A heavy silence blanketed the swamp as Kael and Lira trudged deeper into the murky wilds. The only sound was the wet squelch of boots sinking into moss and the low croaks of unseen creatures. Since the encounter with the Pale Hand, the forest seemed more alive, like it watched them from every twisted root and shadowed vine.
Kael gripped the relic tighter. It pulsed faintly, like a second heartbeat.
"You okay?" Lira asked, her voice soft but alert. She kept her dagger close, eyes darting around.
He nodded. "The relic... it's leading us somewhere. I can feel it tugging."
They reached a clearing where a jagged stone spire jutted from the marsh, broken and ancient. Vines had claimed most of its surface, but symbols still glowed faintly across its face—glyphs of the Firstborn, buried beneath the world's memory.
Kael stepped forward, raising the relic.
It responded instantly.
A beam of pale blue light burst from the stone and pierced the swamp fog. The ground trembled. Lira stumbled back, eyes wide, as the spire cracked open with a hiss of ancient air. A spiral staircase descended into darkness, wet and cold.
"A vault," Kael whispered. "Another one."
He took the first step.
Lira grabbed his wrist. "We don't know what's down there."
"That's why I need to see," Kael said. "Whatever the Firstborn left behind... it's calling me."
They descended, one step at a time, until the light above was nothing more than a memory.
---
The chamber below was vast—a cathedral of stone and silence. Relics lined the walls, untouched for eons: staffs, armor, orbs humming with forgotten power. In the center stood a raised platform, atop it a massive sarcophagus with serpentine carvings writhing across its surface.
Kael stepped closer. The relic in his hand burned hot. It floated from his grip and fused with the sarcophagus lid.
Stone gears turned.
Dust exploded outward.
With a roar of wind, the coffin split open—revealing the skeletal remains of a Firstborn Knight clad in scaled armor, its eyes still glowing faintly with blue fire.
Kael and Lira instinctively stepped back, but the corpse didn't move. Instead, a whisper escaped the chamber walls.
"Heir of the Broken Line… do you remember your sins?"
Kael froze. "What?"
The relic floated into the skeleton's chest, releasing a shockwave that lit every relic in the chamber. Glyphs along the walls danced with light. Visions flooded Kael's mind—
Flames. Betrayal. A throne of bones. A sword driven into his chest by someone he once called brother.
He stumbled. Blood dripped from his nose.
Lira caught him. "Kael!"
He gritted his teeth. "I... I saw it. The fall of the Firstborn. They weren't gods. They were rulers. Tyrants. One of them tried to stop it. He failed."
"And you're his... heir?" Lira asked.
Kael looked at his hand. Blue light now etched across his veins like tattoos.
"I don't think I'm just his heir," he muttered. "I think I'm... remembering who I was."
---
The ground above shook.
Voices echoed down the stairway—cloaked figures chanting. The Pale Hand had arrived.
"They followed us," Lira said, blades drawn.
"Then we fight," Kael said, rising to his feet. The Firstborn armor on the sarcophagus shifted—and pieces flew toward him, assembling themselves over his body.
Blue energy coursed through the metal as it locked to his frame. The moment it sealed shut, the relic ignited in his palm.
A Firstborn weapon—a longsword made of pure ethereal flame—formed in his grip.
The Pale Hand descended.
Kael met them in a blur.
---
The fight was a dance of death.
Kael surged forward, each swing of his sword sending arcs of blue fire across the chamber. Cloaked figures screamed as they were vaporized. Lira moved beside him like a shadow, cutting down those he missed.
For the first time, Kael didn't feel like a lost boy from the marsh. He felt like something more. Something ancient.
But amid the chaos, one figure did not attack.
He stood at the stairway's base—tall, armored in crimson bone, mask carved like a laughing skull.
"Impressive," the figure said, voice like cracking ice. "You awaken well, Firstborn."
Kael's blade sparked. "Who are you?"
"I am Veyrix, Hand of the Pale Order. And you, Kael... are not ready."
Before Kael could react, Veyrix snapped his fingers.
The relic in Kael's chest screamed.
Pain exploded through him—his veins burned, his body seized, and darkness swallowed his vision.
---
When he woke, the vault was still. Lira knelt beside him, bruised and bleeding. Veyrix was gone.
"They left," she said. "But they'll be back."
Kael sat up, trembling. "Then we need to get stronger."
She nodded. "And find mother."
Kael clenched his fist. "We will. And when I'm ready... I'll end them."
--