The hills rose like broken teeth, jagged against a sky the color of beaten steel. The caravan crept along a ridge path that clung to the mountainside like a scar. Wheels groaned. Hooves struck sparks. Pebbles scattered with every step, tumbling into the ravine far below. Each sound rang too loud, too sharp, echoes carrying across stone like signals to the hunters behind them.
And the hunters answered.
From the passes below, horns still blared. The mob's torches had thinned, broken by rock and distance, but their glow licked through the gullies in uneven waves. The fire moved as if alive, chasing them from shadow to shadow. The sound of voices rose and fell like surf against the cliffs, sometimes faint, sometimes close enough that the guards gripped their weapons with white knuckles.
"Keep the carts tight!" Sofia's command cut like steel over the wind. She rode alongside the lead wagon, reins tight in one hand, the other hovering near her sword. "One gap and they'll split us apart."
The men obeyed, though their eyes flicked often to the cliff's edge. One wrong step and the path would claim them long before the mob did.
Owen trudged behind, arms full of rolled parchment that threatened to spill with every stumble. His muttering never stopped, spilling out in fevered bursts. "The incline, wrong. The cut of these ridges, not natural. Shaped. Shaped once, long ago…" His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. "Saints preserve us. This isn't a hill path. This was built."
Evelyn's head snapped up, her pallid face stark in the dim light. "Built? By who?"
But Owen only shook his head, his pale gaze fixed on the cliff wall. There, beneath layers of moss and lichen, faint chisel marks scored the stone. "Not by any hand in the Council's records. Something older. Much older."
Leo brought up the rear, the boy still clinging tight to his sleeve. The path pressed close, cliff wall on one side, sheer drop yawning on the other, the mob's echoes rising behind. His chest burned with every breath, each heartbeat like a hammer on cracked iron.
And beneath it all, the shard whispered.
Hear them? Its voice was low, coaxing, reverent. The stones hum. They remember blood, offerings, chants of power. They will answer if you let me guide you.
Leo clenched his jaw. His nails dug into his palms until blood welled crescent sharp. Still the hum lingered, threading through his bones.
Then the boy tugged at him. His wide eyes darted to the cliffs. "Leo… do you hear it?"
Leo froze.
The child tilted his head, listening. "Like a string… pulled too low. Humming. It's coming from the rocks."
Owen overheard. His face went white, parchment slipping from his hands. "Not just the boy. I hear it too."
The caravan slowed. Even the horses tossed their heads uneasily, ears flicking at the unseen vibration. For the first time, everyone fell silent enough to notice.
The hum was faint, yet steady. A resonance beneath the stone, as if some vast chord was struck again and again beneath the earth.
They rounded the next bend, and the path widened.
A hollow opened in the hillside, its heart crowned with ruins.
Blackened stones jutted upward in a ring, half swallowed by dirt and thorn. Pillars cracked and leaned, their carvings worn smooth but not gone. Sigils curled faintly across their faces, twin serpents, spirals, eyes etched into stone like wounds. Between them stretched a floor of great flat slabs, each veined with moss, each humming faintly beneath their boots.
The air itself was different here. Heavier. Metallic. A taste like copper clung to every breath.
Sofia dismounted first, boots crunching gravel. Her voice dropped low. "What is this place?"
Owen fell to his knees at once, frantic hands brushing dirt from one of the glyphs. His breath caught in sharp, hungry bursts. "Pre Council. Older than the First Records. Look here, the twin serpent glyph. I've seen fragments in the archives, never whole. Saints above… this should not exist."
Evelyn drew her cloak tight around her shoulders, face pale. "Then why does it feel like a grave?"
No one answered.
Leo moved without thought. His steps carried him closer to the circle of stones. With every pace, the shard flared hotter, syncing with the hum beneath his feet. His veins pulsed fire. His breath hitched.
Yes, the whisper surged, bright with hunger. This is ours. This is where we were first broken. Step within. Claim what they tried to bury.
His foot hovered over the threshold of the stone circle.
The boy's grip tightened on his hand. "Leo, don't."
The words struck like a thrown stone, but they wavered against the tide. The shard clawed upward, pressing fire into his throat, urging him forward.
Behind them, a horn bellowed, closer than ever. Shouts echoed through the pass. The mob was climbing.
Sofia's voice snapped sharp across the hollow, though unease edged her tone. "We can't linger. Through the ruin, or circle around. Either way, we'll be exposed."
The caravan froze. All eyes turned, not toward Sofia, but to Leo.
They said nothing. Yet every gaze held the same silent weight, as if each of them felt the air leaning, the stones waiting, the choice gathering around him like storm clouds.
The hum deepened, vibrating through his chest, matching the shard's beat. The horns blared again, closer, nearer.
The decision could not wait.