The wind howled through the shattered peaks as Alaric and Maeryn approached the edge of the Cael'dun ruins. The path behind them was long scorched, traced by fire and shadow. But the path ahead was worse.
Once a proud temple-city carved into the cliffs, Cael'dun now lay in silence. Broken towers jutted from the rocks like the ribs of a dead god. Ash hung thick in the air, and strange sigils burned faintly across fallen stones—tainted remnants of what had once been a Crucible of the Ember Aspect.
Alaric stepped carefully over a broken wall, his boots crunching on soot and bone. His Gauntlets pulsed gently, as if sensing the forge-wrought energy that still lingered deep within the ruins.
"This place feels… wrong," he murmured.
Maeryn, walking beside him, nodded grimly. "Something stirs beneath. I can feel the roots of the land curling away from this place."
She crouched, running a hand over a cracked tile. Her fingers brushed a faint trace of green—like a memory of moss, long since turned to ash.
"They're not just corrupting Cores," she said. "They're twisting the Aether paths. Rerouting the ley-lines through shadow."
Alaric clenched his fists. "How?"
"They're using corrupted relics. Artifacts once made to shape balance now pulse with decay. And somewhere below us… I sense one burning dark."
They pressed on, deeper into the heart of Cael'dun. Stairways twisted down into cavernous ruins beneath the surface. The air grew colder, heavier. Alaric's Core pulsed faster, warning him.
Then they found it.
A massive chamber, half-collapsed, with broken Crucible machinery scattered like corpses. And in the center, floating above a dark altar, hovered a blackened Relic Core—cracked, bleeding tendrils of shadow into the air like smoke.
And beneath it stood a man.
Clad in midnight armor etched with violet veins, he turned as they entered. His face was pale, angular, and strangely calm. His Core glowed dark red through his chest—a Corrupted Flame Aspect, unstable and writhing.
"Ah," the man said, voice smooth like oiled steel. "The new Flamebearer. The Crucible's chosen child."
Alaric stepped forward. "Who are you?"
"I am Malrek. Once of the Crucible Order. Now... I serve a deeper truth." His eyes glittered. "You still burn clean, don't you? Pure fire. Righteous. Controlled."
Alaric raised his Gauntlets. "You twisted your Core. That's no truth—it's rot."
Malrek smiled faintly. "Rot is just the first stage of rebirth."
He snapped his fingers.
From the shadows behind him, two Voidbound Sentinels emerged—twisted warriors clad in fractured Crucible armor, their weapons infused with black fire and cold smoke.
Alaric braced. Maeryn stepped beside him, her staff glowing with green runes.
"Take the left," she said.
"Gladly."
The Sentinels charged.
Alaric met his attacker head-on. Their blades clashed, flame against shadow. Alaric's Aether surged through his Gauntlets, letting him block a downward strike and counter with a backhand of molten fire. His opponent staggered but didn't fall.
To his side, Maeryn danced like wind through leaves. Her staff spun with fluid grace, releasing pulses of vibrant green energy that laced her strikes with life-binding force. Her opponent faltered, vines sprouting from the ground to entangle its limbs.
But Malrek merely watched, smiling.
Then he raised a hand—and the Relic Core pulsed violently.
A wave of corrupt Aether burst from the altar. Alaric's attacker was consumed in shadow, swelling grotesquely into a mass of smoke and limbs. Maeryn was thrown back, skidding across stone.
Alaric gritted his teeth.
The fire in him flared.
No. Not here.
Not again.
He surged forward, dodging a clawed strike, ducking under another. His Gauntlets glowed white-hot now, drawing deeper on the Core's true strength. Fire wrapped around his form—refined, focused.
Not rage. Not chaos.
Conviction.
He struck the creature's heart, forcing Aether into the wound.
It shrieked as light exploded from within.
Ash scattered.
Alaric turned to Malrek—but the Voidbinder was already stepping back into the shadows, retreating toward a rune-carved tunnel.
"You're not ready," Malrek called. "But the Flame remembers. And it will consume you, Alaric. Just as it did me."
Then he was gone.
The chamber fell still.
Maeryn limped to Alaric's side. "He's one of them. One of the Six Voidbound."
Alaric looked at the altar, the fractured Relic Core still pulsing faintly.
"We stop them," he said. "All of them. One by one."
He stepped forward—and crushed the Relic Core beneath his boot.
The fire flared.
But it did not waver.