Chapter 4: The Whispering Ruins
The battle with the Ashen Knight had left Lorian drained, but he had no time to rest. The path ahead was clear now, winding up the mountainside towards an ancient ruin that stood against the night sky like a forgotten monument. The air was cold, yet unnaturally still.
No wind. No rustling of leaves. No sound at all.
Lorian wiped the ash from his armor and pressed forward. His footsteps echoed against the stone path as he neared the ruins. The walls were cracked and covered in strange symbols, some carved so deep they looked more like claw marks than writing. His fingers brushed against them. The stone was ice-cold.
Something was here. Watching. Waiting.
The Entrance to the Unknown
A broken archway led into the ruins, its entrance shrouded in darkness. As Lorian stepped inside, the silence grew heavier, pressing against his ears. He exhaled, but there was no echo—as if the air swallowed sound itself.
Then, a whisper.
"Lorian Blackwind…"
He froze. The voice came from nowhere and everywhere at once, slipping through the air like mist. His grip tightened on his sword.
"You seek the summit… but do you seek it for truth, or to escape what follows you?"
Lorian ignored the voice and pushed forward. The corridor opened into a vast chamber, its ceiling high enough to disappear into the shadows above. Strange stone pillars stood in uneven rows, each carved with faces—human, yet twisted in expressions of fear and agony.
The air grew colder. The shadows deepened.
Then—footsteps.
Not his own.
He turned, sword raised. The ruins seemed to shift, the stone walls bending slightly, like they were breathing.
And then, he saw them.
Figures, flickering at the edges of the chamber—like reflections on water. They moved, shifting between solid and transparent, their forms blurred and broken. Ghosts? Echoes?
One stepped forward.
"You carry a name soaked in sorrow, Lorian Blackwind. But will you bear its weight?"
Lorian's breath caught. He had heard that voice before.
"You were not always alone, were you?"
The chamber shattered.
A Memory Unveiled
Lorian was no longer in the ruins.
He stood in a village—his village. Ferdan Valley. But something was wrong.
The sky was dark. The air was thick with smoke. The buildings, once full of life, were burning.
Lorian took a step forward, his heart pounding. This wasn't a vision. This was a memory.
The sound of screams filled the air. A child's voice called out—
"Run!"
Lorian turned. A younger version of himself ran through the village, fear in his eyes. Chasing him was something unseen, something lurking in the darkness. Lorian tried to move, tried to call out, but his voice was swallowed by the flames.
Then, he saw it.
A figure stood at the center of the burning village. Tall. Shadowed. Unmoving.
Lorian's stomach twisted. The flames flickered around the figure, but its form remained untouched. It was watching.
Slowly, the figure turned its head, and two crimson eyes locked onto Lorian's.
"You cannot run from what you are."
The words rang in his mind like a death knell. A sharp pain shot through his chest. He gasped, stumbling backward—
The world shattered again.
Back to the Ruins
Lorian fell to his knees, his breath ragged. The ruins reformed around him, their oppressive silence returning. His vision swam, but the whispers remained.
"You remember now."
Lorian clenched his fists. That thing—whatever it was—it was real.
It had never left him.
The truth settled in his gut like a stone. He had thought his journey was about strength, about reaching the summit to prove himself.
But now, he realized—he was being led here.
The summit wasn't just a test.
It was a confrontation.
A shiver ran down his spine. The ruins had shown him something he had long buried. A past he had tried to forget.
But now, it was awake again.
The Guardian's Warning
The silence was broken by a slow, deliberate clap.
Lorian snapped his head up. Across the chamber, a man stood at the base of a crumbling staircase. He wore a tattered cloak, his face obscured by a deep hood. The only visible feature was his mouth—curved into a knowing smile.
"Well now," the stranger said, voice smooth. "That was quite the revelation, wasn't it?"
Lorian got to his feet, gripping his sword. "Who are you?"
The man spread his arms. "A wanderer, a watcher… maybe even a warning." He tilted his head. "Or perhaps, just another piece of your past."
Lorian narrowed his eyes. "You were expecting me."
The man chuckled. "I've been expecting many. Some make it this far. Most don't." He stepped forward. "The real question is, do you understand now? The mountain does not test your strength. It tests your truth."
Lorian's grip tightened. "And what truth am I supposed to see?"
The stranger's smile faded. "That you are not alone. That the thing waiting at the summit is not just an obstacle—it is a part of you."
A cold dread settled in Lorian's chest.
The stranger sighed. "You've seen the shadow before. Felt its presence. Do you truly think climbing higher will let you escape it?"
Lorian took a step forward. "I don't care. I will reach the summit."
The stranger studied him for a moment. Then, he smiled again.
"Good."
Before Lorian could react, the stranger vanished.
The Path Ahead
Lorian exhaled, his body still tense. The ruins had returned to silence. But something was different now.
The path ahead was clearer.
The mountain was no longer just a destination.
It was a reckoning.
Taking one last look at the ruins, Lorian turned and stepped forward. The wind howled outside, carrying with it the whispers of his past.
And above, at the peak of Tzaras, something waited.