When Ghosts Begin to Speak
---
Kael sat before the crystal monolith, watching his own ancient corpse entombed in silence.
The weight of it pressed against his chest—not the airless weight of fear, but something heavier: legacy.
"I don't understand," he said finally, not turning to face the Warden behind him. "If that's who I was... why can't I remember anything?"
"Because memory is mercy," the Warden of Dust replied. "And the Warden did not die peacefully. The soul shattered. Rebirth was your only escape."
Nyssra crouched beside Kael, eyes on the frozen figure. "This... version of you. What was he fighting for?"
The Warden's head tilted. "For choice. For rebellion. For the right to fall."
Kael stood. "And now?"
"Now," the Warden said, "you walk toward the same edge. The difference is... this time, you're not alone."
Before Kael could ask more, the monolith trembled—just once.
Then again.
Dust fell from the vaulted ceiling as ancient glyphs lit up along the chamber walls. A low, bone-deep vibration began pulsing through the stone.
Dain drew his staff and spun it with a hiss of energy. "Someone has breached the outer seals."
Theron unsheathed his blades. "Let me guess. Not friendly?"
Kael turned sharply. "They found us."
The Warden's voice dropped into a darker register. "The Scourge of the Hollow. They hunt Shard-bearers. They will not leave until all of you are dead."
Without warning, the monolith cracked.
Kael's corrupted Shard flared—burning hot against his chest—and for a brief moment, he saw the armored corpse's eyes open behind the crystal. Glowing blue. Alive with wrath.
Then came the scream.
It didn't come from a mouth.
It came from the Veil.
---
Above the Sanctum, within the ruins of Ir-Daen, the snow had stopped falling.
Dark figures rose from the ground—skeletal warriors cloaked in flame and smoke, their eyes blazing with hatred. At their center stood a being far larger than the others—its body bound in blood-red armor, crowned with a halo of burning bone.
The Hollowlord.
It did not speak. It simply pointed.
And the ground split.
---
Within the sanctum, Kael and the others ran.
The Warden of Dust led them through ancient tunnels lined with mirrored stone. "There is another exit—through the Wound Gate. But it is not safe."
Theron barked a bitter laugh. "Compared to what? That thing up top?"
"The Wound Gate is alive," the Warden said. "It remembers those who pass through. It feeds on memory."
Dain muttered a curse. "It'll try to strip us bare."
Kael touched the cracked monolith as they passed it one last time. The frozen version of himself stared back, eyes now dim.
"I'll be back," Kael whispered.
And he meant it.
---
As they reached the Wound Gate—an enormous spiral door of living metal—the Veil flared with violent intensity.
The Shard in Kael's chest pulsed again.
He turned—and for the first time—he heard it.
A voice.
Inside his head. No... inside his soul.
"I remember."
Kael staggered.
"Kael?" Nyssra caught his arm.
His eyes glazed, voice distant. "It's him. The Warden. He's... waking."
The Gate opened, but not into a tunnel.
It opened into a memory.
---
They stepped through and were no longer in Ir-Daen.
They stood in the midst of a battlefield made of smoke and flame. Thousands of corpses. Shattered realms hung broken above their heads. Kael stood at the center of it all, except it wasn't him—it was the Warden. Armored. Bleeding. Laughing through pain.
The Warden raised a blade made of lightning and light.
He turned.
And looked straight at Kael.
"You're not ready," he said.
Then everything exploded into white.
---
Kael dropped to his knees, gasping.
The others had collapsed too—Nyssra panting, Theron bleeding from his nose, Dain clutching his temples.
Only the Warden of Dust remained standing, unaffected.
"You saw the End," he said quietly. "Now do you understand?"
Kael rose, face pale, fists clenched.
"I saw myself," he said.
"And I am not letting that future happen again."