The wind on the upper cliffs of Lira's Reach was sharp enough to cut through Kael's travel-worn cloak. Below, the forest canopy churned like a sea of green fire, the wind turning treetops into a living tide. Dawn crept over the horizon, painting the clouds in gold and crimson. Kael stood alone on the overlook, watching the sun rise over the land he barely remembered.
The Echoheart hung quiet against his chest, its warmth faint but steady. Not pulsing. Not whispering. Just present, like a heartbeat at rest. For the first time in days, it was silent.
He wasn't sure if he should be grateful or afraid.
Behind him, Tovan approached with quiet steps. He handed Kael a metal flask.
"Tea. Barely," he said with a wry smile. "Don't ask what's in it."
Kael took it with a muttered thanks and sipped. Bitter. Slightly burnt. But warm.
"You didn't sleep," Tovan observed.
Kael shook his head. "Didn't want to."
"Nightmares?"
Kael stared at the horizon. "Memories."
Tovan said nothing more. There was no comfort to offer for something like that.
The two stood in silence, watching as the first light bathed the ruins below. Cracked towers, crumbled walls—what remained of Lira's old shrine. The place Kael had nearly died. The place he had awakened something inside himself. Or the Echoheart had awakened it in him.
Kael's thoughts drifted, unbidden, to her.
A flash of white hair. Laughter, echoing off stone halls. The feel of her fingers tightening on his when they were lost in the catacombs beneath Vareth—before it fell. His sister's voice, clear in his mind like a ghost of dawn:
"Don't look back, Kael. The fire only burns when you do."
He blinked. The sun had risen higher, the light creeping over the edge of the overlook and catching the glint of something in the ruins below.
Kael squinted. "There. See that?"
Tovan followed his gaze. "Movement. You thinking scavengers?"
Kael passed the flask back and stepped toward the path. "Only one way to find out."
Navigating the broken paths down to the shrine took time. Moss-covered steps and fallen stones made footing treacherous, but Kael moved with purpose. Each step brought him closer to the place where he'd changed. Where he had felt her presence.
Elira was already at the base of the shrine, kneeling beside a patch of disturbed soil. She looked up as Kael approached. "Someone's been here. Recently. Tracks are fresh. And whatever it was... it was heavy."
Tovan scanned the edges of the ruins. "Trap?"
"Maybe," Elira said. "Or maybe we aren't the only ones chasing ghosts."
Kael approached the seal stone again—the one he'd activated in the chamber before. It was cracked now, veins of light long faded. But he still felt something. Not the Echoheart this time, but something else. A second presence.
"We need to check the inner vault," he said.
They moved carefully through the ruins, blades ready, until they reached the collapsed hall where the guardian had fallen. Its remains were gone.
"This isn't good," Tovan muttered.
Kael knelt where the core had been. Blackened stone. Scorch marks. No blood. No drag marks. Just... absence.
Elira reached for her pendant, eyes narrowing. "Whatever moved it did so cleanly. Like it knew what it was doing."
Kael stood slowly. The Echoheart was warming again. Not alarmed. Not urgent. Just aware.
And then he saw it—a single rune carved freshly into the wall near the vault door.
Kael traced it with a gloved hand. The symbol was old, older than the wars. He knew it.
His sister had drawn it once, in chalk, on the walls of their childhood home.
A warning.
He whispered the translation: "They watch the flame."
Elira stepped forward. "Who does?"
Kael stared at the rune, unease tightening his chest. "I don't know. But I think we're about to find out."
The wind shifted outside. The ruins whispered back.
And far below the stones, something answered.