build them."
That made her heart stutter.
She stared at him as a gust of wind howled around them, biting at her cloak. "Then who are you really?"
Malphas looked at her, his expression unreadable. "Someone who made mistakes. Someone trying not to make another."
Something passed between them again—a quiet moment charged with questions. Not all of them were spoken. But the weight of them lingered.
She glanced back at the temple. "Do we go in?"
"No," Malphas said sharply. "It's not for us. Not yet. The wards would tear your mind apart."
"But you said they're awakening. That things are coming. Don't we need to—"
"Not everything can be fought with fire," he said, softer now. "Sometimes silence is our only shield."
Emberlynn looked at the temple one last time, the black stone pulsing faintly, like it was breathing.
Something about it pulled at her. Deep in her chest, just beneath her ribs—a whisper, ancient and insistent.
She wrapped her arms tightly around herself. "I felt something... when I looked at it. Like it was looking back."
Malphas didn't look surprised. "It knows you. That's why we're leaving."
He turned, motioning her back into the trees.
As they walked, Emberlynn couldn't shake the feeling that her presence near that place had stirred something. Not awakened it completely—but nudged it in its sleep.
You are the key. But you may also be the lock.
The memory of that voice—hers, not hers—rattled in her bones.
When they finally stopped to rest, they lit no fire. Malphas sat beside her in the dark, his silhouette outlined by starlight. There was a silence between them, not awkward, but thick with unspoken thoughts.
Emberlynn leaned her head back against a stone. "Were you always like this?"
"Like what?"
"Guarded. Distant. Haunted."
He let out a soft breath. "No."
"What changed?"
A long pause.
"You."
She blinked, startled by the honesty in his voice.
He didn't elaborate. But something about the way he said it—quiet and without hesitation—wrapped itself around her like a thread.
Emberlynn turned to him slowly, her voice quieter now. "You keep saying I'm more than a key. But what if I'm not? What if I do open the door?"
"Then I'll be the last thing you see," he said, eyes glowing faintly in the dark. "But I'll do everything in my power to keep that from happening."
Another silence.
Only this time, it wasn't empty. It hummed with something—unspoken tension, the kind that trembled just beneath the skin.
She felt it when his hand brushed hers. Barely a touch. But enough to send a shiver crawling up her spine.
Neither of them moved.
The moment stretched.
Then Emberlynn pulled her hand away first. Not because she didn't want the contact—but because she did. And that scared her more.
"We should rest," she murmured.
Malphas nodded, leaning back against the tree. "We move at first light."
But sleep didn't come easily.
And in her dreams, the door from the temple appeared again—breathing, whispering her name in a voice that sounded like her own.
The Door That Breathes
They didn't speak as they moved, slipping through the jagged woods under cover of night. The trees here were gnarled and ancient, their trunks split open like mouths gasping in silent screams. Something about this place felt alive, not in a natural way—but as though the land itself remembered pain.
Emberlynn kept close to Malphas, her breath shallow, her heartbeat still rattled by his last words.
Even if it means killing you.
Those words echoed in her mind, but strangely, not with fear. It wasn't a threat. It was a promise. One forged from something deeper than violence—duty, sorrow... maybe even guilt.
They stopped at a cliff edge where twisted rock overlooked the valley below. A strange, low humming sound vibrated through the air. Emberlynn looked down.
In the distance stood a crumbling temple of obsidian and bone. No torches lit its path. No guards circled its perimeter. And yet it thrummed with presence.
"What is that place?" she whispered.
Malphas's jaw tightened. "A prison. Or what's left of one."
Her eyes remained fixed on the structure. "And you brought me here... why?"
He didn't answer right away.
Instead, he knelt, touching a glyph carved into the ground beneath them. The symbol glowed faintly at his touch—red, like ember sparks in snow.
"It's not just your enemies who seek you," he said. "Others are awakening. Powers that were meant to stay buried."
Emberlynn slowly crouched beside him. "And this temple… it's connected to them?"
He nodded. "It once held the Tenth Gate. One of seven locks sealing the Hollow Rift."
She frowned. "You said there were seven gates. But—Tenth?"
He hesitated. "The number was meant to mislead. There are thirteen. Always were. The last six were hidden from the realm—and from the court."
"And you know where they are."
"I helped build them."
That made her heart stutter.
She stared at him as a gust of wind howled around them, biting at her cloak. "Then who are you really?"
Malphas looked at her, his expression unreadable. "Someone who made mistakes. Someone trying not to make another."
Something passed between them again—a quiet moment charged with questions. Not all of them were spoken. But the weight of them lingered.
She glanced back at the temple. "Do we go in?"
"No," Malphas said sharply. "It's not for us. Not yet. The wards would tear your mind apart."
"But you said they're awakening. That things are coming. Don't we need to—"
"Not everything can be fought with fire," he said, softer now. "Sometimes silence is our only shield."
Emberlynn looked at the temple one last time, the black stone pulsing faintly, like it was breathing.
Something about it pulled at her. Deep in her chest, just beneath her ribs—a whisper, ancient and insistent.
She wrapped her arms tightly around herself. "I felt something... when I looked at it. Like it was looking back."
Malphas didn't look surprised. "It knows you. That's why we're leaving."
He turned, motioning her back into the trees.
As they walked, Emberlynn couldn't shake the feeling that her presence near that place had stirred something. Not awakened it completely—but nudged it in its sleep.
You are the key. But you may also be the lock.
The memory of that voice—hers, not hers—rattled in her bones.
When they finally stopped to rest, they lit no fire. Malphas sat beside her in the dark, his silhouette outlined by starlight. There was a silence between them, not awkward, but thick with unspoken thoughts.
Emberlynn leaned her head back against a stone. "Were you always like this?"
"Like what?"
"Guarded. Distant. Haunted."
He let out a soft breath. "No."
"What changed?"
A long pause.
"You."
She blinked, startled by the honesty in his voice.
He didn't elaborate. But something about the way he said it—quiet and without hesitation—wrapped itself around her like a thread.
Emberlynn turned to him slowly, her voice quieter now. "You keep saying I'm more than a key. But what if I'm not? What if I do open the door?"
"Then I'll be the last thing you see," he said, eyes glowing faintly in the dark. "But I'll do everything in my power to keep that from happening."
Another silence.
Only this time, it wasn't empty. It hummed with something—unspoken tension, the kind that trembled just beneath the skin.
She felt it when his hand brushed hers. Barely a touch. But enough to send a shiver crawling up her spine.
Neither of them moved.
The moment stretched.
Then Emberlynn pulled her hand away first. Not because she didn't want the contact—but because she did. And that scared her more.
"We should rest," she murmured.
Malphas nodded, leaning back against the tree. "We move at first light."
But sleep didn't come easily.
And in her dreams, the door from the temple appeared again—breathing, whispering her name in a voice that sounded like her own.