Chapter 3 - Chapter 3: Ashes of the Fallen Star

The mist thinned as they crossed the bridge. Beyond it lay a vast expanse — a hidden valley cradled within the broken mountains. Ruins dotted the landscape: crumbling spires, fallen arches, shattered statues half-buried in wild grass. In the center of it all stood a city of marble and gold, untouched by time. Sanctuary. Lyric stared, breath catching in his throat. "It's beautiful," he whispered. Caelum's expression was unreadable. "It is also dangerous." Together, they descended into the valley. The streets of Sanctuary were eerily silent. Moss and vines crept over the white stone buildings. Faded banners fluttered in the wind — emblems of houses long since fallen. Statues lined the avenues, their eyes blind, their faces solemn. As they moved deeper into the city, Lyric felt a strange pressure settle over him — as if unseen eyes watched from every shadow. Caelum led the way, his massive sword slung across his back, movements wary. Finally, they reached the center of the city: a vast plaza dominated by a towering obelisk of black crystal. At the base of the obelisk knelt a figure. Another boy — but this one was different. His hair was silver, falling in wild tangles around a narrow, fox-like face. He wore tattered robes stitched with strange runes, and around his neck hung a pendant shaped like an eye. As Lyric and Caelum approached, the boy rose smoothly to his feet. "You are late," he said, voice lilting with dry amusement. Caelum inclined his head slightly. "We were delayed." The silver-haired boy's gaze shifted to Lyric. "So this is the heir?" Lyric shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. "Uh. Hi." The boy smirked. "Charming. My name is Veyne." He extended a hand. Lyric shook it cautiously. Veyne's fingers were cool and dry — like old paper. "Another ally?" Lyric asked, glancing at Caelum. "An old... acquaintance," Caelum said. Veyne chuckled. "That's putting it kindly." He turned back toward the obelisk. "The Sanctuary is dying," he said. "Its wards are failing. If you truly intend to oppose the Hollow Court, you will need more than swords and good intentions." Lyric swallowed. "What do we need?" "Power," Veyne said simply. "And knowledge." He placed a hand against the obelisk. A ripple of light spread outward, revealing hidden symbols carved into the stone — ancient runes that pulsed with faint green light. "This is the Heart of Sanctuary," Veyne said. "It can grant visions. Memories of the old world. Secrets the Hollow Court would kill to keep buried." He glanced over his shoulder at Lyric. "But be warned: visions are not always kind." Lyric hesitated. Was he truly ready to see the past? To learn the truths that had been hidden from him? Caelum stepped forward, resting a hand lightly on his shoulder. "You are stronger than you know," he said quietly. Lyric drew a deep breath. And placed his hand against the obelisk. The world shattered. He stood atop a blackened plain, beneath a sky torn by storms of crimson lightning. Before him rose a city — vast, terrible, built of bone and obsidian. Towers clawed at the heavens. Rivers of molten silver flowed through the streets. And on a throne of screaming faces sat a figure cloaked in shadow. The King of Ash. The ruler of the Hollow Court. As Lyric watched, armies marched from the gates of the city — legions of twisted beasts, hollow-eyed men, and creatures of nightmare. They spread across the world like a plague, devouring everything in their path. Nations fell. Skies darkened. Oceans boiled. And at the heart of the chaos, Lyric saw himself — or rather, a version of himself — standing atop a broken tower, the Shard of Eirathis in hand. Facing the King of Ash. Alone. The vision shifted. He saw flashes — too quick to process fully. A circle of mages weaving a spell of impossible power. A star falling from the sky, shattering mountains. A blade of pure light driven through a screaming god's heart. A boy with silver hair — Veyne — weeping over a fallen comrade. Caelum, chained in darkness, eyes burning with defiance. And then... A mirror. Lyric stared into it — and saw not himself, but something else. Something vast and terrible, wearing his face like a mask. With a cry, Lyric tore himself free of the vision. He staggered back, gasping. Caelum caught him, steadying him. "It