The path sloped downward again, twisting like the spine of something ancient. Kael's boots scraped against uneven rock, and every sound felt louder than it should. The air grew warmer, filled with the scent of minerals and old dust, the kind of smell that lingered on skin long after you left the place.
He was tired, but the strange pull in his chest had not faded. If anything, it grew stronger, guiding him through the dark as though it knew where he needed to go. He did not trust it, but he followed all the same. It was better than being lost with no direction at all.
After a while, the tunnel opened into another wide space — not a cave this time, but something shaped by hands long gone. Arched ceilings. Carved walls. A floor of worn tiles that once might have belonged to a great hall. There were broken lamps scattered across the ground and the remains of stone tables, half-buried under dust and ash.
Kael walked carefully, his fingers brushing the nearest wall. Strange symbols curved around the archway, the same language he had seen on the pillar. He could almost hear whispers between the echoes, soft voices repeating words he could not understand.
In the middle of the hall stood a stone dais. Upon it lay a figure — or what was left of one. The armor had corroded with time, but the design was unmistakable. The same as the soldiers from his vision in the courtyard. Dark, elegant, and marked with the same symbol as the ring.
Kael swallowed hard. "You were real," he said under his breath. "This was all real."
The silence pressed closer, heavy with dust and memory. He stepped forward, slowly, and placed his hand on the armor's chestplate. For a second, nothing happened. Then the mark on his palm flared with light.
The world around him shifted.
He stood on a battlefield beneath a red sky, the same color as before. The air burned, filled with smoke and the distant cries of soldiers. Blades clashed, towers fell, and through it all ran a single figure — the man from before, the one with the silver eyes.
Kael called out, but his voice was swallowed by the storm. The man turned briefly, as if he had heard, and spoke a word Kael did not understand. Then everything went dark again.
Kael gasped and stumbled back into the hall. His heartbeat was racing, echoing in his ears. The vision had felt too real — every smell, every sound, every drop of ash that had touched his skin. It was as if he had lived that moment himself.
"What are you trying to show me?" he asked aloud, his voice trembling. "Why me?"
There was no direct answer, but the air around him seemed to hum again, soft and steady, like a lullaby whispered from far away.
You already know the path you are walking. You only fear to see where it leads.
Kael's breath caught. "Then tell me what I am supposed to do."
There was a pause. Then the same voice — neither kind nor cruel, only ancient — spoke again.Find the heart. Before they do.
The glow from his hand dimmed, leaving only the quiet flicker of his own breathing. He stood there for a long moment, staring at the figure in the armor, trying to piece together fragments of a puzzle that refused to take shape.
At last, he turned away. "The heart," he whispered. "Whatever that means."
He walked toward the far end of the hall, where a narrow passage led deeper into the dark. His footsteps echoed softly, and for the first time in a long while, he did not feel entirely alone. Something unseen walked beside him — not an enemy, not a friend, but a memory that refused to fade.
As he moved forward, the faint light of his mark pulsed once more — a heartbeat in the silence, guiding him toward what waited beyond.