Three days after the fall of Thal'Zuur, Kiel and Myra reached the edges of the Dead Meridian, a forsaken wasteland of twisted stone spires and bones turned to glass. At the center loomed their destination—a blackened fortress known in ancient records as The Whispering Citadel, a remnant of the Obsidian War where Archons once fought to bend fate.
Kiel's vision pulsed with notifications as they approached:
[Location Discovered: Whispering Citadel – Obsidian-Class Ruin.]
[High-tier Relic Signature Detected.]
Myra eyed the structure with unease. "They say no one who enters the citadel hears silence ever again."
Kiel didn't respond. The Crimson Host inside him reacted violently, tendrils twitching beneath his skin. Something within the Citadel resonated with the parasite… or perhaps threatened it.
As they stepped through the shattered gates, a chilling wave passed over them. Whispers slithered into their minds—fragments of regret, promises, ancient grief. Myra clutched her head.
"Are these voices real?"
Kiel nodded grimly. "They're echoes. Memories trapped in stone."
The interior was worse—walls pulsed like veins, and the floor shimmered with forgotten magic. At the heart of the citadel lay a circular chamber, and in its center floated an obsidian shard—cracked, but humming with power.
[Relic Identified: Echo Core of Var'thalas.]
[Warning: Incompatible Essence. Attempting synchronization may destabilize host.]
Kiel approached anyway. "I'm not asking for permission."
As his fingers touched the shard, a shockwave blasted Myra across the room. The chamber darkened. Kiel screamed—not in pain, but in rebellion.
He was falling. Not through space, but through memory.
Flashes.
A war… ten thousand years ago.
A being cloaked in black flame—the first Archon. Betrayal. Chains forged from the screams of gods. And then—oblivion.
Kiel gasped, snapping back. The shard was gone—absorbed. His HUD blinked.
[New Skill Acquired: Echo Reversal – Reflect a spell, memory, or curse back to its originator. Cooldown: 5 minutes.]
But something else had changed. A faint glyph now burned across his chest—etched into flesh by ancient magic.
Myra limped toward him, shaken. "You disappeared… for a moment I couldn't feel you at all."
"I saw things," Kiel whispered. "This citadel… it wasn't just a ruin. It was a prison. For ideas. For forgotten truths."
The whispers had stopped. But silence didn't bring peace—it brought a sense of finality.
Kiel looked at his trembling hands. "There's a path forward now. But it's not mine alone."
He turned to Myra, voice heavier. "If you stay with me, you'll see more horrors than you ever imagined."
She wiped blood from her lip. "Good. I'm tired of surviving. Let's start changing the world."
Before Kiel could answer, the ground trembled again.
A door, long sealed by wards, cracked open behind them. From within, a single note rang out—neither music nor scream, but a call.
Someone had heard Kiel's presence.
And they were inviting him in.