The road stretched beneath a pale sky that never seemed to end. Wind whispered across the hills, carrying with it the smell of rain and earth. John and Tamara walked in silence for the most part, their steps steady, their minds elsewhere.
Time passed just like that—each day a rhythm of travel, rest, and quiet talk by the fire.
On the third day, the silence broke.
A low hiss echoed through the trees. Branches shook, and from the undergrowth slid a creature out of nightmare—a basilisk, long as a carriage and thick as a man's torso. Its emerald scales shimmered faintly in the dim light, and its slit pupils locked onto them with cold hunger.
John didn't hesitate.
The beast lunged, its body blurring with speed. John rolled to the side, spear flashing upward in a sharp counterstrike. The tip scraped against the serpent's scales, leaving a faint mark. Tamara was faster—her blade flashed, slicing through one of its ridged fins. The basilisk hissed, twisting its body to strike again.
They moved together without words. John distracted, Tamara struck. The air rang with steel and the thunderous crack of the creature's tail hitting stone. Finally, John feinted low, drawing its attention, and Tamara drove her sword through the soft flesh beneath its jaw. The basilisk convulsed once, then went still.
They stood over the carcass, breathing hard, their weapons stained dark.
"Guess we're eating well tonight," John muttered, exhaling.
Tamara shot him a look, half amusement, half disbelief. "You'd actually eat that?"
"Already killed it," he said. "Might as well make it useful."
That night, the smell of roasting basilisk meat drifted through their camp. Ember, the Lumibear cub, sat curled beside John, snuffling curiously at the sizzling meat. The fire's glow painted their faces gold.
"Do you ever think about what comes next?" John asked quietly, stirring the fire with a stick. "Where all this is leading?"
Tamara didn't answer right away. The flames flickered in her eyes, hiding whatever she might have been thinking. "Sometimes," she said at last. "But not too much. The past is heavy enough. The future… can wait."
John nodded. "Fair enough."
The silence that followed wasn't awkward. Just quiet. The kind that comes when words aren't needed.
By the time they reached the ruins, the air had changed. It was heavier—denser, as if the land itself was holding its breath. The structures ahead rose from the ground like the ribs of a dead god, dark stone cracked and overgrown with pale moss.
And then they saw the camp.
A handful of men lounged around a fire at the base of the ruins, weapons scattered nearby. They looked up as John and Tamara approached, their laughter fading. At their center stood a man who didn't seem to belong in a place like this.
He leaned lazily against a broken pillar, tall and broad-shouldered, a confident grin tugging at his lips. His armor was too fine for a bandit, his posture too relaxed for a soldier.
"Well, well," he drawled, straightening. "Visitors. I was starting to think the world forgot about me."
John's hand tightened around his spear. "I've come to put an end in your nefarious ways."
Blake chuckled, the sound low and amused. "That's cute. You and the princess have come to put me on me place huh."
He flashed a grin toward Tamara. "Tell you what, sweetheart. Sit tight while I deal with your boyfriend. I'll try not to scuff him up too bad."
John didn't wait. He lunged.
Steel rang against steel. Blake moved like water—smooth, effortless, each motion filled with mocking grace. His strikes weren't wild or brutal. They were measured, practiced… almost lazy. John's attacks met only air, each counter leaving him more off-balance.
"Come on," Blake taunted, sidestepping another thrust. "You're making this too easy."
Then the real hit came. A heavy strike knocked John backward, his boots sliding through the dirt. Another sent him crashing against the ruined stone.
The spear slipped from his hands.
It hit the ground—and light exploded.
The weapon floated upward, humming with power. A figure emerged from the brilliance, draped in spectral armor. His voice was the sound of echoing halls and distant thunder.
"You have done well," the spirit said. "The spear has returned to its home. The Gate of Revenak shall open once more."
The ground trembled. The ancient door behind them groaned as cracks of light split across its surface. Stone shifted, dust fell, and a deep, metallic rumble rolled through the air.
Tamara rushed to John, gripping his arm. "Are you hurt?"
He shook his head, eyes fixed on the door. "No. But I think we just found what we came for."
The door began to open.
Light spilled out in waves, washing over them in a brilliant glow. John stepped forward without hesitation, Tamara following at his side.
Behind them, Blake's smirk returned—sharper this time, his curiosity piqued.
"Guess I'll see what all the fuss is about," he muttered, and strode after them.
The three disappeared into the light.
And the ruins of the old world stirred once more.