The wind whispered through the dense forest canopy as Lucas moved along the narrow, winding path. Every branch he passed seemed to reach for him, every shadow stretched just a little too long. The air was thick with moss and memory. This was the path of silence, of warnings ignored and promises kept.
Most people would have turned back long ago. Stories of beasts, curses, and lost souls had wrapped this trail in legend. But Lucas walked with quiet certainty—hands tucked in his coat pockets, shoulders relaxed, eyes sharp. He wasn't here to chase ghosts. He was here to find something real.
Thirty minutes passed in solitude until the forest began to thin, and light filtered through the trees. There, nestled in a clearing veiled by time and roots, stood the temple.
It was smaller than he expected. Not the grand palace of myth, but something older—humbler. A place forgotten by men but not by the earth.
Vines crawled up its stone walls like veins, and the roof, though cracked and sagging, curved upward like phoenix wings mid-ascent. Time had not destroyed it—only preserved it in its own way.
Dragons were carved into the pillars—not fierce or snarling, but coiled in calm dignity, as though guarding not treasure, but truth. Their eyes, worn smooth by years, still seemed to watch him as he approached.
Lucas stopped at the base of the steps and pulled the old locket from his pocket. Round and dark, forged from blackened silver with a soft golden sheen, it carried a quiet gravity. The sun, moon, and dragon were etched into its surface—symbols his grandfather once spoke of late at night by candlelight.
"Truth, illusion, and power," he had said.
"Together, they shape all things."
Lucas brushed his thumb over the dragon. The memory of his grandfather's final words echoed like distant thunder.
"Do not return for five years—no matter what. No matter who calls for you. No matter how much you want to. When the time is right, go to the temple. You'll know what to do."
He hadn't understood it then. The pain of loss, the confusion of being sent away, the weight of unanswered questions—it had all left scars. But he obeyed. For five long years, he stayed away. And now, standing before this weathered monument to a past he never fully knew, he felt something stir. A presence. A breath in the wind. A thread pulling taut.
He didn't know what waited inside. He only knew this was where the truth began.
Five Years Ago – The Night Lucas Left
The moonlight was pale that night, thin as frost. Lucas had already vanished down the mountain path, unaware of the eyes watching him leave.
The house stood quiet in the darkness, its warmth fading like a dying flame. A figure stepped from the shadows—tall, cloaked, faceless. Even the light refused to touch them.
Their presence chilled the air.
"You know why I've come," the figure said, voice smooth and cold. "Give us the artifact… or die."
The old man didn't move. Not at first. Then, slowly, he turned.
What once appeared as age faded in an instant. His spine straightened. His eyes, dull with time only moments ago, now burned with light. The power he held back for decades surged from him like a storm breaking free.
The forest seemed to freeze.
"You always choose force," he said, voice deep and calm. "That's why you've already lost."
The figure lunged.
The battle ended in less than a heartbeat.
There was no scream. No final cry. Just silence… and the faint rustle of leaves as the night accepted what had happened.
The old man stood alone once more, the glow fading from his body. He looked toward the stars—toward the place where his grandson had gone—and smiled.
"A new beginning," he whispered. Then, quietly, his body gave in.
Present Day
Lucas stood on the temple steps, unaware of the fight that had been fought in his name. Unaware of the price already paid.
All he had was the locket.
And the path ahead.
He wasn't sure what he would find. But he knew one thing: his grandfather never feared death. Whatever waited inside this forgotten place, it was something worth dying for.
Lucas closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and stepped forward.
The temple doors creaked open.
The wind stilled.
And the mountain held its breath.