Smoke still curled in the air above the shattered Hidden Sanctuary, but Callan didn't wait for the ashes to settle. The silence left behind by the veiled woman was more than ominous—it was a declaration. The enemy wasn't hiding anymore. They were moving in plain sight, confident enough to face him directly.
Callan stood among the wreckage with the shard of the Heart Crystal in his hand. It pulsed faintly with residual magic, fragile but not yet dead.
"We'll need a new source of power," Solenne said, her voice quiet as she ran her fingers along the broken obelisk. "We can't repair the Sanctuary, not without a core."
"There's another way," Callan replied. "We forge a new one."
Shura turned, brushing blood off her daggers. "You're suggesting we rebuild the Heart Crystal from scratch? That kind of magic's been lost for centuries."
"Not lost," Callan said. "Just buried. I remember where it lies."
Solenne's brows furrowed. "You mean the Ember Vault."
A pause followed, thick with unease. Even Ren, who had been tending to his own wounds in silence, looked up sharply. "The Vault's sealed. It's suicide trying to get inside."
Callan shook his head. "Not if you carry the mark. The Ember Vault was created by the Flameborn—my most loyal legion during the War of Ruin. It was built to house weapons and secrets too dangerous for the world to keep."
He lifted the shard of the Heart Crystal, which glowed faintly in response to his voice. "We can use this. It's a key. One of many."
Ren cursed under his breath. "So let me guess. The rest of the keys are scattered across a continent plagued by demonic incursions and ancient curses?"
"More or less."
Shura let out a breathy laugh. "Then what are we waiting for?"
Their path was set, though none of them felt comforted by it. Leaving the sanctuary, they trekked through the Vale of Mourning, a desolate stretch of jagged rock and wind-carved cliffs. The shadows felt heavier here, as if watching. As they descended into a narrow pass, Callan felt something shift in the air.
"Hold," he whispered.
The others stopped instantly. From ahead, a low rumble echoed. Then the rocks shifted—and a serpentine form coiled out from the cliffside. Its eyes glowed like molten gold, and its scales shimmered with obsidian luster.
A Drakhan. Not corrupted—yet not entirely whole. Its body was wreathed in both fire and shadow.
It spoke.
"You carry the shard. The breath of flame stirs once more."
Callan stepped forward. "We seek passage to the Ember Vault."
The Drakhan lowered its massive head, steam curling from its nostrils. "Then you must prove your flame has not waned."
Without warning, it struck.
Callan moved instantly, drawing his blade and clashing with the beast's horned strike. Solenne threw up wards of fire to shield the others as the pass erupted into chaos.
Ren leapt onto a ledge, hurling bolts of lightning down at the creature's flanks, while Shura vanished and reappeared in flashes, slashing at joints and weak points with surgical precision.
But it was Callan the Drakhan focused on.
Each strike was a test—not to kill, but to measure.
"Your power is split," the creature growled. "Your flame is chained."
"I'm still more than enough!" Callan roared, and his aura exploded in a column of fire that illuminated the entire pass.
The Drakhan halted, steam hissing from its mouth as it reeled back—not in pain, but in satisfaction.
"You are not what you once were," it said. "But you carry the will."
The beast lowered its massive form, pressing its forehead to the rock. From the base of its neck, a glowing sigil emerged—a brand of flame.
"The Ember Vault recognizes its master. Take this key. But beware, Demon General—others will follow your scent. Old flames have awakened."
With that, the creature dissolved into embers, leaving behind a stone fragment pulsing with heat.
Callan picked it up. The second key.
"That makes two," Solenne said. "How many more?"
"Three remain," Callan replied. "One is in the drowned citadel beneath the Salted Abyss. Another lies in the Skyforge atop the Worldspire. And the last…"
He looked west, toward the horizon where the skies burned crimson.
"…is in the ruins of Elarion. The city I destroyed."
A long silence followed.
Shura finally broke it. "Then we go. One ruin at a time."
They didn't rest. Every hour wasted was another step their enemy took.
By nightfall, they reached the edge of the canyon, setting up camp in the hollowed remains of an ancient war chariot. The stars overhead were dimmed, the sky veiled in red.
As the others slept, Callan sat alone, sharpening his blade. He could feel it—eyes watching from beyond the veil. The shadows were converging, drawn to the old power rising in him again.
"You're awake now," he muttered to the night. "Then come. I'm not afraid of you anymore."
From the distant hills, something howled—a sound that once meant doom in the old days.
A harbinger.
Callan stood and faced it, flame curling around his hand.
Let them come.