The world returned in a rush of wind and cold stone.
Nyssa landed hard, boots skidding across the obsidian floor of the chamber beyond Thalon's Door. Marek crashed beside her, grunting as he rolled to his feet, brushing soot from his tunic. The runes along the chamber walls had gone dark.
And Lola was gone.
Nyssa stood quickly, chest tight. The silence that followed felt too empty, like something sacred had slipped away and left only weight in its place.
"She stayed behind," Marek muttered, rubbing his elbow. "Of course she did. The glowing ones always do. Vanish with cryptic warnings and no forwarding address."
Nyssa stared at the now-closed Door, fingers flexing at her sides. "We saw where Jack is. But we also saw something worse."
Marek nodded grimly. "Cindralach. The Hollow Sovereign. A valley with a name like Black Flame. I'm sensing a pattern here."
Nyssa turned toward the corridor leading out of the chamber. "We go east. The Ashen Wastes. The valley Lola spoke of—if Kael's there, we find him."
Marek hesitated. "You're really sure about that? After everything?"
Nyssa didn't look back. "I watched him fall. I won't let him be alone in the dark."
They moved quickly through the catacombs, Marek lighting their path with another (less cracked) runestone. The stairwells seemed deeper than before. The walls bled old whispers. And somewhere, far beneath the surface of the realm, something stirred.
They emerged into the moonlight hours later.
The land beyond the Hollow Tree had shifted—no longer twilight-tinged, but scorched and dusted with gray ash. Trees grew like charred bones, and the wind carried no scent but soot.
Nyssa took one look at the eastern ridges and sighed. "That's new."
Marek glanced at a distant cluster of jagged peaks glowing faintly red. "Is that fire?"
"No," Nyssa said. "That's the Valley."
The journey across the scorched plains was quiet.
Too quiet.
No crows. No wind through leaves. Just the crunch of boots over broken stone, and the occasional flicker of Marek's muttered jokes to keep the fear from setting in.
"Do you think Jack's still himself?" he asked eventually.
Nyssa didn't answer right away.
Then: "I think he's trying to be."
"And Kael?"
She hesitated longer.
"I don't know who Kael is anymore," she admitted. "But I know who he was. And that's enough to go after him."
Night fell just as they reached the edge of the Ashen Wastes.
A low ridge sloped into a valley of black glass and twisted flame. The sky was red here—not with sun, but with the pulse of fire beneath the ground. No trees grew. No beasts stirred.
And standing at the rim of the valley was a boy.
Or what had once been one.
Nyssa froze.
Marek cursed softly.
Kael stood with his back to them, cloaked in tattered robes of dark crimson. His hair was longer now—shaggy and uneven—and his right arm was wrapped in chains that glowed faintly red. The earth beneath him hissed with each step he took.
Nyssa called softly, "Kael?"
He didn't turn.
She tried again. "It's me. Nyssa. We found you."
Still no response.
Then, at last—his head turned slightly. Just enough to catch one eye glowing faintly gold. A low whisper leaked from his lips.
"They said I was the seed."
Nyssa stepped closer. "You're not a seed. You're Kael. My friend."
He turned fully.
And his smile wasn't his.
"I remember you," he said, voice hollow and deepened. "You fought to save me. But you didn't know what I was."
Marek raised his hands carefully. "Okay, big guy. Let's not get dramatic. You're wearing chains. That never means anything good."
Kael ignored him. His gaze locked on Nyssa.
"I remember the fire. The voice beneath the fire. The one that woke me. The one that offered me a name."
Nyssa's stomach dropped. "What name?"
Kael's mouth moved soundlessly—then, in a whisper that bent the air:
"Heir of the Dark Lord."
The flames in the valley surged.
Marek stumbled back. "Okay, we're officially past the talk-it-out phase."
But Nyssa didn't draw her blade. She stepped forward instead.
"I don't care what name it gave you," she said. "You're Kael. You were the boy who nearly died trying to save a village of strangers. The one who jumped between Jack and death without thinking. That's who you are."
Kael's gaze flickered.
The chains around his arm pulsed—then cracked.
"You shouldn't be here," he said again. "He's coming. The one I carry."
Nyssa swallowed. "Then let's fight him together."
For a long breath, Kael didn't move.
Then something changed. His expression shifted—not a full return, but a flicker. A hesitation. He clenched his chained hand, knuckles pale.
"Run," he whispered.
The ground burst open behind him.
From the flames rose a shape—massive, cloaked in smoke and shadow. Its face was a burning mask of hatred, and its limbs shimmered with spectral steel.
The Dark Lord.
Or a fragment of him.
Kael turned, facing it with a scream.
"I said— RUN!"