I. The Threshold of Stone and Silence
The journey through the swamp had stripped them of flesh, faith, and hope. But nothing prepared them for the perfect strangeness of the clearing. The muck, the teeth, the purple mist… everything stopped mid-breath, as if an invisible hand had erased the danger. The air, clean and temperate, was so pure it was painful to breathe. The golden light of the tower—strange and impossible—turned their suffering into a memory, but not into oblivion.
As they approached, Kael noticed details that exhaustion had previously hidden: small gardens of phosphorescent fungi, rows of stones carved with spiral runes, bone statues in attitudes of prayer, and gray-skinned children playing in silence, tossing polished bones that tinkled like bells. Faces, both young and old, peered from behind curtains woven with gold and black fibers; fear was palpable in their gestures, but so was an ancestral resignation.
Elara felt an invisible pressure in her mind, as if every shadow were scrutinizing them. The Pale Ones, the inhabitants of this refuge, emerged like solid mist. There were dozens, perhaps more, all wrapped in armor and clothing made of chitin, feathers, and fragments of ancient bone. They had no eyes, but their faces—smooth and taut—reflected surprise, fear, and something akin to reverence.
The tension was a thread ready to snap.
Kael placed Violeta on the ground with extreme delicacy and stepped forward. —"We are travelers," he announced, his voice amplified with Qi but kept low, nearly reverential. —"We seek refuge, not blood."
The Pale Ones remained motionless, save for the trembling of their spears. The air thickened. One of them, taller and covered in black feathers, stepped forward. His voice did not come from his mouth; it entered Kael's mind and then everyone else's—a scratchy, cavernous echo.
«He who brings the cold of death… must leave. The flame hates the void.»
Elara sensed the danger: the residual energy of the Void still vibrated within Violeta's ice slab. The mental murmurs of the Pale Ones were like an underground river: fear, hatred, pleas, but also a silent hunger.
Eris, tense as a coiled spring, clenched her fists, enveloping them in a brief burst of black flame. —"She is not death. She is my sister. If you try to touch her, I will melt your tower to its foundations."
The threat stirred the tension. The spears lowered by only a few millimeters: death was a breath away. Then, a physical voice—harsh and real—halted the disaster.
—"Stop!"
From the base of the tower, an old woman walked, leaning on a staff of petrified wood. Her skin, wrinkled and pearled with age spots, was a lighter gray than that of the Pale Ones. She had eyes, but they were completely white, blinded by time. Her robes, woven with golden lotus fibers, billowed like the flame itself.
The Pale Ones recoiled. —"Mother Oera," they whispered, kneeling in silence.
The old woman approached Eris and inhaled the fire without fear. —"That fire…" she murmured, reaching a trembling hand toward the Ruin. —"It smells of destruction, but also of purification. It is not beast fire. It is Law Fire. A fire that remembers and forgets."
She then turned to Kael and Violeta. —"You, young dragon, carry a daughter of space who has looked too deep into the abyss. Her soul… is lost in the rift, frozen so as not to break."
Kael slowly sheathed his sword, recognizing the wisdom (and danger) of the old woman. —"Can you help her?"
Oera nodded, but her smile was sad. —"I can guide her back, but here, in the Womb of the Sleeping King, nothing is free. Every exchange requires balance."
II. The Forgotten: Life on the Edge of Oblivion
As Oera led the group toward the base of the tower, the Pale Ones dispersed at a prudent distance. Along the way, Kael and Elara observed life under the dome: children walking in line toward the tower carrying baskets full of mushrooms; women weaving nets with marrow threads; elders sharpening bone points and murmuring prayers to the flame. On the stone walls, there were carvings representing a colossal beast—an eyeless dragon—and human figures kneeling before it.
The gazes of The Forgotten were full of mistrust. A low murmur ran through the plaza: "Outsiders, new flame, danger, breaking of the cycle…"
Inside the tower, the air was warm and vibrated with sweet incense. Oera led them to a circular sanctuary, its walls covered in etched bones and runes glowing in the light of the golden flame burning in the center, inside a cage made of giant ribs. There, they placed Violeta upon an altar of warm stone.
