Kael stared at the shadowy figure, his heart still racing from the battle. The monstrous creature's ashes scattered in the wind, but the adrenaline coursing through him refused to fade. The figure stepped closer, their hood obscuring their face, but their voice was clear—cold and calculating.
"You've got potential," they said, their tone neither praising nor mocking. "But potential won't keep you alive in this world."
Kael tightened his grip on the cursed sword, its whispers growing louder in his mind. "Who are you?" he demanded, his voice steady despite the chaos swirling inside him.
"Call me Eryndor," the figure replied. "And if you want to survive, you'll listen to what I have to say."
Kael hesitated. He didn't trust this stranger, but he had no other options. "What do you want?"
Eryndor gestured to the black chain around Kael's wrist. "That relic you're carrying is more than a trinket. It's a fragment of the Ashen Throne, a source of unimaginable power. But it comes at a cost—it feeds on your life force. Use it recklessly, and it'll consume you."
Kael glanced at the chain, its runes glowing faintly. He had felt its power during the fight, but also its hunger. "Why should I trust you?"
Eryndor's lips curled into a faint smile. "You don't have to. But without me, you'll be dead before the next moonrise."
Reluctantly, Kael agreed to follow Eryndor. They led him to a crumbling temple, its entrance guarded by eerie statues. Inside, the air was thick with dust and the scent of decay. Eryndor explained that the temple held a shard of the Ashen Throne, a piece that could amplify Kael's powers—if he could retrieve it.
The temple was a maze of traps and puzzles. Kael's instincts and quick thinking saved him more than once, but the real challenge came when a group of scavengers ambushed him. They were desperate, their eyes wild with greed as they demanded the shard.
Kael fought back, his cursed chain flaring with dark energy. But as the battle raged, he lost control. The chain's power surged, nearly killing one of the scavengers. Eryndor intervened, pulling Kael back before he could cross a line he couldn't return from.
"Control," Eryndor warned, their voice sharp. "Or you'll destroy yourself and everyone around you."
Kael nodded, shaken but determined. He retrieved the shard, its cold weight a reminder of the burden he now carried. As they left the temple, a shadow loomed in the distance—a figure clad in armor, flanked by mercenaries.
"Drakthar," Eryndor muttered, their tone grim. "He's not someone you want to cross."
Kael gripped the shard tighter. "Too late for that."