The descent blurred—ash, broken stone, and pain.
Each step Kaen took was a war. His body burned with defiance, barely held together by will. Lira half-dragged him down the jagged mountain, her breath sharp with urgency.
Behind them, the mountain pulsed.
Not with life—
But with something older. Something wrong.
Above, the storm thickened. Rain lashed down, cold and biting, washing blood from Kaen's skin but not from his soul.
"We're almost there," Lira panted, her voice strained.
Kaen barely heard her. His world spun in crimson and grey. And his mind… it wouldn't stop.
Flashes.
The gate.
The silver-haired woman.
The voice that claimed him by blood.
He had never been normal.
They reached a ridge, the valley sprawling below them like a dark wound.
Kaen collapsed to the ground, gasping. Lira crouched beside him, scanning the forest below.
And froze.
"Lira…" Kaen whispered.
"I see it."
The trees… moved.
Not in the wind. Not naturally.
The entire forest shivered, rippling as though exhaling.
Figures emerged from the mist. Not beast. Not man.
Something in between.
Tall, twisted shapes.
Limbs bent at unnatural angles.
Skin like burnt parchment stretched over bone.
Eyes like black pearls—soulless, reflecting nothing.
Ash Heralds.
Kaen didn't need to be told. He felt it.
"The Hollow Crown sent them," he murmured.
Lira's grip tightened around her sword. "How many?"
Kaen closed his eyes. Listened.
Then opened them.
"All of them."
The Heralds began their climb, silent, relentless.
"No good fighting here," Lira muttered. She hauled Kaen to his feet. "We need cover."
They limped east along the ridge, the storm chasing them.
A flash of lightning lit the world—and revealed it.
A ruin.
Ancient. Forgotten.
Half-buried in stone and vine.
Crumbled columns. Broken archways.
And at its heart, a gaping doorway leading underground.
Kaen's breath hitched.
"I know this place," he whispered. "She fought it there."
Lira didn't hesitate. She dragged him forward.
The shriek came behind them—sharp, inhuman, a chorus of agony.
The Heralds closed in.
At the threshold, one lunged.
Lira spun. Her blade flashed.
Its head flew.
But the creature didn't fall.
It kept coming, headless, arms grasping.
"They don't die easy!" Lira shouted, slashing again.
Kaen pressed a trembling hand to his cracked pendant, desperate for a spark—
A glow.
A whisper.
Anything.
Nothing came.
Another Herald leapt. Lira ducked low, slicing its knees. It collapsed, hissing like steam from a broken seal.
"Inside!" Kaen growled.
They stumbled into the ruin.
The air changed instantly—thick, oppressive.
The storm vanished behind them as the stone door slammed shut, sealing them in darkness.
Kaen leaned against the wall, breath ragged.
Lira lit a torch. The flame danced across carvings on the walls—ancient, telling tales of long-dead wars. Of monsters and men locked in cycles of destruction.
The hallway sloped downward. Into the heart of the mountain.
"We keep moving," Lira said quietly.
Kaen nodded, though pain clung to every limb.
Step by step, they descended.
Then—
A sound.
Not one voice.
But many.
A low, layered breath—like a choir of dying things choking on ash.
Kaen stopped.
"We're not alone," he whispered.
From the dark ahead, figures emerged.
Not Heralds.
Worse.
Shapes made of ash and bone, fused like melted wax, drifting forward. No eyes. No mouths. Only holes where voices once lived.
Their presence brought no sound—
Only a song.
A wordless dirge that crawled into Kaen's ears and scraped against his mind.
Lira's face went pale.
"The Hollowed Choir…"
Kaen knew the name.
From the Matron's warnings.
From the dreams that were never dreams.
The Choir feasted on fear.
They sang to devour souls.
And now, their song was for him.
To be continued…