The cliffside shuddered as the first explosion ripped through the ledge.
Chunks of stone crumbled and plummeted into the ravine below, echoing against the rocky walls in a thunderous cascade. Dust and ash erupted into the air as the Ashseekers screamed—howling like beasts stripped of language.
Kael stood firm in the middle of the chaos. Staffless but still poised, blind eyes locked in place like he could still see the battlefield through instinct alone. The relic against his chest was glowing again—brighter now. Hot.
"Arinya, now!" he barked.
She moved. Glyphs shimmered in the air as she sprinted across the narrow pass, casting mirror wards that fractured light and bent the enemy's vision. The Ashseekers stumbled, confused, slashing at phantoms.
From the rear, Doran let out a noise that was part scream, part warcry, and entirely undignified.
He hurled a vial of ash powder into the crowd and immediately turned to run.
"I'm officially quitting this job after today!" he shouted as black smoke burst in his wake.
Kael moved into the fray before Arinya could warn him. His hand caught the wrist of the nearest Ashseeker mid-strike, twisted, and drove the attacker into the stone wall with brutal efficiency. Another came at him from behind. Without even turning, Kael ducked low, swept the legs, and jabbed a knee into the attacker's chest, cracking ribs with a sharp crunch.
The relic pulsed again. His reactions were faster. Cleaner. Too clean.
He felt it again—the whisper of the staff in his vision. A presence just out of reach. Not a memory. A promise.
Arinya's voice cut through the air. "Three more on the ridge!"
Kael raised his hand, and the relic flared in sync with her shout. A wave of force surged out from his body, slamming into the ridge and dislodging it in a controlled collapse. Two of the enemies were buried instantly. The third shrieked and leapt for Kael.
And met Arinya's blade midair.
Her sword sliced through ash and bone in a perfect arc. The creature dissolved into embers before it hit the ground.
They stood together, chests heaving, silence falling like dust in the aftermath.
Doran staggered into view, bent over, hands on his knees. "Did... we win?"
Kael didn't answer immediately. He turned his head slightly, nostrils flaring. "One remains."
Sure enough, from the shadowed edge of the woods, a single Ashseeker stepped forward. Taller. Broad-shouldered. Its eyes were an unnatural crimson, more flame than flesh. It didn't charge. It walked.
Doran groaned. "Why is there always a bigger one?"
Kael stepped in front of the others. "Go."
"We're not leaving you alone with that thing," Arinya said.
"You're not ready for what it's carrying."
Doran blinked. "Wait, is it… is it carrying something?"
Kael tilted his head. "Magic. Something dark. A corruption that burns too slow to kill."
Arinya touched his arm. "You can't take it alone."
"I don't need to win. I just need to distract it." Kael stepped forward, voice lowering. "I remember this kind of aura. This one was made from something else. Someone."
The Ashseeker stopped ten paces away. It unsheathed a rusted blade, the metal weeping black mist. In the silence, even the river below went quiet.
Kael removed his outer cloak and dropped into a low stance. "Take Doran. Get to the forge temple."
"What's at the forge temple?" Arinya asked quickly.
Kael's jaw tensed. "Answers."
Then he moved.
The fight was a blur. Blade met fist. Fire met will.
The Ashseeker was faster, stronger. But Kael had become something else since the relic bound to him. He dodged impossibly, countered strikes that never made sound, and retaliated with brutal precision. But the creature adapted. With every movement, it seemed to learn.
A feint. A sweep. A stab to the side.
Kael staggered back, blood trickling from his ribs. He gritted his teeth, hand over the wound, but stayed standing.
Then the relic flared.
His mind wasn't in the moment anymore. It was somewhere else. A flicker. A memory. A throne room again—this time lit by golden flame. The staff stood beside him in a brazier of fire. He reached out—and the vision shattered.
When Kael came to, the Ashseeker was mid-lunge. But he wasn't caught off guard. He turned, angled his body, grabbed the creature's blade arm—and twisted.
There was a sickening crack. The weapon dropped.
Kael slammed his palm into the creature's chest and pushed with everything the relic gave him.
The blast sent it hurtling off the cliff. It didn't scream. It just vanished into the mist below.
Kael fell to one knee, panting, vision swimming with heat and pain.
Boots pounded toward him. Arinya reached his side first.
"You idiot," she whispered, crouching next to him. "You could've died."
He smiled faintly. "You sound relieved."
"I'm annoyed."
"Good. Stay that way. It keeps you sharp."
Doran caught up, bent over again. "Forge temple, you said. Because nothing says vacation like a haunted smithy in the mountains. Does it come with amenities?"
Arinya helped Kael to his feet. "What's really there?"
Kael straightened, leaning against her shoulder. "I don't know. But I feel... a pull. Like something's waiting for me."
They began moving, the forest giving way to rising stone paths and old Dwarven markers carved into mossy boulders. As they walked, the air changed. Heavier. Thicker. The closer they got to the mountain, the more the world seemed to hold its breath.
That night, they camped beneath a broken stone archway—one of the last remnants of the ancient road leading to the forge temple.
Kael sat near the fire, quiet. His fingers brushed the relic through his shirt again. Still warm.
Arinya sat beside him, offering him a canteen.
"You never said what you saw during that fight," she said softly.
"I remembered the staff again," Kael said. "But this time, I wasn't just holding it. It was... responding to me. Like it was alive."
Arinya leaned her head back, looking at the stars. "Maybe it is."
He turned toward her, though he couldn't see. "You're still here."
"I'm still annoyed."
He smiled faintly again.
Across the camp, Doran sat cross-legged, carving something into the dirt with a stick. When he noticed their gaze, he lifted it triumphantly.
"It's a plan," he declared.
"It looks like a chicken," Arinya said.
"It's a tactical chicken."
Kael nodded solemnly. "Tactical chickens are known to win wars."
"See? He gets it."
As the fire crackled and the wind settled, Kael leaned back slightly, the scent of the forest mixing with the smoke and iron. He could feel it now—closer. Like the staff was calling him through the relic. Through time. Through fate.
The forge temple was no longer just a destination.
It was a beginning.