Lys'tar was waiting. The journey had just begun.
Kael tightened the strap of his pack and pulled his cloak tighter against the cold wind sweeping down from the northern ridges. His boots found rhythm on the path carved through the wilderness, long forgotten by mapmakers and untouched by time. Though the sun still clung to the horizon, the sky bore the colors of dusk—molten gold bleeding into deep violet—and Kael knew he needed to reach shelter before darkness fully fell.
The forests surrounding him whispered as if alive. Leaves rustled even when there was no breeze, and occasionally he could hear the distant crack of branches far from the trail. He wasn't sure if it was his imagination or if something truly watched from the shadows, but every time he turned, there was nothing.
It had been two days since he left the sanctuary. The map Vasra sketched was more impression than precision, relying on instinct as much as direction. He carried only the scroll Eldric gave him, a blade of polished steel strapped to his side, and the mark on his hand—which now glowed faintly every night, like a lantern guiding him forward.
But it wasn't just the mark that urged him on.
There was something calling him.
A feeling, deep in his bones, like the pull of the tide. It came in flashes—a memory that wasn't his, a sound that echoed in silence, a name on the edge of thought. It was as if something ancient had awakened when the mark appeared, and now it wanted him to remember... or discover.
On the third evening, he reached it.
At the base of a hill, overgrown and cracked by centuries of weather, stood the archway. Wreathed in ivy and forgotten by the world, it bore the signs Eldric had spoken of—symbols etched in old stone, half-faded but still pulsing with a strange energy. As he approached, the mark on his palm burned hotter.
Kael took a breath and drew out the scroll. Its seal melted away the moment his hand touched it, revealing a line of text written in ink that shimmered like moonlight:
"Speak the city's true name, and the path shall open."
He didn't know how he knew what to say. The knowledge came from somewhere deep within.
"Lys'tar," he whispered.
The ground rumbled.
The archway groaned, its stones shuddering as ancient mechanisms groaned to life beneath the earth. Vines withered and receded. A sliver of space appeared between the stone blocks and widened, revealing a stairway descending into the earth. Torches along the walls burst into cold blue flame, casting dancing shadows against the steps.
Kael hesitated only a moment before stepping in.
The air inside was cool and dry, filled with the scent of dust, stone, and something older—magic, perhaps. As he descended, the blue fire followed him, torch by torch lighting the way. The stairwell opened into a long hallway, lined with broken pillars and murals so faded they were almost indecipherable. But one image caught his attention: a figure with the same mark on their hand, standing atop a mountain, surrounded by others.
Allies.
The ones Vasra had spoken of.
Were they real? Or were these only myths carved in stone?
Kael pressed forward. The hallway widened into a great chamber, its domed ceiling cracked but still holding. At the center stood a massive stone disc, like a sundial, covered in overlapping symbols. Around it were eight empty pedestals, and in the center of the disc: a handprint.
The mark on Kael's palm pulsed.
He stepped forward and laid his hand into the imprint.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then the chamber trembled.
A soft hum filled the air, rising in pitch until it vibrated in Kael's chest. The symbols on the disc glowed faintly, and one of the eight pedestals lit with a gentle blue light. Words filled his mind—not spoken, but felt:
"One awakened. Seven remain."
Kael stumbled back, breath caught in his throat. The chamber returned to silence.
So it was true. The allies existed. And now, one of them had stirred.
He didn't know who they were, where they might be, or how he was supposed to find them—but the wheel had turned. The first spark had been lit.
Kael spent the night within the chamber. The flames never dimmed. He tried to sleep beneath the warmth of one of the glowing torches, but dreams overtook him—strange visions of places he'd never seen, faces unfamiliar yet oddly comforting. A tower surrounded by storms. A child holding a silver pendant. A forest of white trees that whispered names.
And always, the mark. Burning, reaching.
By morning, Kael had made his decision.
He would not wait for the allies to come to him. He would go to them.
As he left the chamber, the stairway sealed behind him, leaving only forest and silence once more. But the weight of destiny no longer felt like a burden.
It felt like purpose.