Dawn bled slowly across the sky, a muted palette of ochre and violet stretching over the fractured treetops. Kael adjusted the straps of his satchel and followed Sarai through the remains of a dry riverbed, his boots crunching softly over layers of pale, ash-coated stone. The trees here stood like brittle skeletons—burned from the roots up, some still smoldering faintly as if mourning the Hollowroot's awakening.
They hadn't spoken much since they left.
Kael wasn't sure if it was tension or just… weight. The silence was heavy in a way words couldn't penetrate.
He finally broke it. "You said there's a sanctuary north of the Riftlands. What kind of place is it?"
Sarai glanced back, her cloak fluttering with the breeze. "It was once a citadel. Before the Cartel wiped it from the map. The Order of Emberfall built it—Resonants who broke away from the old system. Idealists. Rebels. Survivors."
Kael frowned. "Why destroy it if it wasn't a threat?"
"Because they wouldn't kneel," she said. "The Astral Cartel doesn't tolerate unlicensed power. If you're not branded, they erase you."
The words sat bitter in Kael's throat. He thought of the figure he saw in the Hollowroot—himself, twisted and worn down by choices he hadn't made yet. How many of those choices would be shaped by people like the Cartel?
"How far is it?"
Sarai paused, checking a faded glyph-stone embedded into the ground—its light barely flickering now. "Five days on foot. Maybe four, if we don't get delayed."
"And what are the chances of that?"
She offered a dry smile. "Slim as a thread on fire."
By midday, they reached the edge of the Wyrmcrack Ravine—a deep, jagged scar that split the earth in both directions, wider than a river and far too deep to see the bottom. A single bridge remained, sagging and half-splintered, its ropes frayed but intact.
Sarai crossed first, silent and sure-footed. Kael hesitated before stepping onto the first plank. The wood groaned beneath his weight. He kept his gaze forward, not down.
Halfway across, he froze.
A sound—too soft, too precise—cut through the wind.
Whistle-click.
His eyes snapped toward the treeline behind them. Movement—fast, low to the ground. Shapes in silver cloaks, darting between charred trunks like phantoms.
"Sarai!" he hissed.
She was already turning, hand on her blade. "Go! Now!"
Kael bolted across the remaining stretch. The bridge swayed violently as something struck one of the ropes behind him—a bolt, humming with energy, sliced through the air and embedded itself in the wood inches from his foot.
He leapt onto solid ground just as Sarai drew a sigil across the bridge's base. Flames erupted, swallowing the structure in seconds, ropes snapping like tendons. The whole thing collapsed into the ravine in a shower of ash and embers.
"Who—what were they?" Kael gasped, watching the far edge for signs of pursuit.
Sarai's expression was grim. "Not bandits. Not from this region, at least."
She knelt and traced a glyph in the dirt. A shimmering image appeared—flickering figures in motion: pale armor, sigil-marked helms, energy repeaters strapped to their backs.
Kael's stomach tightened. "Cartel?"
Sarai nodded. "Scouts. Echo-class. They're meant to observe and track, not engage directly."
"Then why attack?"
She looked at him. "Because you're no longer a rumor. You're a variable they can't afford to let roam."
Kael let that sink in. The Cartel was hunting him. Already. And these were only scouts. What came next would be worse.
They moved quickly after that, avoiding open ground, cutting through the overgrown ruins of old frontier towns and ley-shattered roads. In one such ruin, they passed a cathedral split in two by a collapsed leyline—crimson light leaking through the cracks like blood from a wound. Kael didn't ask what had happened there. He could feel the residue. Pain. Rage. Something had died screaming.
That night, they made camp under the remnants of an iron windmill, its blades long rusted and its tower leaning like a drunk trying to stand. Sarai lit a whisperflame—small, invisible to most eyes but warm enough to fight off the mountain chill. Kael sat across from her, staring at the sky.
The stars here were strange. Warped.
"I saw something in the Hollowroot," he said softly. "A version of me. Broken. Hollow. He said I was the final test."
Sarai didn't respond at first. Then: "That was the Core's imprint. It shows you potential futures—ones shaped by fear, desire, or ruin."
"Was it real?"
"It could be. If you let it be."
Kael stared into the whisperflame. "He said I wouldn't have a choice."
"You always have a choice," she said. "The Core binds you, yes. But it doesn't rule you. Unless you let it."
He swallowed. "You sound like you've seen it before."
"I've seen what happens when people surrender to it."
He waited, but she said nothing more.
Two days passed in grinding silence and constant tension. They foraged sparingly, drank from filtered glacial runoff, and rested only when exhaustion became dangerous. Kael trained in quiet moments—learning to push and pull the Core's energy without letting it spill over.
He discovered something strange.
The Core responded. Not just like a tool—but like a living thing. When he grew angry, it stirred like a fire catching wind. When he focused, it pulsed with steadiness. And when he thought of what waited ahead… it grew cold. Like it knew more than he did.
He didn't tell Sarai. Not yet.
On the fourth evening, just before dusk, they crested a ridge and saw it:
Emberfall.
Or what remained.
The citadel sat on a plateau, half-buried by stone and time. Once-towering walls were collapsed in places, and the central tower was cracked through the middle like a snapped bone. But light still flickered inside. Movement. Signs of life.
Kael felt something stir deep in his chest. Not hope. Not yet.
But a beginning.
"We're not the only ones here," Sarai said. "Some of the old Order survived. You'll find guidance here—or enemies. Maybe both."
Kael nodded, his gaze fixed on the ruin that could hold answers… or bring more danger than anything they'd faced so far.
Either way, he was ready to walk through the fire.
