The torchlight flickered uneasily as Kael led them out of the Temple of Galesh. No one spoke. Even the wind had died down, as if the forest itself held its breath after Malrik's appearance.
Aric's footsteps felt heavier than ever. Not just from fatigue—but from fear. Not of Malrik, but of what he might become.
They camped at the edge of a frozen stream, surrounded by jagged stones and thick mist. Selene didn't sleep. Kael whispered to the fire, weaving protective chants in a tongue Aric didn't recognize.
And Aric sat alone, watching his reflection ripple in the black water. His eyes… something in them had changed. They shimmered faintly, like dying embers. A reminder that the thing inside him—the glow, the hunger—wasn't fading.
He clenched his fists and leaned forward, whispering into the water.
"I won't become like you."
The reflection flickered. For just a second, it wasn't his face looking back.
It was Malrik's.
Aric stumbled away, heart pounding. The water stilled, innocent again.
When dawn finally broke, Kael turned toward the north. "We're nearing the Hollow Scar. Old battlefield. Nothing grows there, not even moss. The blood spilled soaked into the bones of the land. If there's anywhere we might find answers—or something to sever his hold—it's there."
Aric glanced at Selene. "You've been quiet."
She didn't look at him. "Because I've been watching. You don't realize how much he's already changed you."
"I'm still me."
"Are you?" she snapped. "You don't dream like normal people anymore. You see. You hear. Even your voice is different when you sleep. Do you remember what you said last night?"
Aric frowned. "I didn't say anything."
She turned, deadly serious. "You said 'He must fall by my hand. Or the world burns.'"
A chill swept through him.
They traveled through tangled woods for hours before the trees thinned and the land sloped downward into a vast dead basin—ashen, cracked, and littered with rusted weapons. The Hollow Scar.
No birds. No wind. Just silence and the crunch of bone-dry earth beneath their boots.
As they descended, Aric felt it again. That pressure. The silent weight of eyes.
They found a stone monolith at the center of the basin, carved in a language neither Kael nor Selene could read—but Aric could. He knew what it said, though he had no memory of learning it.
"Here fell the First Flame. Betrayed by kin. Bound by shadow. His blood now stirs the cursed anew."
Kael whispered, "The First Flame… it's real."
"I thought it was legend," Selene murmured. "No one knows what it was."
"It was him," Aric said. "Malrik. He's not just powerful. He's ancient. And I'm standing on the place where he died the first time."
Lightning cracked in the distance. No clouds. No storm. Just a single tear across the sky.
Then the ground beneath the monolith rumbled, and a circular slab slowly rose—revealing stairs descending into the dark.
Kael unsheathed his blade. "We go together."
The air grew thick as they descended, until every breath felt like smoke. Symbols glowed along the walls—more of that language Aric somehow knew. They spoke of war, of betrayal, of a man who defied gods and swallowed death like wine.
And at the bottom—bones.
A vast chamber lined with the remains of warriors, their armor fused to their skeletons, swords rusted into their hands.
At the center, an obsidian throne.
Empty.
Except for a name carved across it in glowing runes:
MALRIK.
The runes flared the moment Aric looked at them. His mark burned, and something inside him surged.
He heard Malrik's voice, close—closer than ever.
"Come. Sit. See the truth."
Aric fell to his knees, gasping. Kael caught him, shouting, "Don't listen!"
But it was too late. Aric's vision went white.
He saw flames.
He saw a crown of smoke.
He saw himself—older, cloaked in shadow, holding a broken world in his hands.
And standing opposite him, sword raised, was Kael.
Then everything shattered, and he was back in the chamber, choking on the air.
Kael stared at him, breathing hard. "You connected. What did he show you?"
Aric looked at the throne.
"…The end."