The highlands of Mirathal stretched in solemn silence. Towering cliffs, weathered by time and ancient wars, stood like frozen titans. Kael's boots crunched over shale and bone-dust as he ascended the ridge, Ashreign humming faintly at his side.
Each step forward was a step closer to the Forgotten Gate—a relic left behind by the Veilborn, the first conjurers of the Starsteel. According to the map given by Master Velar, it was hidden inside the Weeping Crag, sealed behind a puzzle only a Bladebearer could solve.
But Kael wasn't alone.
He felt it first—an itch at the back of his mind, like someone breathing thoughts too close to his own.
"Step light, boy," came a voice behind him, dry as ancient parchment.
Kael turned swiftly, blade half-drawn.
An old man in a tattered black cloak stood among the stones, blending in like lichen. His eyes shimmered silver beneath the hood.
"You… you're a Whisper," Kael said cautiously.
The man grinned. "Not just any. I am Dovren. And the Gate won't open to steel alone."
Kael narrowed his eyes. "What do you know of it?"
"Enough to say this: You seek the Gate to find Draeven's chain. But be warned. What lies beyond was hidden for a reason."
A rumble echoed beneath them. The mountain itself groaned.
Dovren extended a gnarled finger toward the cliff wall. "The stones speak. Listen well."
Kael approached.
Faint voices rose—no louder than breath—echoing from the rock: One must bleed for truth. One must fall to rise. One must die to open the eye.
Kael swallowed.
Dovren whispered, "The Veilborn didn't hide the Gate behind riddles. They sealed it behind sacrifice."
Ashreign pulsed once, as if answering the call.
Kael turned back toward the wall.
And he knew.
To move forward, something precious must be given.
Kael stood before the stone wall, where ancient runes glowed faintly with otherworldly light. The whispers had faded, but their meaning clung to him like frost: One must bleed for truth. One must fall to rise. One must die to open the eye.
Behind him, Dovren leaned on his staff, watching silently.
Kael tightened his grip on Ashreign. "What kind of price does it want?"
Dovren's expression was unreadable. "It asks for truth, for loss, and for a death. Not always literal… but always real."
The wall shimmered suddenly—three circles of light appeared in the stone. A trial. Three offerings.
Kael approached the first. The rune above it glowed red.
"Blood for truth," Dovren said. "What will you reveal, Bladebearer?"
Kael unwrapped a leather strap from his wrist. Beneath it, an old scar—burned into his flesh since the orphanage. The mark of the Order that raised him, trained him… and betrayed him.
He drew Ashreign slowly across the scar, drawing fresh blood.
"I was raised a weapon," he said, voice steady. "Forged by men who never loved me. They used me to kill in the name of kings I never believed in."
The rune pulsed—once, twice—then faded.
The second circle flared blue.
Kael stepped before it.
"To fall," Dovren murmured. "You must give up what anchors you."
Kael pulled out a small cloth pouch from inside his armor. Inside: a ring. Simple, silver, unadorned. Alira's ring.
He closed his eyes. Her laughter echoed in his memory. "I won't forget you," he whispered. "But I let go of the life we could've had."
He placed the ring into the circle.
It vanished in a burst of pale light.
Only one test remained.
The third circle blazed white.
"One must die," Dovren said gravely. "This is not symbolic."
Kael drew in a breath. "Then it's me, or something in me."
Ashreign flared in his hand, and Kael felt the presence again—that darkness he'd inherited when he first touched the blade. The voice that sometimes whispered. The rage that wasn't his.
"Take it," Kael said aloud. "Take the curse. Take the shadow."
The sword screamed. Shadows poured from his mouth, his eyes, his wounds—writhing tendrils of black smoke—and vanished into the white circle.
Kael collapsed.
And the mountain shifted.
The wall split with a thunderous crack, revealing a stone staircase descending into firelight and silence.
The Forgotten Gate had opened.
The stone staircase spiraled downward, swallowed by a glow not cast by any torch. Kael descended, each footstep echoing off the carved walls like a distant drumbeat. The air was warmer now, touched by the scent of molten stone and dust long undisturbed.
Dovren followed a few paces behind, murmuring to himself in the old tongue. The weight of the trials still clung to Kael's shoulders, but something inside him had shifted. The sword, Ashreign, now hummed with a steadier rhythm, as if recognizing his choices and approving.
"Where does this lead?" Kael asked quietly.
"To the Hollow Deep," Dovren replied. "An ancient chamber beneath the spine of the world. It was once a sanctuary, then a tomb, then… something worse."
They reached the final step and emerged into a vast cavern. The ceiling stretched high above them, covered in crystalline roots glowing with bioluminescent light. Towering statues lined the walls—warriors, kings, mages—each with blank faces and names carved in forgotten tongues.
In the center of the chamber stood a pedestal of black obsidian. Upon it, a sealed urn pulsed faintly, wrapped in iron bands.
Dovren's eyes widened. "The Emberheart."
Kael felt drawn to it. "What is it?"
