The night was silent, except for the low hum of the dying embers. Ragnar sat near the fire, eyes locked on the flickering light as if searching for answers within the ashes. The air around him was cold — not just from the weather, but from the weight of the path he had chosen.
Lyra was tending to her wounded arm nearby, quietly wrapping a strip of cloth. She didn't say anything, but her glance toward Ragnar said enough. She wanted to ask why he'd risked his life again… but she already knew the answer.
Selene, sitting opposite them, finally broke the silence. "You can't keep doing this," she said, voice soft but trembling. "You can't keep carrying everyone's burden."
Ragnar didn't reply. The fire crackled — his only answer.
He finally whispered, "If not me, then who?"
Those words hung heavy in the air. Even his friends — Arven, Dain, and Kael — didn't argue this time. They had seen him face what no one else could, bleed where others fled. But it wasn't bravery that drove him anymore… it was guilt, and something deeper — a promise to a past he couldn't let go of.
After a moment, Lyra spoke, her tone calm and careful.
"You think strength comes from pain, Ragnar. But it's not just that. Sometimes, it's the courage to live after the pain."
Her words hit him harder than any wound.
He wanted to say something, but instead, he stood up and walked away from the campfire. The night wind whispered through the trees — cold, sharp, but honest.
He found himself staring at the horizon, where faint light from distant settlements flickered like dying stars. That was their next destination — a ruined city rumored to hold a shard of the lost relic. The same relic that once caused a war among kingdoms.
"Ragnar," Selene called softly from behind. "Don't go too far."
He turned slightly, meeting her eyes for a moment. They weren't lovers yet not really. But there was a silent understanding between them now, one that words would only ruin.
"I won't," he said, then walked into the darkness anyway.
Morning came with the echo of steel.
The group stood before the ruins — half-buried structures, carved symbols of forgotten gods, and silence that felt alive.
Arven whistled. "Creepy place to find salvation."
Kael smirked. "Or to die."
Ragnar ignored them both. His eyes traced the old stone arch ahead, glowing faintly
with inscriptions only he could read.
Something about this place felt wrong — too still, too expectant.
Lyra stepped beside him. "You feel it too?"
He nodded. "Something's watching us."
Before anyone could answer, the ground trembled — not like an earthquake, but like something beneath was waking up.
Selene drew her blade. "Everyone, back!"
The old ruins cracked open, and a low growl rose from beneath the stone. It wasn't just sound — it was pressure, a force pressing against their lungs.
Then came the voice — ancient, distorted,
but clear enough to chill their bones.
"So, the heirs of fire return…"
A cold wind surged, scattering dust and ash.
Ragnar clenched his sword, his heart steady, his mind burning.
"Get ready," he said, his voice calm but his eyes burning with purpose.
"We've woken something that remembers us."
The ruins groaned again — a monster of light and shadow forming beneath the earth.
And as the light flared, Ragnar stepped forward — not with fear, but with resolve.