The forest thinned by morning.
Dead trees gave way to stone and silence—an old road, half-swallowed by the earth, leading toward a jagged cliffside. At its base, hidden beneath hanging moss and shattered statues, lay the Temple of the Hollow Sun.
Or what was left of it.
Kael had sworn his oath here.
Bled on its altar.
Buried his past beneath its sacred stones.
Now, the air reeked of rot and something deeper—something that didn't belong in the world of the living.
Sera stopped at the edge of the steps. Her hand hovered above the entrance. "This place is wrong."
"It was holy," Kael muttered.
"Was."
They entered.
---
Inside, the air was thick. Not just with dust, but with echoes. Voices long dead, still trying to speak. The corridor stretched into darkness. The walls were lined with murals—heroes, kings, gods.
But their faces had been scratched out.
Some by hands.
Others by claws.
Sera moved carefully, fingers tracing the ruined carvings. "This temple was desecrated."
Kael nodded. "Eryndor did it."
He remembered the night—after the betrayal—when the sky bled and the ground shook. When the oathstones cracked and the sun turned black. The Severing had begun here. And something had answered.
They reached the main hall.
The altar still stood—crimson-stained, blackened by fire. On the wall behind it was a mural Kael had never seen.
It depicted two figures.
One wreathed in flame, sitting on a throne of bones.
The other kneeling, a brand carved into his back, sword plunged through his chest.
Kael stared.
It was him.
And the figure on the throne—
Eryndor.
"This isn't prophecy," Sera whispered. "This is memory. Twisted. Preserved by the thing that's feeding on this place."
As if in response, a growl echoed through the chamber.
Low.
Hungry.
The shadows behind the altar moved.
No—rose.
A shape emerged, eight feet tall, hunched and dragging chains behind it. Its face was wrapped in golden wire, mouth sewn shut, eyes weeping black tar.
A Warden of the Severed.
A guardian born from perverted vows and betrayed trust.
"Leave," it rasped through its sealed mouth, voice like a thousand whispers. "The oath is broken. There is nothing left."
Kael drew Whisperfang.
"I'm here to take it back."
The creature lunged.
---
Steel screamed.
The Warden's chains lashed out, wrapping around Kael's arm. The Mark flared. Kael gritted his teeth, yanking the chain forward and driving his blade up through the creature's jaw.
It didn't die.
It laughed.
Then slammed Kael into a pillar.
Sera stepped forward. No fear. She whispered words Kael didn't understand—ancient, raw. The stones beneath her feet lit with gold, and the Warden hissed, recoiling.
Kael rose again.
Bleeding. Barely breathing.
And smiling.
"You were guarding this place," he said. "You remember what it was."
The Warden hissed again.
Kael drove his sword through its heart.
"I'll remember it, too."
The creature convulsed—chains falling slack. It collapsed, gasping one final word:
"Forgiven…"
---
Later, as Sera sealed the hall behind them with a circle of runes, Kael knelt at the altar.
He placed a hand on the cold stone.
And for a brief moment, the Mark stopped burning.
Just long enough for him to whisper:
"Not yet, brother. But soon."