The Veilwood was unlike any forest Kaelen had ever seen.
It was ancient — older than kingdoms, older than memory itself. Massive trees twisted toward the heavens, their bark blackened and gnarled. Strange mists coiled between the roots, whispering secrets in voices too faint to understand.
The deeper they ventured, the less natural the world felt.
Kaelen adjusted the strap on his pack and glanced at the others. His squad moved in a tight formation — Jarek taking point, his axe glinting faintly. Sylri ghosted along the shadows, silent and watchful. Bram carried the heavy gear, grunting occasionally. Nessa muttered under her breath, a small flame dancing between her fingers for light. Corren, ever cautious, lingered near Kaelen's side, one hand resting lightly on the handle of his staff.
"Keep close," Kaelen ordered in a low voice. "The Hollow Spires are near."
"Aye," Jarek muttered. "You can smell the rot."
Indeed — a sickly-sweet stench hung in the air, growing stronger with each step.
It was the smell of death.
By nightfall, they reached the edge of the ruins.
The Hollow Spires jutted out of the earth like broken bones — black towers leaning at impossible angles, half-swallowed by the hungry forest. Vines choked the stone, and strange sigils pulsed faintly along the cracked walls.
Kaelen shivered. There was no wind, yet the ruins hummed — a low, almost subsonic vibration that made his teeth ache.
"This place is wrong," Nessa whispered.
"No turning back now," Sylri said grimly, drawing her blades.
Kaelen tightened his grip on Vaerlyn.
Their mission was simple: retrieve the relic, a shard of the First Flame, hidden somewhere within the ruins before Ashen forces could find it.
Simple.
Nothing ever stayed simple.
Inside, the Hollow Spires were worse.
The walls seemed to breathe, the stones slick with cold moisture. Strange glyphs twisted and writhed in the torchlight, as if reacting to their presence.
Corren swore under his breath. "These aren't Ashen glyphs," he said. "They're older. Much older."
"What does it mean?" Kaelen asked.
"It means we're walking into a tomb built for something that should have stayed buried."
Not exactly reassuring.
They moved deeper, navigating collapsed hallways and broken staircases. Every sound echoed unnaturally — a drip of water became a crash, a scuff of boot leather became a roar.
Jarek suddenly halted, raising a fist.
Movement.
Something slithered across the edge of Kaelen's vision — something that moved on too many legs.
Before Kaelen could react, the creature lunged.
A monstrosity made of bone and rot, stitched together by black magic. Its maw gaped wide, rows of serrated teeth snapping hungrily.
"Contact!" Jarek roared, swinging his axe.
Kaelen reacted instinctively — Vaerlyn leapt into his hand, and with a shout, he summoned the Ember within.
Flames erupted along the blade's edge.
He met the creature head-on, sparks flying as steel and bone collided. The beast shrieked, a sound like shattering glass.
Around him, the squad fought fiercely.
Sylri's twin swords flashed, carving deep wounds. Bram slammed his hammer into the creature's flank, sending it reeling. Nessa hurled bolts of fire, searing flesh. Corren wove protective wards, deflecting deadly strikes.
Kaelen focused — reaching deeper into his memory, into the burning core of his rage, his fear, his hope.
A surge of flame burst from his blade, engulfing the creature in blue-gold fire.
It screamed once — and then collapsed into ash.
Breathing hard, Kaelen looked around.
More shadows stirred in the ruins.
That had just been a scout.
"We have to move," Kaelen said sharply. "Now."
They pressed forward, urgency spurring their steps.
At the heart of the ruins, they found it —
A chamber half-collapsed, filled with broken statues and shattered relics.
And at the center, on a pedestal of black stone, a small shard of crystal burned with inner light — the relic.
Kaelen approached carefully, senses alert.
But the moment his fingers brushed the relic — the ground trembled.
A deep, resonant voice echoed through the ruins, speaking in a language Kaelen didn't understand but felt — something old, something furious.
Walls cracked. The air thickened.
And from the darkness beyond the chamber... something stirred.
A figure emerged — tall, robed in tattered black, its face hidden behind a cracked porcelain mask.
Ashen Mage.
But not like any Kaelen had faced before.
This one reeked of power, of rot so deep it bled into the stone.
"You should not have come here, Ember-child," the figure rasped, voice scraping like knives. "You awaken what slumbers."
Kaelen raised Vaerlyn, his squad forming up behind him.
"We're taking the relic," Kaelen said, his voice steady. "Get in our way, and you'll burn."
The masked figure laughed — a hollow, terrible sound.
"Fool," it hissed. "You carry a spark into a storm you cannot survive."
With a gesture, it summoned a dozen shadow-creatures from the crumbling walls — creatures made of bone, ash, and despair.
Kaelen set his jaw.
So be it.
He raised his blade, feeling the Ember surge within him, hotter and stronger than ever before.
"Form up!" he shouted. "We hold the line!"
The battle for the Hollow Spires had begun.