Dawn bled slowly across the sky, a muted palette of ochre and violet stretching over the fractured treetops. Kael adjusted the straps of his satchel and followed Sarai through the remains of a dry riverbed, his boots crunching softly over layers of pale, ash-coated stone. The trees here stood like brittle skeletons—burned from the roots up, some still smoldering faintly as if mourning the Hollowroot's awakening.
They hadn't spoken much since they left.
Kael wasn't sure if it was tension or just… weight. The silence was heavy in a way words couldn't penetrate.
He finally broke it. "You said there's a sanctuary north of the Riftlands. What kind of place is it?"
Sarai glanced back, her cloak fluttering with the breeze. "It was once a citadel. Before the Cartel wiped it from the map. The Order of Emberfall built it—Resonants who broke away from the old system. Idealists. Rebels. Survivors."
Kael frowned. "Why destroy it if it wasn't a threat?"
"Because they wouldn't kneel," she said. "The Astral Cartel doesn't tolerate unlicensed power. If you're not branded, they erase you."
The words sat bitter in Kael's throat. He thought of the figure he saw in the Hollowroot—himself, twisted and worn down by choices he hadn't made yet. How many of those choices would be shaped by people like the Cartel?
"How far is it?"
Sarai paused, checking a faded glyph-stone embedded into the ground—its light barely flickering now. "Five days on foot. Maybe four, if we don't get delayed."
"And what are the chances of that?"
She offered a dry smile. "Slim as a thread on fire."
By midday, they reached the edge of the Wyrmcrack Ravine—a deep, jagged scar that split the earth in both directions, wider than a river and far too deep to see the bottom. A single bridge remained, sagging and half-splintered, its ropes frayed but intact.
Sarai crossed first, silent and sure-footed. Kael hesitated before stepping onto the first plank. The wood groaned beneath his weight. He kept his gaze forward, not down.
Halfway across, he froze.
A sound—too soft, too precise—cut through the wind.
Whistle-click.
His eyes snapped toward the treeline behind them. Movement—fast, low to the ground. Shapes in silver cloaks, darting between charred trunks like phantoms.
"Sarai!" he hissed.
She was already turning, hand on her blade. "Go! Now!"
Kael bolted across the remaining stretch. The bridge swayed violently as something struck one of the ropes behind him—a bolt, humming with energy, sliced through the air and embedded itself in the wood inches from his foot.
He leapt onto solid ground just as Sarai drew a sigil across the bridge's base. Flames erupted, swallowing the structure in seconds, ropes snapping like tendons. The whole thing collapsed into the ravine in a shower of ash and embers.
"Who—what were they?" Kael gasped, watching the far edge for signs of pursuit.
Sarai's expression was grim. "Not bandits. Not from this region, at least."
She knelt and traced a glyph in the dirt. A shimmering image appeared—flickering figures in motion: pale armor, sigil-marked helms, energy repeaters strapped to their backs.
Kael's stomach tightened. "Cartel?"
Sarai nodded. "Scouts. Echo-class. They're meant to observe and track, not engage directly."
"Then why attack?"
She looked at him. "Because you're no longer a rumor. You're a variable they can't afford to let roam."
Kael let that sink in. The Cartel was hunting him. Already. And these were only scouts. What came next would be worse.
They moved quickly after that, avoiding open ground, cutting through the overgrown ruins of old frontier towns and ley-shattered roads. In one such ruin, they passed a cathedral split in two by a collapsed leyline—crimson light leaking through the cracks like blood from a wound. Kael didn't ask what had happened there. He could feel the residue. Pain. Rage. Something had died screaming.
That night, they made camp under the remnants of an iron windmill, its blades long rusted and its tower leaning like a drunk trying to stand. Sarai lit a whisperflame—small, invisible to most eyes but warm enough to fight off the mountain chill. Kael sat across from her, staring at the sky.
The stars here were strange. Warped.
"I saw something in the Hollowroot," he said softly. "A version of me. Broken. Hollow. He said I was the final test."
Sarai didn't respond at first. Then: "That was the Core's imprint. It shows you potential futures—ones shaped by fear, desire, or ruin."
"Was it real?"
"It could be. If you let it be."
Kael stared into the whisperflame. "He said I wouldn't have a choice."
"You always have a choice," she said. "The Core binds you, yes. But it doesn't rule you. Unless you let it."
He swallowed. "You sound like you've seen it before."
"I've seen what happens when people surrender to it."
He waited, but she said nothing more.
Two days passed in grinding silence and constant tension. They foraged sparingly, drank from filtered glacial runoff, and rested only when exhaustion became dangerous. Kael trained in quiet moments—learning to push and pull the Core's energy without letting it spill over.
He discovered something strange.
The Core responded. Not just like a tool—but like a living thing. When he grew angry, it stirred like a fire catching wind. When he focused, it pulsed with steadiness. And when he thought of what waited ahead… it grew cold. Like it knew more than he did.
He didn't tell Sarai. Not yet.
On the fourth evening, just before dusk, they crested a ridge and saw it:
Emberfall.
Or what remained.
The citadel sat on a plateau, half-buried by stone and time. Once-towering walls were collapsed in places, and the central tower was cracked through the middle like a snapped bone. But light still flickered inside. Movement. Signs of life.
Kael felt something stir deep in his chest. Not hope. Not yet.
But a beginning.
"We're not the only ones here," Sarai said. "Some of the old Order survived. You'll find guidance here—or enemies. Maybe both."
Kael nodded, his gaze fixed on the ruin that could hold answers… or bring more danger than anything they'd faced so far.
Either way, he was ready to walk through the fire.