The sun had not yet risen when the gates of Emberhold creaked open, revealing the jagged cliffs and winding path that led down to the sea. A single longboat, black as night and etched with warding runes, awaited them. The Queen had named it Ashwing.....an omen, perhaps, or a promise.
Kael stepped aboard first, the shard at his chest pulsing with a strange anticipation. Behind him came Thalen, Lysara, Merek, and two Ember Guard volunteers, silent and grim. They set sail into the veil of morning fog, bound for the ancient ruin known only as the Dead Vale.
For two days they traveled across narrow rivers and mist-laden marshes, until finally the land rose before them in crumbling stone and twisted forest. The air was thick with decay and magic wild, feral magic that clawed at their minds.
"This place is cursed," Lysara muttered. "The wind whispers names I've never spoken."
"It's not the wind," Thalen said. "It's the memory of what happened here."
The Vale had once been a kingdom, long before Malagar's rise. Its people vanished after a war that tore reality asunder. The remnants stood as broken castles and petrified villages. And in the heart of that decay: a shard of the Crown.
As they camped near the ruins of Elowen Keep, a storm rolled in—unnatural and sudden. Shadows slithered through the fog, and the scent of ash and old blood choked the air.
Then came the dead.
Specters, wrapped in spectral armor, emerged from the dark. Not mindless wraiths, but warriors bound by ancient vows. One stepped forward, eyes glowing with blue flame.
"You carry the flame of kings," it rasped. "But you are no king."
Kael drew his blade, flame igniting along the edge. "I don't need to be."
The battle that followed was unlike any Kael had faced. His fire met their frost and steel, and Thalen's magic bent time and space to shield their allies. Lysara danced among them, her blade a blur of silver.
When dawn broke, only silence remained. The spirits faded, leaving behind a single object at the base of a ruined altar: a shard of the Crown, encased in frost and shadow.
Kael reached for it. As his fingers touched the crystal, he felt pain raw and searing and then knowledge. Visions of a forgotten king, of betrayal and death, surged into his mind.
He collapsed, gasping.
Thalen knelt beside him. "What did you see?"
Kael's voice trembled.
"A name... Valen. He once wore the Crown and he died trying to keep it whole."
The second shard pulsed in his hand, ice and fire entwined.
And somewhere, deep beneath the Vale, something ancient stirred.