The descent into the valley felt like stepping into another world. The air was thick with mist that shimmered faintly, as though infused with trapped moonlight. Every breath carried the faint taste of iron and memory. The stones underfoot were smooth and ancient, etched with countless markings—names, symbols, fragments of forgotten prayers.
As Aric led the way, the golden pulse within him resonated softly, guiding his steps. The deeper they went, the quieter the world became. Even the wind that had howled across the peaks above was silenced here, replaced by the low hum of unseen voices.
Lira walked close beside him, clutching a small charm of woven silver threads she'd made the night before. "It feels like they're watching," she whispered.
"They are," Kael muttered, scanning the fog ahead. "This valley is said to hold the memories of all who perished when the Flame fell. The dead here never forgot."
Aric stopped at the edge of a broken causeway. Below it, the valley stretched endlessly—ruined towers half-buried in mist, bridges crumbling into rivers of light. The sight struck something deep within him. He felt as though he'd seen this place before, long ago, when the world was still aflame.
He stepped forward, and the air rippled. For an instant, the ruins around them flickered—whole again, glowing with life. Voices filled the air, overlapping in a thousand tones.
"Keeper.""Redeem what you burned."
The illusion vanished, leaving only the broken valley once more.
Kael tightened his grip on his spear. "They know who you are. We should tread carefully."
They crossed the fallen bridge and followed the sound of flowing water until they reached the heart of the valley—a massive pool of shimmering light that reflected not the sky above, but scenes from the past. Flames, wars, laughter, and tears rippled across its surface like a living tapestry.
"This is the Pool of Memory," Kael said in awe. "They say every soul that died in the Flame's fire lingers here."
Aric approached the edge, drawn by an invisible force. The pool pulsed once, and the light coalesced into images—faces he didn't recognize but somehow remembered. Soldiers, scholars, children. People who had looked up to him, trusted him.
Lira's hand found his arm. "Aric… what do you see?"
"My sins," he said quietly. "All the lives I took without meaning to."
The pool stirred violently, and from its surface rose figures of light—ghostly forms, their faces calm but eyes full of sorrow. They surrounded him in silence.
Then one stepped forward, her voice soft but piercing. "You sought to save us, Keeper. And yet you doomed us instead."
"I know," Aric whispered, his throat tightening. "I was blinded by pride. I thought the Flame could heal everything."
"You burned the sickness," another spirit said, "but you burned the heart as well."
Their words cut deep. The warmth inside him flared, and for a moment, golden light radiated from his chest, pushing back the mist. "If there's still a chance to set it right," he said, "tell me how. I'll do whatever it takes."
The first spirit reached out, her translucent fingers brushing his cheek. "Then listen to the valley. It remembers what you have forgotten."
The ground trembled. The pool's surface rippled violently, showing visions faster now—too fast to grasp. Then, a new image formed: a great city at the world's center, wrapped in silver towers and surrounded by molten rivers. Above it burned a crimson sun—the Heart of the Flame.
Lira gasped. "What is that?"
"The origin," Kael said darkly. "Where the first fire was born. The heart of your old power."
The spirit's voice echoed again, faint but clear. "The Heart still beats, Keeper. But it is no longer yours alone. The Shadow stirs to claim it."
As her words faded, the air grew colder. The mist around the valley began to twist and rise, forming tendrils of dark smoke. The peaceful spirits dissolved in panic, their light flickering out.
Kael raised his weapon. "Something's coming!"
Aric turned just as a shape emerged from the shadows—a towering figure cloaked in darkness, its eyes burning crimson. Its voice was a whisper of death.
"So the fallen Keeper rises again."
The presence was suffocating. Even the ground seemed to rot where it stepped.
"Who are you?" Aric demanded, summoning the golden light to his hands.
"I am what you left behind," the shadow said. "I am the Flame's other half—the hunger you tried to deny."
Aric's pulse thundered. He understood then. The Flame had never been pure light. It was both creation and destruction—and this darkness was the part he had cast away when he fell.
It raised a clawed hand, and a wave of black fire surged toward them. Aric reacted instinctively, raising his arms. The golden light burst forth, clashing with the darkness in a storm of sparks. The ground split, energy crackling through the air.
Lira screamed his name as the two forces collided, light and shadow twisting violently. The shockwave sent Kael sprawling, and the valley trembled as though it would tear apart.
The shadow's voice thundered through the chaos: "You cannot destroy what you once were!"
Aric gritted his teeth, forcing more power into his hands. "Maybe not," he growled, "but I can contain it!"
With a final roar, the golden fire surged forward, enveloping the darkness in blinding light. The ground split open beneath them, and the two forces vanished into the glowing pool below.
When the light faded, silence fell. The pool had gone still, its once-brilliant glow dimmed to a faint shimmer.
Lira and Kael stood at the edge, staring into the depths. There was no sign of Aric.
Only a single ripple spread across the water, and a faint whisper echoed through the valley.
"Not gone… not yet."