The wind swept across the ancient stone bridge, carrying with it the scent of rain and the faint echo of voices long past. Altharion stood at the center, his cloak fluttering, eyes scanning the mist-filled chasm below. The map in his hand — drawn centuries ago by the Order of the Silver Dawn — claimed that beyond this bridge lay the "Forgotten Path," a route hidden from mortal sight, leading directly into the heart of the Celestial Vault.
He had been chasing legends for months now, but the fragments of truth he'd found all pointed here.
"You're too quiet," said Kaelen, stepping beside him. The elf's eyes darted toward the carved runes along the bridge rail. "Quiet means thinking, and with you, thinking usually means trouble."
Altharion smirked. "Trouble is just another word for opportunity."
From behind them, Seraphine approached, her staff tapping softly against the stone. "The wards on this bridge are still active. Whatever lies beyond… it's been protected for a very long time. This wasn't meant for casual travelers."
Altharion traced a finger over the glowing runes. "Not for casual travelers, no. But we're far from casual."
The mist ahead swirled unnaturally, forming shapes — tall, armored figures with eyes like molten silver. The guardians of the bridge. They stepped forward in unison, their voices harmonizing like a hymn.
"Only those who bear the light of truth may pass."
Kaelen muttered under his breath. "Why is it always riddles?"
Altharion didn't answer right away. Instead, he pulled from his satchel the shard of Luminara's mirror — a relic he had recovered in the tomb of the Moon-Seers. He held it aloft, and the silver eyes of the guardians fixed upon it. The shard pulsed, and for a moment the mist parted, revealing a glimpse of forest bathed in golden light on the other side.
"Light of truth," Altharion said. "Not a metaphor, apparently."
The guardians stepped aside, their forms dissolving into motes of starlight. The path beyond was narrow, winding between towering stone spires. The further they walked, the more the air shifted — warmer, filled with the hum of unseen magic.
"Feels like the air itself is alive," Seraphine whispered.
"It is," Altharion replied. "We're walking through an enchantment. The Forgotten Path doesn't exist in our realm entirely… it threads between worlds."
Hours passed in an otherworldly haze. Time seemed to stretch and bend. The light above them never dimmed, though Altharion sensed the sun outside had already set.
Finally, they reached a gate of pure crystal, embedded with veins of gold. It pulsed faintly, as though breathing. At its center, an inscription in a language older than the empire read:
"When the last flame dies, the door shall open."
Kaelen raised a brow. "Not ominous at all."
Before Altharion could respond, a sudden vibration rippled through the ground. The light of the crystal gate flickered, and beyond it they could see shadowy forms moving — hundreds, maybe thousands.
"They're waiting for the flame to die," Seraphine said grimly. "And I think they mean us."
Altharion stepped forward, placing both hands on the crystal. Power surged up his arms, visions flooding his mind — battles fought under twin moons, a kingdom swallowed by the sea, and a single figure cloaked in midnight, holding the same shard he now carried.
His voice was steady when he turned back to them. "We open this gate, we're stepping into more than a vault. This is a test. And if we fail… we won't get a second chance."
The shadows beyond the gate stirred again, as if sensing his resolve.
"Then let's not fail," Kaelen said, drawing his blades.
Altharion smiled faintly. "Spoken like a man who hasn't seen what's waiting."
With a deep breath, he pressed the shard into the crystal's heart. The gate shuddered, light flared — and the Forgotten Path revealed what it had been hiding for centuries.