The map Kaelen unrolled the next morning looked like it had been drawn by a drunk cartographer during an earthquake.
"This," she said, pointing to a wide, jagged swath of gray labeled The Ashen Wastes, "is where we need to go."
Bryn squinted. "That sounds like a vacation spot for people who hate joy."
"Used to be a kingdom," Kaelen replied. "Before Kael'tharan's war turned it into a cursed desert of ash, ghosts, and very grumpy lizards."
Aeren frowned. "And why exactly are we going there again?"
"Elira's mark," Kaelen said. "It reacted when I mentioned the Ashen Wastes. There's something—or someone—there calling to it."
Elira crossed her arms. "Well, I've always wanted a sunburn and to be haunted. Let's go."
They set off the same day, climbing through rocky foothills until the green of the Whispering Hills gave way to gray. The sky dimmed. The air turned dry and brittle. By sunset, they stood at the edge of the Wastes.
Sand and ash stretched endlessly. Wind howled low like a warning.
"Definitely cheerful," Bryn muttered.
They walked through days of heat and swirling gray, encountering half-buried ruins and skeletal trees that whispered when the wind passed through them. Aeren swore one muttered, "Turn back," but Elira said it was probably just his stomach.
Three days in, the ground shifted.
Bryn held up a hand. "Something's wrong."
A roar split the silence.
The sand burst upward as a massive creature lunged—a serpentine beast made of cracked obsidian and molten veins, eyes glowing like twin suns.
"Elira, what did your mark drag us into?" Aeren shouted, dodging a swipe.
"I didn't ask it to summon that!"
Kaelen leapt onto the creature's back, carving glowing sigils into its hide. Bryn hurled a boulder at its head, which only seemed to annoy it. Aeren and Elira stood side by side, fire and metal dancing.
"I need a distraction!" Elira yelled.
"On it!" Aeren lit himself on fire.
"NOT LIKE THAT!"
Too late. Aeren, sword ablaze, charged, yelling something unintelligible and dramatic. The beast turned, focusing entirely on him.
Elira leapt forward, her mark glowing. "Forgebound, awaken!"
A great hammer of silver and smoke rose from the ashes in her hand, slamming down on the beast's head. The obsidian cracked. The molten core hissed. It shrieked and sank into the earth.
Silence returned.
Aeren lay in the sand, slightly singed but triumphant. "Okay… that was… kind of awesome."
Elira loomed over him. "Next time, maybe don't play flaming bait."
"I thought it was heroic."
"It was stupid. But..." she offered her hand. "Thanks."
He took it, grinning. "Anytime, hammer girl."
They continued deeper into the Wastes, eventually reaching a forgotten temple—half-swallowed by sand, runes flickering on its stone walls. Inside, a glowing orb pulsed atop an altar.
Elira stepped forward. Her mark flared.
The orb shattered. A voice filled the temple:
"The Warden's Forge awakens. Three remain."
The floor trembled. Dust fell from the ceiling.
Bryn raised an eyebrow. "Well. That's not ominous."
Outside, the wind howled again.
And far beyond the horizon, the Herald opened his eyes.
"The game begins."