The forest was dead by morning.
Not in the way that trees rot or leaves wither—but in the silence that crawled under the skin, in the unnatural stillness where even the wind refused to move. No birds. No insects. No rustling of branches.
Just the crunch of their boots on brittle, ashen soil.
Eira led the way.
The black crystal, now affixed to a thin silver chain around her neck, pulsed softly, guiding her through paths unseen by mortal eyes. She could feel it—like a tug on her soul, whispering promises in a forgotten tongue. It knew the way.
And it wanted her to follow.
Lucien kept close at her side, his eyes always scanning, his blade never far from hand. Behind them, Lyselle moved like a shadow, one hand on her dagger. Ravien and Kairen took up the rear, quieter than usual, their gazes wary.
No one spoke for hours.
Eventually, Lyselle broke the silence. "You know," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper, "this land used to be part of the old kingdoms. Before the Sundering. Before even Valtherion."
Eira glanced at her. "You've read the old texts?"
Lyselle gave a short nod. "Only fragments. But they speak of a city where the dead gods slept. A cradle of ancient magic… and madness."
"You think that's where we're going?" Ravien asked from behind, adjusting the strap of his bow.
"I know it is," Eira replied. "The mirror called it The City Beneath the Bones. It wasn't just metaphor. There are giant remains beneath the stone. Remains of what came before."
Kairen let out a low whistle. "Wonderful. Just what we need. Ghosts of gods and giant skeletons."
Lucien's voice was quiet. "If Valtherion is truly waking there, then it means the Veil is weakening. We may not be the only ones drawn to that place."
Eira nodded. "We need to get there before the others do. Before he fully wakes."
By midday, the trees gave way to a jagged landscape of bleached stone and wind-worn canyons. The sun dimmed behind a wall of gray clouds, casting the world in a sickly light.
The crystal glowed brighter here.
More urgent.
They descended into a deep ravine, the rocks carved into strange, almost deliberate patterns. Glyphs. Old ones. Faded by time, but not forgotten by magic.
Eira ran her fingers along one of the stone walls as they passed.
A single word pulsed in her mind:
"Thar'Mhal."
"Did you feel that?" she asked, glancing at Lucien.
He nodded grimly. "The name of the city. It just echoed through me like thunder."
Kairen muttered a curse. "Names shouldn't speak."
"They do here," Lyselle said. "This place remembers. Even if we try to forget."
As night began to fall, they reached a ledge overlooking a vast valley.
And there it was.
The City Beneath the Bones.
It sprawled beneath the earth like a graveyard of giants—massive stone ribcages arching over ancient ruins, skeletal remains fused with broken towers. The architecture defied logic—buildings angled like teeth, roads spiraling into the depths of the earth, and spires that pierced through crumbling bone.
At the center of it all was a single, enormous structure: a cathedral of obsidian and silver, half-buried in the chest cavity of a colossal skeleton. Lights flickered within.
And something moved in the shadows.
Eira's breath caught.
"We found it."
Lucien placed a hand on her shoulder. "Or it found you."
Ravien squinted. "Looks abandoned."
Kairen snorted. "Yeah. Because that's ever a good sign."
Lyselle narrowed her eyes. "There's power there. I can feel it. It's like the whole valley is… breathing."
Indeed, as they watched, a gust of wind moved across the city like an exhale. Dust spiraled. Shadows twitched.
The city was alive.
Dormant. But waking.
They set up camp just beyond the edge of the valley.
None of them spoke much over the fire. Even the flames seemed quieter than usual.
Eira sat apart from the others, watching the dark horizon, the glow of the crystal illuminating her collarbone.
Lucien approached and sat beside her, his arm brushing hers.
"You're shaking," he said softly.
She hadn't noticed. But she was.
"This place…" she whispered. "It feels like the grave of something too big to bury. I can't explain it. It's like part of me remembers being here, and the other part is screaming to run."
Lucien looked at her, searching her expression. "Are you afraid?"
"Yes," she said, without hesitation. "But I'm not running."
He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. "That's what makes you strong. Not the fire. Not the bloodline. Just… you."
She leaned into him, her eyes closing for a moment. "You're the only thing keeping me grounded."
Lucien smiled faintly. "Then I'll stay. Until the end."
Eira met his gaze. "No. We fight so there won't be an end. Not for us."
Deep beneath the city, in the darkened cathedral of bone and silence, something stirred.
Eyes long sealed by ash and time cracked open.
And a voice—low, ancient, and heavy with longing—spoke from within the crypt:
"She returns…"