The first blow wasn't a sound, but a rupture.
A crack ran through the protective ward like lightning through frozen glass, thin and jagged, barely visible but undeniable. The moment it split, the silence of the woods shattered. The Spellseekers surged forward—not in chaos, but in practiced, silent unity, their ash-grey armor whispering through the mist. They carried no swords, no bows. Only those flickering lanterns and jagged brands of blackened steel etched with unfamiliar sigils.
Kael had drawn his blade before the first figure touched the threshold. The runes carved along the weapon's edge shimmered as he channeled raw will into it, not magic—he still didn't understand magic—but instinct, tempered resolve, and the iron purpose that came with protecting Liora.
They met at the broken line of the ward in a crash of momentum and defiance. His blade carved through the first Spellseeker cleanly, but instead of blood, the thing crumbled into ash and bone. A hollow echo shuddered outward, as though something behind the mask had tried to scream—and failed.
Kael didn't have time to question. The next attacker lunged with a flickering lantern, and the moment its light grazed his shoulder, pain burst across his nerves, sharp and unnatural. He rolled to the side and severed the figure's wrist with a sharp twist, but the lantern didn't fall. It floated midair, pulsing, and turned toward Liora.
Wren was already there.
She hurled a dagger into its glass eye, and the lantern exploded in a bloom of blue fire. Ash and splinters sprayed across the courtyard, and the other Spellseekers recoiled, momentarily thrown off by the light's destruction.
"Those lanterns are bound souls," Seran said from the far edge, holding a barrier of silver light between the group and a trio of encroaching figures. "If they touch her, they'll pull what's inside her out."
Kael didn't need to be told twice.
He grabbed Liora's hand and pulled her behind one of the outpost's old pillars, where the broken stone could at least shelter her from the sweeping light. "Stay here," he said, gripping her shoulders. "You hear me? No matter what happens, don't let that light touch you."
"I can help," she insisted, her voice trembling. "I can feel her inside me. The girl from the forge. She's... awake now."
He hesitated. He saw it in her eyes—not recklessness, but a sharp, wild clarity, as if two voices were beginning to converge. The fear was still there, but it was braided with something older, fiercer. Something not entirely hers.
"Just don't lose yourself," he said. "Hold on to who you are."
Then he turned and ran back into the fight.
Wren had already felled another two. Her movements were precise, brutal, her daggers little more than silver arcs in the dark. Seran stood in a ring of light, weaving his barrier tighter each time a Spellseeker tried to break through. But the cultists were relentless. More of them poured from the treeline, stepping out of the mist like phantoms born from memory.
The air grew thick with the scent of burnt metal and wet ash. Kael fought with every ounce of control he had, his body moving on reflex now. Each swing of his blade left a trail of burning silver light, not from magic, but from the weight of his intention. He didn't fight to win. He fought to protect.
And yet, he could feel them pushing closer.
Behind him, Liora knelt, her hands pressed into the stone. Her breathing grew shallow as the presence inside her stirred again. The words came unbidden to her lips—not ones she'd learned, but remembered.
"By the name beneath the flame… I open what was closed."
A ripple spread from her fingertips. The earth beneath the courtyard pulsed. Ancient patterns beneath the moss lit up in molten lines, tracing sigils Kael had never seen. They weren't from this age.
A ghostly outline of a circle began to form beneath her, and in its center, a figure flickered into being—a girl made of fire and smoke, her face indistinct, her hair woven with embers. The image hovered, fragile as a flame caught in wind, and spoke directly into Liora's mind.
"I was broken. You are whole. Let me burn."
"No," Liora whispered, shaking her head. "Not yet. I'm not ready."
The fire-ghost tilted its head. "Then bleed instead."
Liora gasped as pain lanced through her chest, not physical, but remembrance. She felt herself falling—not in body, but in memory. She saw visions of a tower surrounded by darkness, a blade that drank stars, a voice calling her name—but it wasn't her name, and it wasn't her voice.
Kael heard her cry out. He turned, just in time to see a Spellseeker breaking through Seran's barrier and hurtling toward her with a lantern raised high.
There wasn't time to reach her.
But there was time to throw his blade.
He let it fly, spinning through the air like a streak of silver fire, and it struck the Spellseeker clean through the lantern. The construct shattered into light and smoke, the soul trapped inside dissolving with a hollow sigh.
Liora blinked. The pain lessened. The ghost flickered and whispered, "He's still choosing you. Even now."
And then it was gone.
The courtyard stilled.
The last of the Spellseekers collapsed as Seran unleashed the last of his stored energy in a wave of light that turned ash to wind. Wren stood panting over the fallen, her daggers dripping with soot.
Kael rushed to Liora's side. "Are you hurt?"
She shook her head, her voice small. "I think… I almost wasn't me anymore."
He pulled her into a hug, holding her close. "But you are you. And I'm not letting anyone take that away."
She nodded against his shoulder, but even as she did, she clutched her chest with one hand. Beneath her skin, something pulsed—quiet, warm, but undeniable.
The ember still lived.
The group didn't sleep that night. The mist never lifted, and though no more Spellseekers came, the air remained heavy, like the moment before rain. They had survived the assault—but no one believed it was over.
As dawn rose, painting the sky with crimson threads, Kael stood on the edge of the broken outpost, watching the road ahead.
Seran joined him, eyes distant.
"That was no accident," he said. "They knew what was buried beneath the forge. They knew someone would come looking."
Kael didn't answer right away. He stared at the horizon, where the peaks of the Ashen Spine rose like broken teeth.
"We keep moving," he said. "There's more to this. And I need to understand it before they come again."
Seran nodded, but his eyes lingered on Liora, who still sat by the fading glyphs of the summoning circle.
"She's not just a girl anymore," the half-elf said softly.
"She never was," Kael replied.
And they began their journey east, into the ruins of the Old Empire, where answers waited beneath stone and time.