The sun hadn't risen, but the forest glowed.
Not with light, but with presence.
Subtle pulses throbbed under the moss, like veins beneath skin. The trees didn't sway, but bent—very slightly—whenever Kaelion passed, as if nodding in acknowledgment. Or kneeling.
After the Trial of Mirrors, he felt… different.
The air moved differently around him. The bond with Umbrix sat heavier in his chest, no longer like a shadow clinging to him, but more like something waking up with him. Not beside. Not within.
As part of him.
And that terrified him more than anything.
Wren walked slightly ahead, bow strung across her back. Nyro padded beside her, silent but alert. She hadn't said much since the Trial—just watched him out of the corner of her eye when she thought he wasn't looking.
He always noticed.
"Where exactly are we going?" Kaelion asked finally, brushing a low branch out of his path.
"North-east spiral of the wild. There's an old ruin deep in the Veiled Grove."
"Sounds cozy."
"It isn't."
Kaelion arched a brow. "Are we expecting tea and finger sandwiches or another round of cryptic doom?"
Wren glanced back at him. "Neither. We're going to meet the Veilseekers."
He blinked. "That name's not very reassuring."
"They're spiritbound exiles—ones who refused the Archive's control. Scholars. Warriors. Zealots."
"Charming mix."
"They worship Umbrix."
Kaelion stopped walking. "Wait. Like—worship worship?"
"Yes," Wren said without pause. "They believe Umbrix was never a forbidden entity. They see him as a necessary balancing force. The one who should have been the first crowned."
"They're not entirely wrong," Umbrix said smoothly. "They remembered when others chose to forget."
"You had a cult?"
"A following. They saw what others feared. Of course, most of them died when the Spiral King fell."
"Lovely."
They pressed on, and the air continued to shift. The farther they walked, the more surreal the terrain became. Trees no longer stood straight—they twisted like smoke frozen in time. Stone arches bloomed like flowers. Faint whispers tugged at Kaelion's ears—his name spoken in a voice not quite his own.
He tried to ignore it.
It didn't stop.
Then came the sound—soft bells, not rung by hand, but strung across the trees like windchimes with no wind. Their song shifted as Kaelion approached, not melodically, but intuitively. The sound bent around him.
A clearing yawned open ahead.
And the ruins rose from the earth.
Black-stone spires crumbled but stood tall in jagged shapes. A half-dome, cracked straight through, crowned a long-forgotten sanctuary surrounded by spiral-carved columns. Ivy crawled like veins along each wall. Everything was shaped inward, designed to pull energy—not push it.
Wren slowed.
"They're watching," she said.
Kaelion felt it before he saw them.
Shadows peeled away from stone. Robes moved like smoke. Ten… no, twelve figures stepped from hidden paths—some tall and gaunt, others cloaked entirely in moss, antlers, or elemental markings. Most bore faint spirit tattoos that shimmered as they breathed.
One figure stepped forward. A tall man, bald, barefoot, with one silver eye and one scarred shut. Spirals were painted down his neck in ash-ink.
He bowed. Not deeply.
But low enough.
"You bear the bond."
Kaelion shifted. "Do I need a password?"
Wren spoke for him. "We're not here to kneel. We want answers."
The man tilted his head. "Then you shall have them. But first…"
His gaze flicked back to Kaelion. "We must know if he is who we think he is."
"I'm not," Kaelion said automatically. "I'm really not."
"You are," another voice replied—a woman cloaked in crystal light, eyes hidden behind mirrored lenses. "We felt the seal break. The Trial answered him."
"We need to go," Kaelion whispered internally.
"No," Umbrix said. "We need to listen."
Wren's hand hovered near her blade. "We came for knowledge. That's it."
"Then follow," the tall man said. "The Hollow Flame will speak."
They were led into the dome's heart, where shadows flickered against walls carved with forgotten sigils. A spiraling dais rose from the center, surrounded by thorn-wrapped pillars. Blackwood torches burned blue.
On a throne of stone and tangled roots sat a woman.
Old—but not frail.
Her skin cracked like clay, but her posture regal. Her eyes shone gold, and a flame hovered gently above her open palm.
The Hollow Flame.
She looked at Kaelion and smiled.
"So. The boy who wears the serpent wakes at last."
Kaelion stood his ground. "Name's Kaelion."
The flame in her hand pulsed. "No. It isn't."
"She knows," Umbrix whispered. "She's seen the old spirals."
He took a step forward. "You said you have answers?"
"I have many things," she replied. "But none so urgent as this: the Gate of Bone stirs."
Kaelion's mouth went dry. "Because of me."
"Because of what you carry."
"Umbrix?"
The Hollow Flame rose slowly. "Umbrix is the key. You are the hand that holds him."
Kaelion frowned. "I didn't choose this bond. I didn't ask to be anyone's Herald."
"History doesn't ask. It replays."
Kaelion's chest tightened.
She beckoned him forward.
He stepped onto the dais, and she reached out, placing two fingers to his forehead.
Flash.
A surge of heat. Sound. Echoes of spirals—temples burning—crowns falling—cities crumbling into roots. A massive door carved from bone, its edges still dripping with blood that refused to dry.
A name screamed through eternity: Kaelion Umbrixar.
He yanked away, stumbling.
The Hollow Flame sat back.
"You are not the Spiral King," she said. "But his echo. His incomplete future. The one who might choose differently."
Kaelion rubbed his chest. "I don't want a throne. I want to survive."
"You think they are different?"
He turned to Wren.
Her expression had shifted—tense. Angry.
"They want to use you," she said, voice low.
The Hollow Flame didn't deny it.
"Use him? No. Uplift him."
"To what?" Kaelion asked. "A weapon? A ruler? A symbol?"
The old woman's eyes glowed brighter. "To balance."
Wren pulled him back a step. "We're leaving."
But before they turned, the Hollow Flame said one last thing:
"When the Gate opens, you will not be Kaelion. You will be the choice itself. And the world will turn—depending on what version of you walks through."
They didn't speak again until the forest swallowed the ruins behind them.
Kaelion exhaled hard. "Okay. So that was awful."
Wren didn't answer.
"You believe her?" he asked.
"No."
"Do you want to believe her?"
Wren finally stopped walking.
She looked at him. "No. But I believe the Gate is real. I believe you're tied to it. And I believe... you're changing."
He took a breath. "I don't want to be that person. The one from the Trial. The one in the flames."
She stepped closer.
"You're not."
"I could be."
Wren touched his wrist. "Then let me be the one who reminds you."
They stood like that for a long moment—two figures lost in a forest that remembered too much.
Kaelion finally whispered, "What if I open it?"
"Then we deal with what comes out."
Together.