They made camp at the edge of the ruins, just beyond the reach of Hallowdeep's shadow. The stars above were faint, blurred by mist rising from the earth, and the fire they built was small—more for comfort than warmth.
No one spoke at first. The events of the day hung over them like smoke. The shattered guardian. The sigil. Aric's connection to it. Even the silence felt heavier now.
Maelis sat on a rock, sharpening an arrowhead with slow, deliberate strokes. Dain leaned back against a broken column, arms folded, watching the flames flicker.
Aric stood apart, staring at the Emberblade resting across his knees. Its glow had faded to a low hum, like it was sleeping. Or thinking.
"You've changed," Maelis said quietly, not looking up.
Aric didn't respond at first. Then, "It changed me."
"Was it pain?" she asked. "Touching the sigil?"
He nodded. "Yes. But not just that. It was memory. Grief. Fire that burns through who you were."
Dain grunted. "Sounds like a bad marriage."
Maelis cracked a small smile, but it didn't last.
Aric looked at her. "I saw her."
Maelis blinked. "Who?"
"In the chamber. A woman. Like flame and ash. She didn't speak, but she showed me… things. The past. The war. The blade's beginning."
Dain sat up straighter. "A vision?"
"A memory, I think. Maybe one not even mine."
Maelis frowned. "The Emberlords?"
"I don't know. But she pointed me to the sigil. Without her, I wouldn't have survived the trial."
Dain threw a twig into the fire. "Every legend has ghosts. Maybe this one just decided to help."
Aric wasn't so sure it was help. It felt more like a warning.
Later that night, after the others had drifted into restless sleep, Aric sat alone, turning the blade slowly in his hands. He could feel the pull of it now—stronger. It was no longer just a weapon. It was a key. A piece of something far greater.
He remembered the faces he'd seen. The wars. The fire. One stood out—a man cloaked in shadows, whose eyes burned not with flame… but hunger. A hunger that time could not kill.
The immortal.
Aric didn't know his name yet, but he knew this: the true enemy hadn't yet revealed himself. And when he did, no blade alone would be enough.
The fire crackled.
And far off in the night, something whispered his name.