III. The Bone Pact
Oera prepared herbs and ointments in a stone mortar. —"We are on the back of a Divine-Grade Beast that has slept since the Ancient Era," she explained. —"We, the Forgotten, are descendants of those who were swallowed or trapped here millennia ago. We survive thanks to the Flame of Sleep."
She pointed to the golden flame. —"The Flame keeps the King asleep and wards off his nightmares: the mist, the poison, the monsters. But the flame is dying. The fuel we use… is running out."
—"What kind of fuel?" Elara asked.
Oera looked at her, eyes empty and deep. —"Memories, sacrifices, dreams. Sometimes, life. It is never enough." She turned to Eris. —"Your sister has frozen spiritually because her soul touched the Void and fled. I need a beacon to call her back. I need your fire. Your fire has the property of Destruction, but also of Rebirth. If you feed the Bone Lantern with your Qi for an entire night, the light will be strong enough to penetrate the ice of her soul and guide her back. And in doing so, you will give us another year of light."
Kael clenched his fist. —"That could kill her."
Eris looked at her sister, then back at the old woman. —"Deal. I light your lamp. You bring back my sister."
IV. The Thawing Ritual
When night fell, the Pale Ones gathered around the tower. Some prayed; others sharpened weapons, whispering fears that the new fire was too loud, too dangerous.
Eris sat in a lotus position, hands pressed against the core of the lantern. The Pale Ones began a low chant: "May the flame not dream of hunger, may the cold not quench the memory…"
Eris closed her eyes and submerged her consciousness into the fire. The Qi of Destruction burned in her chest. The memory of the past—childhood with Violeta, the promise under the Star Tree—burned and mixed with the flame. The pain was absolute, but so was the certainty: "I will not lose you," she thought, and let the flame devour her.
The lantern roared as it received High-Grade Qi. The golden light turned white with black edges, and a beam of light pierced the mist, purifying the air. Below, Oera's bony hands danced over Violeta.
Eris's Perspective: She felt her soul floating. Each burned memory was a life given. "Come back, you idiot, I need you," she thought as the flame pierced the night.
Violeta's Perspective: In the deep sleep, she floated in dark nothingness. Then, an aggressive, warm, and familiar light invaded her. "Eris…" she thought, remembering their childhood. The ice cracked.
CRACK!
The block shattered into a thousand pieces of light and frost. Violeta took a massive gulp of air, arching her back, her blue eyes ablaze. —"The rift!" she cried, grabbing Kael's arm.
V. Echo of the Sleeping King and Rising Danger
The relief lasted barely an hour. Violeta, weak but lucid, was surrounded by her siblings. Eris descended from the tower, pale and exhausted, supported by Mother Oera.
But as they shared bread and stories, the air changed.
First came a tremor, subtle and irregular. Then, a massive jolt: the stone of the tower shrieked, the lantern flickered, and the purple mist vibrated like a war drum.
Mother Oera turned even paler. —"The fire…" she whispered. —"The girl's fire was too potent. Too 'loud.' It has not only brought back your sister. It has called to the King."
From the depths of the swamp, a dull heartbeat rose. Visions emerged: a colossal eye opening beneath the earth, black branches extending, the image of a hungry dragon. The Forgotten fell to their knees, weeping.
—"If the King awakens, this entire city will become a memory," Oera warned. —"Take your flame and your ice and flee. But remember: every fire leaves a shadow, and every salvation has a price."
VI. Prophetic Epilogue
In the final light of the lantern, Mother Oera looked at the Morningstars and raised her voice.
—"The cycle repeats. Sometimes the flame returns what the void sought to take. But the shadow of the King walks again. All that burns, all that dreams, must pay its debt. Your journey is not a return: it is an offering."
Before anyone could respond, a colossal, underground roar shook the night. The mist parted like a curtain. Kael, with Violeta and Eris by his sides, looked toward the horizon, knowing they had saved a life but had rung the doorbell to hell.
Mother Oera murmured in the gloom: —"May the flame guide you, may the shadow remember you. And if you fall… may you not do so in solitude."
Beneath a dome of light and fear, between dream and wakefulness, the Morningstars prepared to flee. The King, in the depths, was dreaming once more.
[End of Chapter 96]