The Ash-Gate of Ir-Daen
---
Snow fell in hushed spirals as Kael and his companions crested the ridge overlooking the sunken ruins of Ir-Daen.
Where once a grand city stood—shining with towers of crystal and steel—there now lay broken spires jutting out of ashen soil, half-buried in frost. A deep silence clung to the place, like even the wind feared to disturb what slept beneath.
Nyssra drew her cloak tighter, eyes narrowed. "I thought it was a myth. The city buried by the gods."
"No myth," Dain murmured. "This was where the First Warden died."
Kael felt it the moment they stepped over the ridgeline. The corrupted Shard pulsed violently—like it recognized something. The Veil here was thin, barely holding together.
Theron moved ahead without fear, blades at the ready. "I don't like the quiet. Feels too...watched."
They descended toward a shattered archway, half-swallowed by snow and time. Old glyphs, faded but still humming, glowed faintly as they approached.
Kael reached out to touch the stone—and a sharp jolt of memory surged through him.
Flashes. A war. A face he didn't know—his own, but older. Wreathed in fire and shadow. Standing at this very gate, holding off an army alone.
Kael staggered back, gasping.
Nyssra caught him. "Another echo?"
He nodded. "More than that. It's like... I was here. In another life."
Dain approached the arch, muttering something in an ancient tongue. The glyphs flared blue—and the stone shimmered, revealing a path into darkness.
"The Ash-Gate is open," he said. "But we won't be the only ones entering."
Kael turned. "What do you mean?"
Dain gestured to the sky. A single black bird wheeled overhead, feathers glinting with metallic sheen.
"Someone's watching. Someone... older than us."
---
The path inside was cold and narrow, carved from obsidian and bone. As they moved deeper into Ir-Daen's bowels, the temperature dropped—but the Veil energy surged.
Symbols danced along the walls, whispering with forgotten tongues. The group walked in silence, every footstep echoing like a shout.
Then—movement.
A whisper of robes.
Figures emerged from the shadows—tall, masked, and cloaked in ash-gray. Their faces were covered by hollow veils of glass, reflecting no light. Weapons were not drawn, but the tension was unmistakable.
One stepped forward.
"The heretic awakens," the figure said, voice like wind through a crypt. "And brings the storm."
Kael stepped forward. "You know who I am?"
The figure tilted its head. "You are not him. Not yet. But you carry the burden. And the corruption."
Theron's hand hovered near his blade. "If you're enemies, say it now."
"No," the ash-figure said. "We are the Wardens of Dust. Guardians of the First Warden's legacy. And Kael Veret... we have been waiting for you."
---
They were led deeper—into the Sanctum of Remembrance.
A massive chamber opened before them, carved into the roots of the earth. Pillars rose like fossilized trees, and at its heart stood a crystal monolith.
Frozen inside it was a corpse—armored in shattered black steel, a Shard embedded in its chest. The face was eerily familiar.
Kael's heart stopped. "That's... me."
Dain's voice was hushed. "That's who you were. Or who the Warden became."
The Warden of Dust bowed. "He bound the Realms with his blood. But his end was not peace. His soul was splintered. Cast into the Veil. Reborn... again and again."
Kael stepped closer to the monolith. The Shard within it pulsed in time with his own.
"What happens if I reclaim that Shard?" he asked.
The Warden's voice turned grim. "Then your path is set. Your soul—whole again. But the world will burn to test you."
Nyssra stepped beside him, placing a hand on his.
"You don't have to decide now."
But Kael knew the truth. The decision wasn't someday. It was now.
Because beyond Ir-Daen, the sky was cracking.
And something monstrous was coming through.