The fires of Ashen had died down, but the smoke remained—hanging in the air like a memory too stubborn to fade. The people had survived, but survival wasn't enough anymore. Not after the Serpent Court's attack. Not after the way they had struck, swift and brutal, with knowledge no outsider should possess.
Someone had to know more.
Someone had to find out how deep the serpent's roots went.
That someone was Ethan.
They gathered at dawn.
Ethan. Lyra. Joren. And two others: Mira, a hunter with a quiet step and a sharper aim than most, and Tavren, a former scholar turned farmer who had once studied the ancient histories buried in Avalon's stone.
Their destination lay northeast—beyond the hills, past the forests scorched by war—to the foot of Mount Kaelor, a place the villagers only whispered about.
A ruin slept beneath the mountain.
Old. Forgotten. Forbidden.
The path was long and winding, with Ethan carrying one of his Earth duffel bags over his shoulder. Inside, food, water, a flashlight, and a few remaining shells for the shotgun. They traveled lightly but cautiously. Even in peace, Avalon's wilds were unpredictable.
By dusk, the great mountain loomed before them like a god in slumber, its jagged peaks clawing at the sky.
At its base, hidden behind vines and crumbling stone, they found the entrance—a door not made of wood or metal, but shaped from the mountain itself, carved with symbols none of them could read.
Except Ethan.
He stepped forward, eyes narrowing.
The carvings shimmered faintly.
Not with magic but meaning.
The gift from the God of Creation still lived in him, and as he focused, the stone markings rearranged themselves in his mind, reshaping into words.
"Here lie the echoes of the First Walkers. We crossed the realms and paid the price."
Joren let out a low breath. "First Walkers?"
Tavren nodded slowly. "It's a myth—old as Avalon itself. They say there were those who could step between worlds. Some claimed it was a curse… others, a divine burden."
Ethan didn't answer.
He simply placed his hand on the door.
And it opened.
Inside, the air was cool and still. Dust lay heavy on stone floors, and torch brackets lined the walls, untouched by time. Ethan clicked on his flashlight and led the way, casting beams of light into the dark.
The hall descended in a spiral further and further until it opened into a massive chamber with a vaulted ceiling, high and arched, and in the center, a towering monolith of obsidian.
Strange metal conduits—half-machine, half-organic veined the stone around it, pulsating faintly with a light that shouldn't still be alive.
Around the monolith were carvings. Murals. Etchings.
Ethan moved from one to another, eyes wide.
"They came from another world," he whispered. "There were others like me. But not all of them were good."
One carving showed a figure cloaked in stars holding a branch of fire—a world-walker bringing knowledge to a village.
Another showed a figure cloaked in shadows, burning a city from the inside—a world-walker consumed by greed.
"Some helped," Tavren murmured, translating beside Ethan. "Some... enslaved."
"Some became kings," Lyra added, looking grim.
"And some," Mira said, pointing to the final mural, "were hunted."
The last image was clear: a group of masked warriors with serpent insignias dragging a man through a portal—his hands chained, his mouth open in silent scream.
The Serpent Court.
They hadn't just started hunting people like Ethan.
They'd been doing it for centuries.
As they circled the monolith, Ethan's mind began to hum.
A low vibration echoed through the chamber—growing stronger the closer he got to the obsidian spire. Then suddenly, he staggered back, grabbing his temples.
The world spun.
His vision blurred.
And then—he wasn't in the chamber anymore.
He stood in the same room, but it was alive.
Lit.
Full of people in strange robes, moving between glowing panels and speaking in a tongue he somehow understood.
They spoke of "dimensional breaches," of "unstable walkers," of the "Tree of Realms."
And then one turned toward him—a young woman with eyes like molten silver.
"You're out of time," she said, her voice distant and dreamlike. "They've already begun unraveling the roots. Find the Tree. Guard it."
Ethan blinked.
"What tree?"
She stepped forward, touching his chest.
"The one inside you."
And just like that—
He was back.
On his knees.
Lyra at his side, shaking him.
"Ethan! Are you alright?!"
He gasped, pulling in air like he hadn't breathed in hours. The others crowded around, but he didn't speak immediately.
He looked back at the monolith, now dim again.
The chamber had fallen silent.
But something had changed.
Something inside him.
On their way out, Tavren filled a satchel with ancient scrolls and sketched what carvings he could. Mira stayed close, scanning the path ahead, uneasy.
As they emerged into the night air beneath Mount Kaelor, Ethan looked up at the stars—two suns far on the horizon.
The world felt heavier.
The Serpent Court wasn't just trying to stop a rebellion.
They were trying to control reality.
And Ethan wasn't just some outsider caught in the wrong place.
He was a piece of something much bigger.
A bridge between worlds.
A key.
And maybe even…
A threat.