The wind carried whispers again.
Kael Azreth stood at the edge of a broken ridge, his boots coated in gray dust, ash swirling around his silhouette like a mourning shroud. Before him lay the ruins of an old sanctuary—twisted spires that once reached the skies now bowed to the earth like mourners at a funeral. Time had not been kind to this place, nor had war. Everything here reeked of memory and something far older. Something watching.
"They came here to bury their dead gods," said Rhessia quietly behind him. Her voice was low, as if afraid to wake something sleeping.
Kael's hand rested on the hilt of his blade. "Did they succeed?"
"I don't think they ever left."
He said nothing. The words had weight—too much of it. And this far from the path, in a place abandoned even by the vultures, silence answered back like a threat.
They stepped into the ruins.
What remained of the sanctuary's main hall was choked with shattered iconography and forgotten symbols, carvings of faceless deities worn smooth by age and neglect. Columns lay broken like snapped bones. A great iron gate sagged open, revealing a crumbling stairwell beneath the earth. The path down yawned like a throat.
Kael lit a torch. The light flickered, stubborn against the dark. He hated going underground. The air was always wrong—thick, like breath that had never been exhaled.
Rhessia followed, her staff aglow with a soft, pale shimmer. The magical light was steadier than his flame, and warmer somehow. Not comforting, just... familiar.
"How far down does it go?" he asked.
She hesitated. "Far enough to forget the sun."
They descended.
Dust clung to the stone walls like the remains of ghosts. Ancient prayers were etched along the walls, many in languages neither of them could decipher. Some, Kael recognized—dead tongues spoken only by priests who had long since vanished from history.
At the base of the stairs, they found the door.
Black iron. No rust. No handle. It stood untouched by time, covered in deep carvings that pulsed faintly with crimson light.
Rhessia ran her fingers over the markings. "This is not just a door. It's a seal."
Kael's grip tightened. "Sealing what?"
She turned to him, eyes serious. "A piece of the oath you broke."
He didn't flinch—but his silence deepened. That cursed word again. Oathbreaker.
"Not here," he said. "Not now."
But the seal had already begun to hum.
With a groan that was more of a moan, the iron door slid open—not outward, but inward, as if the darkness had accepted their entry.
Beyond was not a chamber but a void.
The floor ended. Air became thick. The only thing ahead was a narrow bridge of obsidian leading across a black chasm. Below, red light pulsed like a heartbeat. Above, nothing. Around them, the cold pressed like a second skin.
Kael stepped forward first. The bridge groaned beneath his weight.
Rhessia followed, whispering a spell under her breath, her eyes scanning the void. "There are eyes watching us."
"I know."
At the center of the bridge stood a figure.
It did not breathe. It did not blink. It was carved of onyx, tall, robed, faceless. But the moment they drew close, its mouth opened—and from it poured a sound like dying winds.
Rhessia recoiled. Kael stood his ground.
"Speak, Oathbreaker," the statue said in a language that needed no translation. "Speak, or turn back."
Kael raised his torch. "We came for the truth."
The statue tilted its head. "Then bleed for it."
The bridge cracked.
From the shadows rose forms—black armor, horned helms, their faces molten ruin. Wraiths of the old order. Guardians of the seal. They struck with blades that gleamed like obsidian, silent and fast.
Kael's blade met the first with a clash. Sparks flew. The force of the impact sent him skidding back.
"Rhessia!" he shouted.
She was already moving, hurling a sigil into the void. It exploded with white fire, knocking two of the guardians into nothingness.
But more came.
Kael ducked a swing, rolled beneath another, and drove his sword into the shadowy chest of one attacker. It hissed—but didn't fall. These things didn't bleed.
"Light!" he growled.
Rhessia chanted again, louder this time. A burst of radiant energy surged from her staff, washing over the bridge. The guardians staggered, screeching like broken windpipes. Kael lunged, hacking one down at the knees.
The statue still watched.
The bridge cracked further.
"We need to move!" she shouted.
"I know!"
They made a break for the far side. The guardians chased, relentless, even as chunks of the bridge began to fall into the chasm.
Just as Kael reached the edge, one of the wraiths grabbed his arm.
He turned, twisting, slamming his pommel into its skull. It didn't let go. Its molten eyes bore into his.
"You cannot run from what you swore."
Kael snarled—and drove his dagger through its throat. It vanished in smoke.
Rhessia reached back, pulled him up—and the moment their feet touched solid ground, the bridge behind them shattered completely.
They stood before another door. This one bled.
Veins of red light pulsed across it like wounds trying to heal but never allowed to. A symbol glowed at its center—the same one Kael bore on the back of his hand. The brand of the broken oath.
"This is what they were guarding," he said, staring at it.
Rhessia looked at him. "Will you face it?"
He nodded, though his fists clenched. "I have to."
The door opened with a whisper.
Inside was a room of mirrors—dozens, maybe hundreds. All turned inward. All reflecting only Kael, even from impossible angles. Every version of him bore a different scar. A different past. A different failure.
He stepped forward.
The moment his foot touched the floor, the room pulsed—and the reflections began to speak.
"You let them die."
"You broke the bond."
"You chose vengeance over salvation."
"You are unworthy."
Each voice was his own. Each accusation cut like a blade.
Kael gritted his teeth. "I know."
The reflections paused.
"I know what I've done," he said, louder now. "I don't need your reminders."
One reflection—centered, the only one with glowing eyes—stepped forward.
"Then why are you here?"
Kael drew his blade and pointed it at the reflection.
"To make it right."
The mirrored Kael smiled. "Then bleed for it."
Without warning, the mirror shattered—and from it stepped the reflection, armed, armored, and grinning with Kael's own mouth.
Rhessia raised her staff—but Kael stopped her.
"No," he said. "This fight is mine."
He lunged.
Steel met steel. Magic crackled. The two Kaels fought in silence, as if words had no place here. Every move matched, every strike mirrored. But Kael had something the reflection lacked.
Regret.
And with regret came fire.
He roared—and with a final blow, shattered the false Kael into dust.
The room went still. The mirrors dimmed.
Kael fell to one knee, panting. Rhessia stepped forward, her expression unreadable.
"You faced yourself," she said.
He nodded. "And I won."
"No," she whispered. "You survived. That's different."
They left the chamber. The sanctuary behind them began to collapse, stone crumbling, the ground trembling. The past buried itself once more.
But as they emerged into the dying light of day, Kael felt it—something had changed.
The world had noticed him again.
And this time, it wouldn't look away.