The forest was unnervingly silent as Thrain, Aric, and Nibbles pressed forward. The cursed village was long behind them, but the eerie whispers still echoed in Thrain's mind. He had spent two lifetimes unraveling mysteries, but something about the voice in that village had unsettled him more than any battle he had ever faced.
"Are we going anywhere specific, or are we just wandering until something tries to kill us again?" Aric asked, adjusting his pack.
Nibbles, perched on Thrain's shoulder, chittered in agreement. The little magical beast—a strange, fox-like creature with too many tails and a penchant for eating things he shouldn't—had been unusually quiet. This should have been a blessing, but Thrain was beginning to suspect that meant trouble was on the horizon.
"We need shelter," Thrain replied, scanning the treeline. "And I might know just the place."
Aric sighed dramatically. "I hate when you say things like that."
The watchtower loomed ahead, half-consumed by the forest. Its stone walls were cracked and weathered, but it had held against time better than most ruins. Thrain remembered this place—though in his past life, he had never come here himself. The Order of the Silent Vigil had once operated out of these forests, watching over secrets too dangerous to be left unguarded.
Of course, the order was long gone.
Or so history claimed.
"Tell me," Aric said, squinting up at the tower. "Why is it that everywhere we stop looks like it should be haunted?"
"It's got a roof," Thrain countered, stepping forward.
"And ghosts, probably," Aric muttered. "But fine. Let's get murdered in comfort."
The inside of the tower was surprisingly intact. Dust covered every surface, but the stone structure had held firm. They found a stairwell leading downward, deeper into the foundations.
That was when Nibbles started going wild.
The creature wriggled out of Thrain's grasp and darted ahead, disappearing into the darkness below.
"Nibbles!" Thrain called.
A loud crash answered him.
Thrain sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "He found something."
Aric groaned. "If it's a skeleton, I'm leaving."
They descended into the lower chamber, finding Nibbles hopping excitedly atop a collapsed bookshelf. Scrolls and old, tattered books lay scattered across the floor. At first glance, it seemed like just another forgotten archive. But as Thrain lifted one of the scrolls, he felt his pulse quicken.
The text was ancient. Older than the war. Older than the kingdom itself.
He unrolled it carefully, eyes scanning the faded ink. The symbols were difficult to read, but he could make out enough.
The heir's blood will unseal the gate.
His breath caught.
"What?" Aric leaned over his shoulder. "That doesn't sound ominous at all."
Thrain ignored him, flipping through more of the documents. They spoke of an ancient conflict, not between nations, but between forces unseen. The war he remembered—the war he had fought in—wasn't just a struggle for power. It was a repetition. A cycle.
Someone had wanted the war to happen.
Someone had ensured it.
And they would do it again.
A chill ran down his spine. If the prophecy was true, then the war wasn't just brewing—it was inevitable. Unless he found the gate. Unless he found the heir. And stopped whoever was trying to use them.
"Well, that's enough nightmare fuel for tonight," Aric muttered. "Can we leave before something horrible wakes up?"
Thrain didn't answer right away. His mind was already working, piecing together the fragments of history that had never made sense before. He needed more information. He needed to find someone who knew what these texts meant.
But most of all, he needed to stop the war before it began.
"Yeah," he said finally. "Let's get out of here."
As they ascended the stairs, Nibbles trotted beside him, tail swishing. The creature's usual mischief was nowhere to be seen.
Almost as if even he understood the weight of what they had found.