The mountains fell away behind them as Kael and Isolde rode east under a sky streaked with gray. The Keepers had armed them with provisions, maps drawn from memory, and warnings heavier than steel. Somewhere beyond the forests and rivers lay the resting place of the first relic—the Crown of Dawn, said to channel light itself, a relic forged to blind the Shadow King's armies during the first war.
Isolde held the map steady as the wind tugged at its edges. "It should be hidden within the Ruins of Haldrith," she said. "A city swallowed by fire and abandoned after the Shadow King's fall. If the relic survived…"
Kael's eyes were fixed ahead, his grip on the Moonsilver Sword tight. "Then we'll find it. Before Varrow does."
---
The journey was long, marked by empty villages and fields scarred with blight. People still whispered of them—some fled at the sight of Isolde's glow, others bowed in silence as though seeing prophecy walking before them.
One evening, as they camped beneath an old oak, Kael noticed her staring at her hands, the golden fire flickering faintly across her skin.
"What is it?" he asked softly.
She hesitated, then spoke. "Every day it grows louder. The fire inside me. Sometimes… I'm afraid it isn't mine anymore. That it belongs to him."
Kael reached for her hands, steadying them in his own. "You are more than his chains. You are the light that breaks them. Don't forget that. I won't."
Her eyes softened, a fragile comfort blooming in the dark.
---
By the fourth night, they reached the edge of Haldrith. The ruined city sprawled before them, towers broken like teeth, streets overgrown with thorn and shadow. An unnatural hush lay heavy over the place—no birds, no wind, only silence.
"This is it," Isolde whispered.
As they entered, the runes carved into the fallen stones glowed faintly, answering her presence. But their light stirred something else. From the cracks and shadows, dark forms began to stir—specters of ash and flame, remnants of the city's fall.
Kael drew the Moonsilver Sword, its silver edge blazing to life. "The relic won't be unguarded."
The wraiths surged forward, their voices a chorus of agony. "The city burned. The chains held. Now all shall burn again."
Kael met them head-on, his sword cutting arcs of silver through the darkness. The runes on the blade flared with every strike, scattering the wraiths like smoke. Behind him, Isolde raised her hands, her fire bursting into golden waves that seared the shadows back. The ruins glowed with her light, the ancient carvings answering her, guiding her deeper into the city.
At last they reached the heart of Haldrith: a shattered temple, its roof open to the moon. Upon an altar of stone lay a circlet wrought of silver and crystal, glowing faintly with dawn's first light though no sun touched it.
The Crown of Dawn.
Isolde stepped forward, her breath catching. "It's real…"
But before her hands could touch it, a voice echoed from the shadows.
"So it is."
Varrow emerged from the broken archway, flanked by cloaked hunters. His smile was sharp, his eyes glinting with triumph.
"You run, you hide, you gather trinkets of a dead age—and still, I am always one step behind. Did you truly think you could claim the relics without me?"
Kael raised the Moonsilver Sword, its glow fierce against the darkness. "You won't have it, Varrow."
Varrow's laugh was soft, almost pitying. "You still don't understand, do you? Every relic you claim, every chain you weaken, every flame you feed—it all leads not to salvation, but to him."
His hand lifted, and the wraiths swelled, their screams splitting the night.
"Take the crown, little flame," he hissed. "Take it—and see how quickly it burns you."
The temple erupted in chaos as light and shadow clashed once more.
---