The sky hung heavy, cloaked in the dull hues of pre-dawn, as if the heavens themselves held their breath.
Kael awoke with a sharp inhale.
The forest had fallen still—unnaturally still. No wind rustled the leaves. No bird dared cry. Only the distant drip… drip… of water echoed from somewhere below. He sat up, back against the tree bark, sweat cold on his neck.
He hadn't been dreaming. He knew that much.
Something had called to him.
A whisper, buried beneath layers of silence. Not words… more like pressure on his soul. Ancient. Curious. Hungry.
He scanned his surroundings. Just trees. Shadows. The dying embers of last night's fire. Yet something felt off. The scent of the air had shifted—crisp, laced with… iron?
He stood slowly, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his broken blade. Still useless. Still cracked. But his grip on it was tighter than ever.
The mountain path ahead twisted downward, deeper into the forest's belly.
That was where the whisper had come from.
He moved carefully, each step crunching against the moss-covered soil. Hours passed. Or maybe minutes—time had lost meaning here. Then, suddenly, the terrain opened into a hidden ravine.
At the center stood something he couldn't explain.
A stone altar, broken and scorched, wrapped in chains of blackened metal. Faint runes shimmered across its surface, pulsing like a dying heart. Kael took a step closer, and the air turned cold.
A shadow flickered behind the altar.
He spun around—nothing.
Still, something was there. Watching. Waiting. He could feel it—not with his eyes, but with the weight in his chest.
He stepped closer and reached out. His fingers brushed the altar's surface.
A pulse.
A flash.
A vision.
Blood-red skies. Black mountains. Armored titans locked in war. A woman of ice standing in silence as the world burned around her.
Kael yanked his hand back, chest heaving.
This place wasn't sacred.
It was a warning.
Or perhaps… a door.