The ruin waited.
It pulsed in the horizon like a buried heart, still beating beneath centuries of silence. But they would not march on it yet—not tonight. The team had returned to the city's edge to rest, regroup, and prepare.
Kael sat on the second floor of the inn, watching dust drift through slatted shutters. The room smelled of grit and dried herbs. Voices murmured below—Sera speaking with the innkeeper, probably negotiating a second night. The old woman ran the place like a forgotten outpost, where guests were tolerated, not welcomed.
Outside, the streets of Calden's Reach simmered in late amber light. It was a city clawed out of survival—stone stacked on ruin, roads twisting around remnants older than memory. Kael had read the maps. This place was once called Kerynth-Vaal, a scholar's city, before the Ash Years burned it hollow.
He heard footsteps in the hall. A quiet tread, almost feline.
The door creaked open.
"You haven't unpacked," said Tessia, stepping in without invitation. Her silver eyes flicked to his untouched pack.
"I don't intend to stay long."
She leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "You don't speak unless you mean to. That's dangerous in a place like this."
Kael studied her. "You didn't come to warn me."
"No," she admitted. "I came to see what kind of man we're bringing into the ruin. Sera trusts you—barely. The others don't."
"I don't need their trust."
"Maybe. But you'll need someone to pull you out when the ground gives way." Her gaze lingered a moment longer, then she left without another word.
Kael allowed himself a small breath. Tessia saw more than she let on.
Downstairs, the common room had become a cold gathering point. Sera sat at a worn table, tracing a half-burnt map with one callused finger. Dren nursed a cup of cheap mead nearby, legs up, gaze fixed on Kael as he descended the stairs.
"You sleep heavy, newblood?" Dren called.
Kael didn't answer.
"Good. Someone'll need to carry your bones when it all goes wrong."
Sera didn't look up. "He'll outlive you if you keep drinking like that."
"Please." Dren smirked. "I drink to remember who I was before this gods-forsaken career."
Across the room, Zarith was curled up on a bench, talking softly to the air.
"They're restless," the channeler murmured as Kael passed. "They say your name wrong. But they say it still."
Kael froze for half a beat. "Whose name do they say?"
Zarith grinned, lips cracked. "The ones beneath. The ones in the dust."
Sera finally looked up. "We move at first light. There's a storm brewing south of the cliffs, and I want us in before the winds shift."
"Storms don't concern me," Dren muttered.
"They should," Sera said flatly. "That ruin won't stay buried if the sands move. And if what Zarith hears is real—"
"It is," Zarith whispered.
"—then we're walking into a place that doesn't like being found twice."
Kael spoke at last. "Then we don't find it. We wake it."
All of them turned toward him.
Even Thorne, who had been sitting by the fire like a silent boulder, opened one eye.
Kael met their stares calmly. "If the ruin remembers me, we don't need to breach it. We just need to knock loud enough."
Dren scoffed. "You're either the cleverest fool I've met or the last thing I want to be standing next to when it all goes wrong."
"You already said that," Kael replied coldly. "You're repeating yourself."
Dren stood.
Sera raised a hand without looking. "Don't."
Dren sat again—slowly.
Kael walked past them, back into the night. The streets had quieted. Torches flickered along the alleyways like weak stars. And far out in the black desert beyond, the ruin pulsed once more.
Not an invitation.
A challenge.
[ END OF CHAPTER 6 ]