The fortress of Vaelstrom was said to be unreachable by foot.
Perched atop the Skyfang Cliffs, it was surrounded by walls carved into the very bones of the mountain, lashed endlessly by gales so sharp they could strip skin from bone. Few who attempted to climb those cliffs returned, and those who did spoke of voices in the wind and shadows with wings.
Kael stood at the base of the cliff now, his cloak whipping behind him in the roaring air. Beside him, Mira tightened the straps on her climbing harness while her eyes studied the jagged face of the mountain.
"This is not a siege," she said. "It's a death sentence."
Kael's eyes never left the summit. "Not for me. Not for us."
Behind them, two hundred of Ironridge's finest waited. Warriors. Climbers. Battle-mages trained to scale impossible heights. All had volunteered when Kael declared his march toward the Gates of Ascension.
But even among them, whispers had begun.
Vaelstrom was cursed.
Kael motioned, and the climb began.
They moved in silence, secured by enchanted spikes that buried themselves into the cliffside. With every meter gained, the wind howled louder, as though the mountain resisted their passage.
Halfway up, the first voice came.
It was not human.
Mira heard it first. A soft whisper, almost loving.
Why do you follow him? He will break you like all the rest.
She paused only briefly, shaking her head. The wind could not lie. But the wind could remember.
An hour later, a scream echoed downward as one of the climbers slipped and was pulled into the mist below. No body. No blood. Only silence.
Still Kael climbed.
By the time the summit revealed itself above the clouds, only seventy remained.
The gates of Vaelstrom stood open.
No guards.
No alarm.
Only wind.
Kael stepped inside the fortress, sword in hand. It was empty. Not abandoned, but hollow. As if the people had simply vanished mid-step.
Torches still burned.
Food sat uneaten on tables.
Snow drifted in through broken stained-glass windows that depicted winged figures locked in battle with titans.
Mira whispered, "They never left."
Kael nodded. "No. Something took them."
Suddenly the wind within the fortress shifted. It no longer howled. It whispered.
We see you.
The shadows twisted. A figure stepped into the light.
Tall. Humanoid. Its face obscured by a porcelain mask, its body wrapped in robes that fluttered without wind.
Kael raised his blade. "Are you the guardian?"
The figure bowed slightly. "I am called the Warden of the Hollow Gale. And you have come for the first chain."
"I have," Kael said.
The Warden tilted its head. "Then you must answer."
"Ask."
The wind stilled.
What is the worth of a throne earned by blood?
Kael did not hesitate.
"It is worth less than the world I will build after the blood dries."
The Warden was silent for a moment. Then it stepped aside.
"You may claim the chain, Kael of Ashveil. But beware. Each answer carves you deeper. Each truth demands a piece of your soul."
Kael walked past the Warden, into the heart of the fortress. On a pedestal carved from cloudstone rested a length of red metal glowing faintly.
He lifted it.
The first chain shattered.
The sigil burned in his mind.
Seven remained.