The wind howled through the broken peaks of the Shrouded Vale, where jagged cliffs loomed like sentinels watching a dying world. Kael stood at the edge of a crumbling ledge, peering down into the valley below. Fog blanketed the ground in a slow-moving tide, obscuring anything beyond a few dozen paces. The Echoheart pulsed faintly against his chest, resonating with the distant hum of something hidden—alive.
Tovan crouched nearby, examining a torn banner half-buried in ash. The insignia was faded, but unmistakable: the three-towered crest of the Varethian outpost. "They were here," he said. "And not long ago."
Kael nodded. "The relic's been drawing stronger ever since we crossed the threshold."
Elira unslung her staff, her fingers tracing old glyphs carved into the wood. "Then we're close to another shard."
They descended along a narrow path carved into the mountain's flank, every step echoing with the groan of old stone and shifting weight. As they moved deeper into the vale, remnants of an abandoned expedition came into view—shattered supply crates, broken weaponry, and the occasional gleam of armor crushed under rubble.
"Signs of battle," Tovan muttered. "But no bodies."
"Not a good sign," Elira replied, her voice low.
Kael stopped beside a collapsed statue, its face weathered into obscurity. The Echoheart grew warm again, and a vision flickered—brief, disjointed. A woman in Varethian armor, shouting into the dark. Tendrils of black mist encircling her. Then—nothing.
He staggered slightly.
"Another vision?" Elira asked.
Kael nodded. "They were attacked. Something came out of the ground... the mist..."
Tovan's jaw tightened. "Then we go armed and ready."
They reached the remnants of the outpost—a half-sunken ruin shrouded in thick mist. Lanterns still flickered in the main hall, untouched and unnervingly bright. Runes etched in defensive circles glowed faintly along the ground.
Elira whispered a spell, unveiling hidden wards. "These were meant to keep something out... or trap it inside."
As they stepped into the hall, the relic pulsed harder, and Kael's vision blurred. He was no longer in the present.
He saw the outpost alive—soldiers running, mages chanting, a commander screaming orders. Then darkness bled into the edges. A shape moved among them—humanoid, wrapped in flowing darkness, its eyes burning violet.
The figure reached toward a soldier, and their body unraveled into smoke.
Kael gasped as reality snapped back.
"Something's here," he whispered. "Something old... and it knows we're coming."
Before anyone could answer, the floor cracked beneath them. They fell.
Down into darkness.
Kael landed hard on stone, breath knocked from his lungs. He groaned and rolled to his side, reaching for the relic.
The Echoheart flared, casting a protective shimmer around him just as something lunged from the shadows.
Tovan fired. A screech echoed as the shadow-beast recoiled, its form twisting into smoke.
Elira called forth light, bathing the chamber in golden flame. Dozens of the creatures circled them—half-formed wraiths with clawed hands and hollow faces.
Kael rose, heart racing. "We hold here. Burn them back."
The battle erupted in chaos—steel, magic, and fire clashing with shadow and shriek. Kael fought with the relic's rhythm guiding his strikes, each move precise, preemptive. Echoes of his opponents' next steps rang in his mind like ghostly warnings.
One wraith surged toward him. He met it head-on, pressing the Echoheart into its core. The creature screamed—its form unraveling in a burst of light.
Tovan laughed, blood trailing from his brow. "Remind me to never question your cursed rock again."
The tide broke minutes later. The creatures retreated into fissures in the stone, vanishing like smoke in wind.
The trio stood amidst the ruins, panting, bruised, but alive.
Kael stared into the dark tunnel beyond. "That was just the beginning."
Behind them, runes on the floor flared—one final warning left by the lost outpost:
Beware the Whispering Ones. They do not die. They remember.