Zaedric stepped through the shimmering veil of light, his heart pounding in his chest. The sensation was unlike anything he had ever felt a sudden rush of warmth, a weightless moment of transition, as though he had left one world and entered another. When his feet touched solid ground again, he exhaled sharply, his fingers instinctively tightening around Lyria's small hand.
The air here was different. Crisp yet heavy, filled with the faint scent of something ancient, something beyond mortal comprehension. They stood in a vast, open glade, illuminated by an eerie silver glow. The trees that surrounded them were unlike those in Nytherys, tall, slender, and translucent, their branches swaying as if caught in an unseen current. The sky above stretched endlessly, not the deep black of night, but a shifting canvas of violet and silver, stars flickering in impossible patterns.
Deyvar emerged beside them, his blade still drawn, his expression wary. "This is not the world we know."
Zaedric swallowed hard, nodding. "Then where are we?"
A whisper of movement caught their attention. From the shadows of the glade, figures began to emerge. They were humanoid but ethereal, their forms flickering between solid and spectral. Their eyes glowed with an unnatural luminescence, and their presence sent a chill down Zaedric's spine.
Lyria pressed closer to him, her small fingers clutching his sleeve. "Are they ghosts?" she whispered.
One of the figures stepped forward. Unlike the others, this one seemed more substantial, its features sharper, more defined. It was tall, clad in flowing robes of deep indigo, embroidered with symbols that shifted as if alive. When it spoke, its voice resonated through the glade, neither male nor female, but something in between calm, knowing, and ancient.
"You are travelers," the being said, studying them with piercing, luminous eyes. "You have crossed into the Veil of Nytherys."
Zaedric exchanged a glance with Deyvar before clearing his throat. "We… didn't mean to intrude. We were fleeing-"
"We know why you are here," the being interrupted, tilting its head. "The weight of fate clings to you."
A shiver ran down Zaedric's spine. "Who are you?"
"We are the Watchers of the Veil," the figure replied. "Keepers of the boundary between realms. Few cross into this place and fewer still leave unchanged."
Zaedric frowned. "Are we trapped here?"
The Watcher regarded him for a long moment before speaking again. "No. But the path you seek is not without cost."
Deyvar took a step forward, his tone firm. "We need to leave. We need to survive."
The Watcher's glowing eyes flickered toward Lyria. "And yet, survival is only part of the journey." It raised a hand, gesturing toward the horizon. "Beyond this glade lies the Ruins of Aeltharion. Within them, the knowledge you seek and the key to your fate."
Zaedric hesitated. "What kind of knowledge?"
"The truth of the Aetherbrand," the Watcher replied. "And the history that was stolen from your kind."
The mention of Aetherbrand sent a jolt through Zaedric. He barely understood what it was, only whispers and fragmented tales. And yet, something within him stirred—a pull, a quiet beckoning.
Deyvar exhaled sharply, lowering his sword. "Then we go."
The Watcher nodded, stepping aside. "Tread carefully, travelers. The past is not always willing to be unearthed."
With that, the figures began to fade, dissolving into the silver mist. The glade grew silent once more.
Zaedric took a steadying breath, then turned toward the horizon. The Ruins of Aeltharion awaited.
And with them, the truth.
The path to the Ruins of Aeltharion was unlike anything Zaedric had ever seen. The ground was composed of smooth, polished stone, faintly glowing with ethereal light, as if the land itself pulsed with ancient energy. Strange runes shimmered beneath their feet, shifting in and out of focus as they moved forward.
Lyria clutched Zaedric's hand tightly, her wide eyes darting around the spectral landscape. "It feels like the air is humming," she whispered.
Deyvar nodded grimly. "This place is steeped in old magic. Magic that predates even the oldest of human records."
They pressed on, winding through twisted, crystalline trees that seemed to whisper as they passed. Shadows flickered in the distance, but no threat emerged at least, not yet.
After what felt like hours, the ruins finally came into view. Massive stone structures jutted out of the earth, some crumbled, others eerily intact. At the center of it all stood a towering obelisk, covered in the same shifting runes as the path. Its presence radiated power, as if it were the heart of this forgotten place.
Zaedric felt his breath hitch. Something about the obelisk called to him, a silent whisper in the back of his mind, urging him closer.
Deyvar placed a hand on his shoulder. "Be cautious. There are reasons places like this remain untouched."
As they stepped into the ruins, the temperature dropped. The air grew thick, heavy with an unseen force. Zaedric shivered, but whether from cold or something deeper, he couldn't tell.
Suddenly, a low vibration pulsed through the ground. The ruins stirred. A deep, resonant hum filled the air as the obelisk's runes flared to life, casting eerie shadows against the broken stone walls.
Lyria gasped. "What's happening?"
Before anyone could answer, a figure materialized before the obelisk. Cloaked in flowing garments of dark violet, their face obscured by a hood, the figure radiated an unmistakable presence. Not hostile, but undeniably powerful.
"Seekers," the figure intoned, their voice echoing unnaturally. "You have come searching for answers. But answers demand sacrifice."
Zaedric swallowed hard. "Who… what are you?"
"I am the Keeper of Aeltharion. The guardian of the knowledge you seek." The figure raised a hand, and the obelisk's glow intensified. "Before you take another step, you must choose."
Deyvar's grip tightened on his weapon. "Choose what?"
The Keeper's voice grew solemn. "The truth, or the safety of ignorance. Knowledge comes at a cost, and once the path is walked, there is no return."
Zaedric felt the weight of those words settle on his shoulders. The pull toward the obelisk grew stronger, a deep knowing in his gut telling him that this was the moment everything would change.
He turned to Lyria, to Deyvar, to the ruins that had stood for centuries waiting for this very moment. The decision lay before him, heavy as stone, inevitable as fate.
Zaedric took a deep breath. And then, he chose.