The cold seeped from the stone walls of the underground chamber. Leon pressed the flame emblem into his palm, feeling its warmth spread through his skin and into his veins like a steady current of fire. The Grandmaster leaned against the pedestal, using the torn remains of his robes to wipe the blood from his wrists, his gaze fixed on the glowing elemental sigils on the scroll.
"The Heart of the Flame Dragon…" His voice was hoarse. "It is said to be the crystallized heart of the Red Dragon Lord after he fell a thousand years ago—sealed deep beneath the Molten Fire Canyon by the ancestors of the Frostwolf Clan." He coughed violently, black blood splattering across the stone in eerie patterns. "But if Arthus knows about this clue, he will surely send agents of the Shadow Covenant ahead of us."
Elara held the glowstone closer to the faint script along the edge of the scroll. Her emerald eyes narrowed.
"There's a hidden prophecy written in magic," she murmured. "'When the Wrath of Stars tears the heavens, the Chosen One shall awaken the slumbering ember at the boundary of ice and fire. Only through the resonance of blood and rune can the chains of chaos be broken.'"
"Wrath of Stars? The Chosen One?" Leon frowned, recalling the red light he had seen atop the watchtower. "Does that mean… me?"
"Prophecies rarely point to one individual," the Grandmaster replied, extending a thin, trembling finger toward the star chart at the center of the scroll. "But your flame emblem is reacting to the power of the Red Dragon's bloodline—look, it's heating up."
Leon looked down. The emblem in his hand glowed brighter, its metal surface revealing flowing dragon-like patterns. Suddenly, a wave of dizziness overtook him. In his mind, fragmented visions flashed—burning skies, frozen canyons, and an orc wearing a wolf-helmet raising a massive axe to split the earth.
"These are echoes of your bloodline," the Grandmaster said, placing a hand on Leon's forehead. "The Red Dragon Lord once made a pact with the ancestors of the Frostwolves. Only someone bearing both the blood of a knight and the affinity for runes can awaken the Heart of the Flame Dragon."
Tom suddenly pointed toward a corner of the chamber. "Look!"
They turned to see half of a stone tablet protruding from behind a pile of rusted armor. Elara stepped forward, reading the worn ancient Elven script. Her expression grew grave.
"This is the 'End Warning Stone' from the First Age," she translated. "It says that when the Shadow Covenant hatches the 'Chaos Egg,' the world will return to primordial void. The only way to stop it lies within the resonance of the seven Elemental Relics."
Leon tightened his grip on his dagger. "So we have to find all the relics?"
"Not just that," the Grandmaster added, pointing to a relief carved at the base of the tablet. "Their resonance must be guided by an 'Elemental Bearer'—someone who has passed the trials of the four elements: courage in flame, wisdom in frost, justice in thunder, and mercy in earth." His body shuddered. Fear flickered in his eyes. "Arthus… he's gathering fragments of the Chaos Egg. If he completes the resonance first…"
A sudden tremor shook the ground. Dust rained from the ceiling.
"They've found the entrance!" Elara drew her bow sharply.
From outside the tunnel came the shriek of rune-tipped bolts piercing stone. Chancellor Arthus's voice echoed through the passage, laced with dark magic.
"Lord Leon, hand over the scroll, and I'll grant you a swift death."
Leon shoved the scroll into a hidden pocket and helped the Grandmaster up. "Where's the exit?"
The old man pointed to a hidden door behind the tablet. "This was a secret escape route used by the ancient knights—it leads to the 'Forgotten Cemetery' beyond the city walls. But beware—the cemetery is haunted by 'Tomb Wraiths' corrupted by shadow magic. They only attack the living…"
"I'll lead the way." Elara nocked an arrow tipped with phosphorus powder. "Tom, protect the Grandmaster. Leon, watch your back!"
