The forest had long since turned silent.
Kael stood at the edge of a clearing, the ancient trees around him creaking in the breeze like tired sentinels. Moss blanketed the stones beneath his boots, and each breath he took felt thick with unseen tension. The Echoheart pulsed faintly against his chest, no longer burning but ever-present—like a heartbeat that wasn't his own.
Behind him, Elira and Tovan approached with caution. No one spoke, not yet. Something about this place demanded reverence—or fear.
"This has to be it," Elira murmured, scanning the stone spires that jutted from the earth like broken fangs. "The shrine the old map hinted at."
Tovan didn't sheath his weapon. "If we're lucky, it's just another ruin. If we're not... well, Kael's relic tends to wake the worst of history."
Kael didn't answer. His fingers brushed the Echoheart unconsciously. The memory of the guardian from before—the flash of vision, the burning light—still haunted him. It wasn't just power. It was responsibility. And weight. Every time he used it, it felt like something inside him shifted.
Is this what she felt, too? The thought of his sister struck like a sudden gust. Lira's voice, her stubborn laugh, her warning. Don't carry it if you don't intend to bear it.
He closed his eyes briefly, recalling the last memory of her—their fight, the tears she didn't want him to see, and the whisper she left him with before everything fell apart: "Don't let it own you, Kael." He hadn't understood it then. Now, he feared he did.
The Echoheart pulsed again.
Not in warning—but in recognition.
Kael stepped into the clearing, drawn by a force that was less instinct and more... longing. In the center stood a raised platform, cracked and overgrown, yet unmistakably crafted by hands long gone. Inlaid along its edge were faintly glowing runes—identical to those in the old murals. This was no simple shrine. It was a nexus.
"Kael—hold up," Tovan said sharply, but Kael barely heard him.
He knelt before the runes, brushing aside the moss. The Echoheart flared with warmth and responded—not just with power, but clarity. His vision rippled again, and with it came echoes.
A vision unfurled.
Not chaotic, like before. This one was quieter, more intimate. A memory not his own—no battle, no screams—just a figure kneeling at this very spot. A woman. Her face obscured, her hands trembling as she placed a crystal orb into a socket on the altar. Her voice, soft but strained, carried across time.
"Forgive me. I couldn't protect them all."
Kael's breath caught. When he blinked, the vision faded—but the weight of her words lingered.
"You saw something again," Elira said, stepping up beside him.
Kael nodded. "She left something here. Not a relic. A regret."
Tovan looked around uneasily. "You think this place remembers?"
Kael stood. "I think the land itself does. And the Echoheart... it's tuning to it. To everything."
Elira gently touched his arm. "And what is it tuning you into?"
He didn't answer, because he wasn't sure. But somewhere deep inside, a thread had been pulled—and Kael knew he couldn't stop following it, no matter what it unraveled.
Behind the altar, a tunnel entrance revealed itself—a stone slab sliding aside with the soft grind of ancient mechanisms.
Tovan gave a low whistle. "Well. That's ominous."
Elira raised her blade slightly. "Or it's the path forward."
Kael stepped first into the dark, the relic's light casting their shadows long and sharp behind them.