is a heavy burden," he said softly. Lyric nodded, unable to speak. Veyne watched him with an unreadable expression. "Now you understand," he said. "The Hollow Court must be stopped. Or everything dies." Lyric clenched his fists. "I won't let that happen." Veyne smiled faintly. "Good." They made camp in one of the abandoned towers that night. As Lyric sat by the fire, turning the Shard of Eirathis over in his hands, Caelum joined him. "You saw the future," Caelum said quietly. "Yeah," Lyric said. "And it scared the hell out of me." Caelum's lips curved into a faint smile. "Fear is not weakness," he said. "Only a fool feels nothing." They sat in silence for a while, the crackle of the fire their only companion. Finally, Lyric spoke. "Back in the cavern... you said you'd been waiting for me. Why?" Caelum was silent for a long moment. "When the world fell," he said finally, "the last of the old guardians were given a task. To wait. To protect the heir. To awaken when the time was right." Lyric's heart pounded. "And I'm the heir." Caelum nodded. "You carry the blood of Eirathis — the last true king. It is your right... and your curse." Lyric laughed bitterly. "Great. No pressure." Caelum's expression softened. "You are not alone." Lyric looked at him — really looked — and saw the weight Caelum carried. The loneliness. The duty. He reached out, resting a hand on Caelum's shoulder. "Neither are you." For a moment, Caelum's eyes widened — as if no one had ever said that to him before. Then he smiled. A real smile. Small. Fragile. But real. The fire burned low. Lyric stared into the dying embers, the weight of everything pressing down on him. The visions. The truth of his bloodline. The impossible task ahead. How could he — just a boy from a forgotten corner of the world — hope to stand against the King of Ash? Beside him, Caelum sat silent, sharpening his massive sword with slow, methodical strokes. Across the fire, Veyne dozed lightly, his pendant of the all-seeing eye glinting in the dim light. The night felt heavy. Waiting. Lyric rose, needing air. He slipped from the tower, out into the ruins of Sanctuary. The moon hung low and bloated in the sky, casting long, distorted shadows. He wandered through the broken streets, feeling the ancient city's sadness cling to him like mist. So many had lived here once. Dreamed here. Fought here. Died here. For what? Lyric sat on the edge of a shattered fountain, head in his hands. "I'm not ready," he whispered. "You will never be ready." The voice was soft, almost kind. Lyric looked up sharply. A woman stood before him. She was beautiful in a way that hurt to look at — all silver hair and burning golden eyes, clothed in a robe of midnight stars. But there was something wrong about her. Something wrong beneath the surface. She smiled — a slow, sad curve of lips. "You carry a heavy burden, little heir," she said. "But you do not have to carry it alone." Lyric's heart pounded. He knew he should run — scream — anything. But he couldn't move. "Who are you?" he managed to choke out. The woman tilted her head. "Once, I was called many things. Now... I am simply a memory." She stepped closer. Lyric's hand itched toward the Shard of Eirathis — but something held him frozen. "You will have to choose soon," she murmured. "Light or darkness. Creation or ruin. Hope... or despair." She reached out — and touched his chest, right over his heart. Lyric gasped. Visions exploded behind his eyes — not of the past, but of possible futures. In one, he stood atop a tower, crowned in light, armies cheering his name. In another, he sat upon a throne of corpses, a crown of ash upon his brow, the world burning around him. The woman's smile widened, almost pitying. "Choose wisely, little heir." And then she was gone. Vanished like mist. Lyric staggered back to the tower at dawn. He didn't tell Caelum or Veyne what he had seen. Not yet. But when Caelum looked at him, something in his eyes softened — as if he understood. They broke camp in silence. As they left Sanctuary behind, Lyric looked back one last time. The city stood quiet and still, the obelisk at its heart gleaming faintly in the rising sun. A promise. A warning. He set his shoulders and turned away. There was no going back now. Only forward. Toward the Hollow Court. Toward the end — or the beginning — of the world.