As the hidden door creaked open, a wave of decay and dust rushed in. Among the graveyard's ruins stood countless shattered tombstones. Moonlight filtered through skeletal branches, illuminating the floating blue spirits—semi-transparent figures wailing and screeching as their claws tore through the air with sonic bursts.
"Stick close!" Elara fired the phosphorus arrow. Its green trail lit up the sky, igniting the nearest wraiths in explosive bursts. Leon slashed wildly with his dagger, but the blades passed through the ghosts harmlessly. Instead, a numbing chill ran up his arms.
"Aim for the crystals on their chests!" the Grandmaster shouted. "That's where the shadow energy is concentrated!"
Leon focused. Sure enough, each wraith bore a black crystal embedded in its chest. Timing his strike, he smashed the hilt of his dagger into one crystal—*crack!* It shattered, and the wraith dissolved into sparks. Tom lit his torch, flames repelling the spirits as they scattered under the light.
Fighting their way forward, they neared the edge of the cemetery when every wraith suddenly froze—then turned in unison. At the entrance stood Chancellor Arthus, his staff absorbing the energy of the wraiths. Behind him, a group of crimson-robed Shadow Priests watched silently.
"Hand over the scroll," Arthus commanded, his voice dripping with enchantment. "Or none of you will leave here alive. Think of your mother and sister, Leon—I know they're still alive. Just give me what I want, and I'll spare them…"
"You're lying!" Leon roared, charging forward with his dagger aimed at Arthus's heart. The chancellor sidestepped, striking Leon's wrist with his staff. The dagger flew from his hand. As the wraiths lunged, Elara threw herself between them and Leon, taking the brunt of the blast. She flew backward, crashing into a tombstone.
"Elara!" Leon rushed to her side. Her shoulder wound was already turning black.
The Grandmaster struggled to raise his staff. A golden light burst from his frail hands. "In the name of Holy Light—Purify!"
Golden rain poured from above, washing over the graveyard. The wraiths screamed and disintegrated in the radiant light. Arthus cursed, retreating with his priests. "You got lucky this time! But the Molten Fire Canyon in the Frostwind Tundra will be your grave!"
As the light faded, the Grandmaster collapsed to his knees, breath shallow. "I… I used my last bit of holy power…" He reached out, pressing a ring engraved with a laurel crest into Leon's palm. "Go… seek the chieftain 'Ironmane' of the Frostwolves. This ring… will prove your identity…"
His hand dropped lifelessly. Leon clenched the ring until his knuckles turned white. Elara staggered to her feet, tearing a strip of cloth to bandage her wound. "We need to move fast—Arthus's forces will return soon."
Outside the cemetery, dawn's first light painted the horizon pale gray. Leon turned for one last look at the capital. The black banners fluttered through the morning mist, like a monstrous beast waiting to devour more souls.
He pressed the flame emblem to his chest, feeling the surge of ancient power in his blood. Then he glanced at the ring in his palm—the laurel crest shimmered faintly in the morning light.
"We go to the Frostwind Tundra," he said calmly, yet firmly. "Not just to claim the Heart of the Flame Dragon—but to find Chief Ironmane and complete the trials foretold in the prophecy."
Elara nodded, her emerald eyes reigniting with determination. "I know a shortcut through the Misty Ice Plains—but it's infested with Shadow-corrupted Frost Spiders."
Tom gripped his wooden crossbow tightly. "I'm coming too! Even if I die, I'll fight to avenge my father and the knights!"
The morning wind swept across the wilds, lifting the hem of Leon's cloak. He gazed northward at the endless snow-capped peaks—beyond lay not only unknown dangers, but also the key to unraveling the prophecy and the hope of salvation.
The mysterious words of fate were like guiding stars, leading three wounded young souls toward a wider world. And their journey had only just begun.
Beyond the shadows of the capital, beneath the icy silence of the Frostwind Tundra, ancient pacts and forgotten legacies waited to be awakened. Leon knew the road ahead would be fraught with peril—but he had no choice. For he did not fight merely for revenge. He fought for the future of all Azlan.