The wind was crisp that morning, tugging at their cloaks as they stood atop the ridge. Far below, a river curved like a silver blade through the valley, threading between black pines and jagged stone. Mountains framed the distance—sharper now, closer, as if the land itself knew they were drawing nearer.
"Kal!" Theo's voice rang out, echoing slightly. He stood with arms wide at the edge, his hair catching the light, grin as wild as it had ever been. "Look at this! Such a view is heavenly—majestic, ain't it?"
Kaleon stepped up beside him, quiet at first, letting the wind brush against his face. The horizon stretched wide and unforgiving… yet beautiful.
Theo nudged him with an elbow. "Already a year since we left. Can you believe it?"
Kaleon exhaled slowly, eyes never leaving the horizon. "Feels like more. Feels like less."
Theo laughed. "That's the kind of thing an old man would say."
"I feel like an old man," Kaleon muttered, adjusting the strap on his satchel.
He was taller now. Leaner too. The softness of boyhood had faded from his features, replaced with sharper lines, a gaze more knowing. His hair had grown longer, tied back now in the Skarn fashion. Theo, too, bore the wear of the road—scars along his knuckles, a slight limp in one leg from a wild drake they'd fended off near the salt crags. Yet his spirit remained untamed.
"Hard to believe you turned ten," Kaleon added. "And I'm nine. Not many nine-summers boys walk through cursed forests, bargain with whispering stones, or outpace bandit riders in the dead of night."
Theo grinned. "Not many boys have panther cubs that can turn into shadows either."
Nyx let out a low, approving growl nearby, her now-grown body nearly the size of a stag. Umbra lay curled behind them, watchful and calm, her gleaming black coat marked with new streaks of silver fire—the mark of whatever strange power had stirred in her after the ruins of Vel Arak.
"We're more than halfway to Ashenreach," Theo continued, squinting at the map he had pinned with rocks. "By the gods, it might only take a month or two now. The old texts weren't lying—if those are the teeth of the Skyfang range, we're close."
Kaleon gave a small nod, but something in his gaze lingered. "You ever wonder what we'll find there?"
Theo folded the map, serious now. "Answers. Maybe the truth behind that shard. Maybe that name you keep whispering in your sleep. Vaelaria."
Kaleon didn't answer at first.
"She's real, Theo," he said finally. "Not just a dream. Every time I get closer to Ashenreach, the visions grow louder. More vivid. Like… like someone's calling from the other side of the fire."
Theo glanced at him sideways, then looked down at the shard Kaleon always kept wrapped around his neck—its faint crimson pulse still flickering softly, even in daylight.
"Well," Theo said, with that familiar crooked grin, "if she's calling, we'll bloody well answer. You and me, Kal. Just like always."
"Just like always."
They stood together a while longer, two boys against the wind, flanked by shadows with claws and loyal hearts.
Then, without another word, they started walking again—toward the mountains that had waited a thousand years for their return.
The Path of Whispers
The climb grew colder.
Each step up the Skyfang range scraped at their strength. Snow dusted the path now, and the wind carried a low, whistling sound—not quite song, not quite storm.
"Still think this was the shorter way?" Theo muttered, clutching his cloak tighter around his shoulders.
Kaleon gave no answer, his gaze fixed ahead. The shard at his chest pulsed again—twice, then steadied. Umbra and Nyx padded beside them in silence, their paws leaving faint prints on the frost-crusted stone.
They crested a narrow ridge just as the light dimmed, even though the sun had not yet fallen.
And then they saw it.
Half-buried in the mountainside, covered in ash and frost, stood the broken remains of what once must've been a massive gate—arched stone split down the center, flanked by toppled statues whose faces were long lost to time. Runes ran along the arch, faintly glowing with a deep, silvery hue.
"This…" Kaleon whispered, stepping forward. "This is it. The threshold of Ashenreach."
Theo whistled low. "Looks like the gods fought a war here and forgot to clean up."
As they moved cautiously toward the ruins, Umbra suddenly stopped, her fur bristling. Nyx let out a sharp, warning growl.
Then—
A soft voice. Just ahead. Calm. Raspy. Ancient.
"You walk on haunted stone, flameborn."
The boys froze.
From the shadows of the broken gate stepped a man cloaked in moth-eaten robes, face half-wrapped in cloth, the visible skin pale as moon-bleached bone. His eyes… they were pitch black. Not dark—black, like the void. Yet they glimmered.
"What in the abyss are you?" Theo whispered.
The man didn't answer at first. He raised a crooked finger and pointed to the shard at Kaleon's chest. "The flame remembers. And so do the dead."
"Who are you?" Kaleon demanded.
The figure bowed slightly, his movements slow, almost dreamlike. "I am called Ravwyn. I watch the gate. I wait for those the ash has marked. I waited for you."
Nyx snarled, but Ravwyn didn't flinch.
"You were… waiting?" Kaleon said slowly, gripping the hilt of his blade.
"I serve not the living," the man said. "I serve the memory of what lies beneath. Ashenreach does not welcome all. Only those touched by fire, shadow… and storm."
He turned, gesturing for them to follow. "Come. The first trial begins at dusk. If you are who the prophecy calls, then the ruins shall know your names. If not—"
Theo crossed his arms. "Then what?"
"Then the mountains will forget you. As they have forgotten thousands."