The world above the Vault was still drenched in the wet musk of the swamp, but something had changed in the air. The shadows around the trees seemed more watchful now, more alive, as if something ancient had stirred below and sent ripples across the veil of reality.
Kael emerged from the narrow passage of the ruin, his body aching, the mark on his hand still pulsing with residual heat. Lira rushed toward him, her eyes wide with concern.
"Kael! Are you alright? Gods, your arm—what happened down there?"
He met her gaze, that same calm determination gleaming behind his pale blue eyes. "I found something. Or maybe... it found me."
Kael collapsed to one knee, exhaustion finally catching up with him. The duel with the Herald had taken more out of him than he expected. But in its place, he felt something new—an awakening.
His sister knelt beside him, her hand glowing faintly with healing magic, dull and pale compared to the radiant energies he'd touched within the Vault.
"We need to leave this place. The Pale Hand won't stop with just one Herald," she said, her voice low.
Kael nodded, staring back at the entrance. The ruin had sealed itself behind them.
---
Hours Later – Deep in the Forest Outskirts
A fire crackled beneath the open sky, casting flickering light over Kael's face. He sat apart from the others, clutching the relic he'd retrieved from the Vault—an obsidian shard etched with golden runes, whispering in a language older than anything in the books he'd studied.
The relic responded to his thoughts. When Kael focused on it, he saw visions—of a throne burning in the sky, of winged figures tearing through stars, of a serpent god falling into shadow.
Lira walked up beside him, carrying two mugs of warmed berry broth. "You're not sleeping. Again."
He accepted the drink with a small smile. "Sleep's overrated when the universe is whispering your name."
"You really think the Firstborn are calling to you?"
He glanced down at the glowing runes. "I don't think. I know. And I'm not the only one hearing them."
As if summoned by his words, a voice echoed through the trees. "The blood remembers, child of fire."
Kael spun to his feet, aura flaring.
From the edge of the forest, a tall figure emerged. Cloaked in feathers and bark, with a mask carved from bone, they walked like mist. Unthreatening, yet unsettling.
"I am Elder Veyra of the Gloamsworn," the figure said. "Your awakening has been felt across the ley-lines. You've stirred things better left buried."
Kael narrowed his eyes. "Then help me understand them."
---
Later That Night
Around the fire, Veyra began to speak. They told Kael and his family of the Throne of Embers, the final resting place of the Serpent Kings after the fall of the Firstborn. Of a war so ancient it had been erased from mortal history. Of a prophecy—one born of fire and silence, one whose blood could rewrite the laws of the world.
"The Pale Hand serve a false cycle," Veyra said. "They seek to rebirth the old tyrants. But you, Kael—you carry the unbroken blood. You are not their vessel. You are their reckoning."
Kael clenched his fists. The word reckoning echoed through his soul.
"Then show me the path. Show me how to stop them."
Veyra nodded. "We must reach the Citadel of Roots before the next eclipse. There lies the First Key. But the road is death."
Kael smirked faintly. "Good. I'm done hiding."
Behind him, his mother stood. "Then we go together. We're done running."
Lira drew her blade. "Let them come. This time, we fight back."
And so, with a burning relic, a bloodline awakened, and the shadows closing in, Kael's journey toward the throne of the forgotten truly began.
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End of Chapter 14