The ruins loomed before them, half-swallowed by vines and ash. Broken walls leaned like dying giants, their stones carved with symbols none of them knew.
The air was colder here. Heavy.
Kaelen stopped at the edge. "This place remembers. Walk carefully."
Reylen frowned. "Stones don't remember."
"Then listen harder," Kaelen said, stepping forward.
They entered the ruins. Every step echoed as if the walls themselves whispered it back.
Elira brushed her fingers across a crumbling carving. "These marks… they're old. Older than kingdoms."
Nyra kicked aside fallen debris. "Doesn't matter how old they are. Everything dies."
Vael moved in silence. The ring beat harder the deeper they went, pulling him forward like a chain.
At the center of the ruins stood a tower, cracked but still standing. Its door had rotted to splinters, leaving only a dark archway.
Kaelen raised their staff. "Inside lies what you came for."
Vael's eyes narrowed. "And what is that?"
"The memory of the crown you wear," Kaelen said. "And the shadow it cast long before you touched it."
The words sank into Vael's chest like stone.
He took the first step toward the tower. The others followed, though unease clung to their faces.
The arch swallowed them, and the dark inside felt alive.
The air shifted, thick and choking. Shapes moved faint in the shadows, not fully formed, but watching.
Vael's grip tightened on his blade of shadow.
Whatever waited here was not memory alone.
It was hungry.