The wind over Thornreach was colder than the surrounding highlands, as if the fortress-town perched on the edge of the world, watching something ancient stir in the distance. Kael awoke before dawn, his breath visible in the dim tent. The Ember Sigil on his palm glowed faintly, pulsing like a warning heartbeat. He clenched his fist, trying to silence the rhythm—but the unease lingered.
They had arrived the night before, greeted not with cheers or suspicion, but silence. Thornreach was no ordinary settlement. Walls carved with runes. Sentinels who wore obsidian armor and watched with hollow eyes. Rumors whispered that its founders had made a pact with forgotten powers to protect the Arcane Bastion's last secrets.
"We don't belong here," Darius muttered as they passed through the narrow gate.
"No one belongs here," Lira replied, her tone sharper than usual.
Now, standing just outside the town's inner sanctum, they faced a wall of spears and the cold stares of gatewardens. A sentry stepped forward, his gaze lingering on Kael's covered hand.
"The Sigil," he said simply. "You carry it."
Kael hesitated. Lira stepped in. "We seek only knowledge. The kind locked behind Thornreach's archives."
The sentry studied them a moment longer before nodding once. "Then walk carefully. The knowledge you awaken might not sleep again."
Inside the Archive
The air within was dry, heavy with dust and centuries of secrets. Crumbling tomes and sealed scrolls filled rows of stone shelves, while a massive mosaic loomed over the back wall—depicting a burning tree pierced by a spear of ice.
"Look," Lira whispered. "That locket in the fresco—it's just like mine."
Kael's gaze followed her pointing finger. The design matched her locket exactly—sunburst etched with crescent moons. But what held his breath was the figure behind it: a cloaked man with a hand ablaze.
His hand.
Beneath the mural lay an inscription in the old tongue. Darius translated, voice low.
"The Ember shall awaken when shadow consumes the breath of frost.
He who bears the mark must decide what burns and what survives."
A tremor passed through Kael. The Sigil burned hotter.
Splinters in the Group
Later, as they camped within a protected chamber, the tension crackled like dry leaves.
"This place reeks of doom," Darius snapped. "We're wasting time chasing symbols."
"It's not a waste if it leads us to the Bastion," Lira countered.
Kael stared into the fire, the flickers reflecting in his pupils. "I don't think we found the answers. I think we woke them."
No one spoke after that.
The First Omen
Midnight.
A deep tremor shook the fortress. Scrolls fell. The air shifted.
A scout burst into the chamber, blood on his brow.
"From the north—something's coming. Not bandits. Not beasts. Something… darker. The sky cracked open with red lightning."
Kael staggered back, visions overtaking him—Thornreach burning, runes shattered, the sky split by shadowed wings. And in the center stood a figure in black, eyes molten with gold, whispering in a voice Kael had never heard but somehow knew:
"You are the key."