The wind turned bitter as they left the Obsidian Vale behind.
Snow laced the mountain ridges now, thin and sharp, carried on winds that howled like lost beasts. The Ash Sentinel Towers—once proud outposts of the northern watch—were still three days away, but the land had already begun to change.
Black trees stood frozen mid-growth, their twisted trunks scorched as if lightning had danced across their bark. The ground steamed in places. And the sky…
It was never truly day anymore. Just gray, stained by the lingering haze of ash and old firestorms.
Duncan stood on a ridge, his cloak whipping behind him. The Emberblade remained sheathed at his side, but it had not gone dormant. It pulsed with awareness, its edge tingling with unease.
"Something's wrong ahead," he muttered.
Kael tightened her grip on her spear. "Hollowed?"
"No," he said. "Worse."
The Empty Watch
The first of the Ash Sentinel Towers loomed by the second morning.
They found it collapsed—blackened stone and timber splayed like bones across the mountainside. The surrounding land was littered with bodies, charred and broken.
But none were fresh.
Brannoc knelt by a soldier's remains, brushing frost from a melted helm. "These were Empire troops. Garrisoned here maybe… four months ago?"
Kael crouched beside him. "No blood trails. No signs of retreat."
"They didn't run," Duncan said quietly. "They burned."
He walked into the ruins of the tower.
Inside, ash covered everything. Writing desks. Ration barrels. Even skeletons seated against the walls, their arms folded in final resignation.
What drew his attention, though, was the sigil scrawled across the back wall in burned soot.
A circle with an eye at the center.
Not Imperial. Not Beastborn.
Old.
And familiar.
"The Eye of Shroudcall," Kael whispered behind him. "A dead god's mark."
Brannoc frowned. "I thought that was just a myth."
Duncan traced the mark with his fingers. "So did I."
Whispers in the Wind
They made camp that night in what remained of the barracks—walls crumbled, the roof long gone. Snow drifted in quietly, forming little mounds between the stones. The wind howled like a dying thing.
Duncan didn't sleep.
The moment his eyes shut, he saw flame. Not his flame—dark flame. Cold fire.
It poured from cracks in the mountains. Pooled beneath the foundations of the towers.
And in the center, a shape.
Man-sized. Cloaked. No face. Just the Eye, pulsing like a heartbeat, gazing into him.
"You carry the Sovereign's fire," it whispered. "But you will burn all the same."
He woke with a gasp, fingers already on the Emberblade.
Kael was watching him from across the coals.
"You saw it too," she said.
He nodded once.
"We keep moving at first light."
Sentinel's Rise
The second tower still stood.
Barely.
Its walls were cracked and leaning. The top floor had collapsed inward, and smoke rose faintly from its windows. But it was not empty.
Figures stood along the battlements. Unmoving.
Sentinels.
At first, Duncan thought they were statues. But as they drew closer, he saw their chests rise and fall. Slow. Mechanical. Like men long dead still remembering how to breathe.
The soldiers didn't react until they crossed the outer threshold.
Then the tower woke up.
"INTRUDERS."
The word was screamed—not by one voice, but by many. The sentinels turned in unison, their eyes glowing dim orange. Their bodies were burned, fused with scorched metal and ash-bound flesh. Weapons melded into arms. Armor fused to skin.
Kael hissed, stepping back. "They've been altered. Bound by something."
Brannoc raised his shield. "Guess it's time to knock."
"No," Duncan said, drawing the Emberblade.
"They were protectors once. Let's free them."
Fires Rekindled
The sentinels moved like constructs—jerky, unnatural. Their weapons sparked with dark energy, infused with ember twisted into unnatural forms.
But the Emberblade sang with pure fire.
Duncan met the first strike head-on, his blade cleaving through both weapon and arm in a single stroke. The twisted sentinel staggered, its mouth opening in a silent scream as light burst from within and it collapsed into ash.
Kael swept low, her spear finding the gaps in their malformed armor. Brannoc fought like a wall, holding the front, his shield absorbing blow after blow.
But it was Duncan who turned the tide.
Wherever he struck, the false embers were consumed. Real flame surged, clearing the corruption like wind through fog.
After what felt like an hour, silence returned.
The last sentinel fell—and this one thanked them with its final breath.
"Burn me… free…"
The Broken Core
Inside the tower's heart, they found the source of the corruption.
A forge—old and massive, its stone mouth glowing with sickly green fire. Above it hung a cracked sphere of ember glass, black veins spiderwebbing through its core.
It pulsed with a mimicry of the Emberblade's light.
Kael stared at it. "It's trying to copy the Flame. I've seen this in eastern warlocks—beings who try to replicate ancient fire with ritual binding."
Duncan frowned. "And someone succeeded. At least halfway."
He stepped forward and plunged the Emberblade into the base of the forge.
The reaction was immediate.
A blast of pure fire surged upward, consuming the dark embers. The black veins cracked, then burst, showering the chamber with molten sparks. The mimic flame screamed—loud and high—and was gone.
The forge went dark.
And the tower… sighed.
Like it had been holding its breath for years.
Message in the Ash
As they prepared to leave, Kael found a sealed scroll inside the armory—a message dated weeks ago. It bore the same symbol as the scorched wall.
The Eye of Shroudcall.
She read aloud:
"The gate beneath the mountain breathes again. The sentinels no longer obey. Fire has failed. We turn now to the Veiled Path. May the Eye see through the ash."
Brannoc frowned. "What gate?"
Duncan met Kael's gaze.
She answered first.
"There's only one they could mean."
Duncan nodded.
"Ashgate."