The city of Aelinthar emerged from the mist like a ghost—crumbling spires, broken bridges suspended over deep ravines, and shattered statues of long-forgotten kings.
Kael felt a pull here, as though the city remembered him. Whispers followed his steps. Murals on the walls glowed faintly when he passed.
They reached a courtyard filled with statues—all bearing the same rune that glowed on Kael's arm.
"These were Chosen," Eira said. "Warriors of the First Flame. You're walking with ghosts now."
Kael approached the center, where a pedestal held a broken helm. As he touched it, a burst of memory surged through him—visions of fire, war, betrayal, and a voice crying his name.
He collapsed, eyes wide. The sword beside him pulsed in harmony with the ruins.
The city had awoken.