Lightning carved jagged scars across the heavens as Kaen stood at the peak, the pendant clutched in his trembling hand. The storm was no longer a distant threat—it had arrived with purpose. The air vibrated with something far older than weather. Something angry.
The mountain groaned beneath his feet—not from tectonic shift, but from the stirring of something bound in ancient silence.
Kaen's grip on the pendant tightened. It pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat, the once-clear resonance already beginning to distort. The clarity he'd gained was unraveling—something was interfering.
Then, he felt it.
A shift. Behind him.
He spun, sword already drawn.
At the edge of the plateau stood a woman.
Cloaked in black and silver, her presence distorted the very air around her. Her long hair shimmered like moonlight laced with blood. Her eyes—violet galaxies spiraling in impossible depth—seemed to see through time itself.
She was beautiful in a way that defied mortality. Timeless. Terrifying.
"You climbed well, little ember," she said, her voice soft as silk, yet sharp enough to cut. "But you've wandered too close to the flame."
Kaen did not lower his blade. "Who are you?"
She glided forward—her feet never making a sound on stone. "Some call me the Shadow Matron. Others... no longer remember at all." Her gaze sharpened. "But your blood does."
Kaen's chest tightened. "You're the voice in the mist."
She tilted her head, lips curling into a ghost of a smile. "No. I am the mist."
At her words, the fog around the mountain erupted outward, revealing a terrible truth.
This was no ordinary peak.
This was a tomb.
Pillars of obsidian jutted from the stone like jagged teeth. Runes etched into their surfaces pulsed with unnatural light—the same sigils he'd seen on his map, glowing now with awakened purpose.
"You stand atop the graves of those who came before you. The ones who bore the flame... and fell to it." Her hand lifted. Shadows curled around her fingers like serpents, coiling with malevolent grace. "And they all failed."
Kaen's jaw clenched. "Then I'll be the first who doesn't."
Her eyes gleamed. "We shall see."
Without warning, she released a wave of dark energy. Kaen barely raised a barrier in time—an instinctive defense born from survival, not mastery. The blast hurled him backward, boots scraping against ancient stone.
She moved like a phantom—one moment distant, the next upon him. Her blade shimmered black as void, and their swords met in a clash that shook the mountain.
Steel screamed. Sparks danced.
Kaen fought to hold his ground. He parried, ducked, struck—but she was faster, her movements honed over centuries. Every blow she delivered carried the weight of a forgotten war.
"You have potential, boy," she said, her voice amused as she forced him back. "But you swing your blade like a child playing with fire."
Kaen snarled. He drove his sword into the stone, anchoring himself.
The pendant at his chest flared—golden light bursting outward.
Something within him snapped.
A surge of power erupted from his core—flames not of heat, but of essence. His eyes ignited with glowing runes. The mountain responded—the ground itself humming in resonance with his awakening.
Kaen charged.
This time, she faltered.
The Shadow Matron recoiled, her smirk slipping.
"You… you awakened it," she whispered, and for the first time, her voice held unease.
Kaen's voice echoed with layered tones, as if speaking for more than himself. "I'm no longer just an ember."
Above them, the sky fractured.
Beneath them, the seal cracked.
Then—it came.
A roar.
Deep.
Primordial.
The ground split beneath Kaen's feet. The runes around the seal shattered like glass.
The Matron's face turned grave. "You fool… you were never meant to break the seal."
Kaen froze. "What do you mean?"
She stepped back, shadows retreating like mist at sunrise. "This place wasn't only a tomb. It was a prison. And now…" She looked skyward, her voice falling to a whisper laced with wicked joy. "Now, the true heir of ruin stirs."
Kaen turned. The cracked seal now bled light—chaotic, hungry, alive. The energy wasn't his. It was something older.
"Tell me, Kaen," the Matron said, her form already dissolving into mist, "will you burn the world to find the truth? Or be consumed by the fire you've unleashed?"
And then—she was gone.
Kaen stood in silence.
But only for a moment.
The mountain screamed.
Stone split.
And from the shattered seal, a colossal hand broke through the earth—armored in obsidian, veins glowing molten gold. Fingers clawed skyward, dragging the rest of its monstrous form into waking.
Something…
No—
Someone was awakening.
And Kaen… had lit the fuse.
To be continued…