"The last breath of the First Flame," Dovren said. "A spark of the origin fire. It can awaken, or destroy, the power that sleeps within Ashreign."
As Kael approached, the sword in his hand vibrated with tension. The closer he stepped to the Emberheart, the more he felt something stirring beneath the stone floor.
And then—a tremor.
The pedestal cracked.
The ground split open.
From the chasm rose a creature of fire and bone—towering, skeletal, its core a furnace of living flame.
"The Sentinel," Dovren whispered in awe and dread. "It guards the Emberheart. It will not let us take it freely."
Kael raised Ashreign.
"I didn't come this far to kneel," he said.
And the battle began.
The cavern blazed with sudden fire.
The Furnace Sentinel stood over twenty feet tall, a towering skeletal beast formed from scorched obsidian and iron veins. Its ribcage cradled a core of molten light, and every movement shed flakes of ash that sizzled as they hit the ground. Two burning eye sockets locked onto Kael, and a low, metallic groan rumbled from its hollow throat.
Kael leapt back as the Sentinel brought down a massive arm, shattering part of the stone floor where he'd stood just moments before. The impact shook the entire Hollow Deep.
"Don't aim for the bones," Dovren shouted from the edge of the chamber. "Strike the core—only the Emberheart sustains it!"
Kael gritted his teeth. The Sentinel wasn't just strong—it was fast. It moved with terrifying grace, sweeping its massive limbs like a dancer of death. Kael parried a blow with Ashreign, the contact sending shocks up his arms. The sword shimmered with spectral flame, trying to match the heat of the beast.
He ducked beneath a second strike and rolled to the Sentinel's side, swinging hard into its leg. Ashreign carved a deep groove, but the creature didn't stagger. Instead, it turned and roared—an echoing screech that vibrated through Kael's bones.
Kael's thoughts raced. He had to get to the core.
"Draw its attention!" Dovren called, pulling something from his robes—a silver sigil etched with runes. He whispered to it, and the air around him warped, creating a beacon of light. The Sentinel turned its gaze, briefly drawn.
Kael didn't hesitate. He sprinted up a fallen pillar, leaping from stone to stone, using the Sentinel's distraction. He reached its back, clambered up, and plunged Ashreign between two ribs.
The sword struck the fiery core.
There was a scream—an inhuman cry of pain—and then a violent explosion of heat. Kael was thrown clear across the chamber, slamming into the base of a statue. He groaned, vision swimming, ears ringing.
When the light faded, the Sentinel was on its knees. Cracks spiderwebbed across its body, molten light spilling out. Kael forced himself to stand.
"One more strike," he whispered.
With a cry, he charged—Ashreign glowing brighter than ever.
He plunged it deep into the Sentinel's chest.
The core shattered.
A blinding pulse of light erupted, then all went still.
Kael fell to one knee, gasping.
Across the chamber, the Emberheart pulsed, quiet and dim. The Sentinel's remains were cooling stone.
Dovren stepped forward in reverent silence.
"You've done it."
Kael rose, eyes on the urn. "Then let's awaken the flame."
The silence in the chamber was sacred.
Kael approached the Emberheart—now a simmering coal nestled in the wreckage of the Furnace Sentinel. The core pulsed faintly, like the last heartbeat of a dying star. His hand trembled slightly as he reached out, Ashreign gripped firmly in his other.
"Wait," Dovren said, stepping closer. "This is no ordinary relic. The Emberheart is a living fragment of the Prime Flame—if it bonds to Ashreign, the blade will never be the same."
Kael's gaze didn't waver. "That's exactly what I'm counting on."
He touched the Emberheart.
A jolt of burning energy surged through his body, and Ashreign vibrated in his grip. Flames raced up the sword's edge, weaving into its ancient runes. The blade drank in the Emberheart's fire—hungrily, greedily—until it glowed with a deep, primal heat.
Then came the voice.
"Ashreign accepts the flame."
It was not spoken aloud. It echoed inside Kael's soul.
The blade erupted with light. Fire, not of destruction but of purpose, enveloped it. The metal reshaped slightly, thinning and lengthening, runes rearranging like living script. It was no longer just a sword—it had become a conduit of ancient will.
Kael fell to one knee as memories—not his own—flooded him. Visions of the original wielders of Ashreign. Warriors, kings, guardians of worlds long lost. A lineage of flame.
When he stood, the chamber had changed. The Emberheart was gone. Its essence now lived within the sword.
Ashreign was reborn.
Dovren stared, stunned. "It's... beautiful."
Kael nodded solemnly. "And deadly."
He looked toward the sealed door on the far end of the chamber—the one the Sentinel had guarded for centuries.
"We move now," Kael said. "What lies beyond that door is the first true step toward Draeven."
Dovren hesitated. "Do you truly think you're ready?"
Kael's eyes, now faintly glowing with emberlight, narrowed.
"I was born ready. But now… I'm awakened."
And with Ashreign blazing in hand, he stepped toward the forgotten gate—toward a war that had only just begun.