The wind had shifted overnight, carrying with it the faint smell of damp stone and rotting wood. Kaelen awoke with a start, the lingering ache in his muscles reminding him of the distance he had covered the day before. His small campfire had died down to embers, glowing faintly against the gray pre-dawn light. He sat up, brushed the dust from his cloak, and took a moment to listen. The ruins were quiet. Too quiet. Even the usual sounds of morning birds or distant animal calls were absent.
He tightened the straps on his pack and stood, scanning the jagged silhouettes of the half-collapsed buildings that surrounded him. Somewhere in the heart of this place was what he had come for, though he still could not name it aloud. The dreams had guided him here, images of broken towers and a blackened archway appearing in his mind for weeks before his arrival. They were not simply dreams, he knew that now. They had a pull, a weight behind them, as if something had reached out to him from this place and refused to let go.
As he moved deeper into the ruins, Kaelen's boots crunched over broken pottery and fragments of stone carvings. The air was cold enough to sting his lungs. Each breath came out in visible clouds. His eyes swept over every doorway and shadow, wary of movement. This place was not empty, no matter how it appeared. He could feel it, a pressure behind his thoughts, a whispering that faded whenever he tried to focus on it.
The first landmark he recognized from his dreams came into view after nearly an hour of careful movement: a circular plaza, its cobblestones warped and buckled from centuries of neglect. At its center stood a cracked statue of a figure cloaked in robes, their face hidden beneath a deep hood. Moss crept up the stone folds of its clothing, and a line of ivy wound itself around one outstretched hand. The other hand was missing entirely, as if shattered by some great force. Kaelen approached slowly, his senses on edge.
The statue seemed ordinary at first glance, but as he circled it, he noticed faint etchings along the base. The language was unfamiliar, yet he felt a strange recognition, as though the symbols were not meant to be read but felt. He reached out and ran his fingers across them. A sudden coldness rushed through him, and the quiet plaza was replaced by a flicker of another place entirely: a vast hall lit by guttering torches, with the same hooded figure standing at its center.
Kaelen stumbled back, the vision gone as quickly as it had appeared. His breathing quickened. This was no mere ruin. Whatever had once lived here had left a mark strong enough to echo through time itself. And something, he realized, was watching him.
A shadow shifted in a nearby alley. Kaelen's hand went to the hilt of his blade before he even thought about it. Slowly, a figure stepped into view, wrapped in layers of tattered cloth. Only their eyes were visible, dark and unblinking.
"You should not be here," the stranger said, voice low and hoarse.
Kaelen did not lower his weapon. "I could say the same to you."
The figure tilted their head slightly. "I am not the one who trespasses."
The words sent a chill through him, but he kept his stance steady. "Then tell me whose land this is. These ruins have been abandoned for centuries."
"Abandoned to you," the stranger replied. "Not to those who remain."
Before Kaelen could speak again, the figure turned sharply and disappeared back into the shadows, their movements almost too fluid to follow. He considered giving chase, but the memory of the cold vision still clung to his mind. Instead, he studied the direction the stranger had gone and marked it in his memory. If they were a threat, they would reveal themselves again soon enough.
The rest of the morning passed in tense silence. Kaelen explored the outskirts of the plaza, finding traces of old marketplaces and dwellings, each one stripped bare long ago. Yet occasionally he would find something untouched: a rusted lantern still hanging in place, a child's toy left in the dirt, a doorframe with scorch marks that seemed recent. These details unsettled him more than decay ever could.
By midday, he reached the edge of a collapsed quarter where the ground had sunk into a deep fissure. A narrow stone bridge, cracked and uneven, spanned the gap. Beyond it, the ruins grew darker, the buildings taller and more intact, as though the destruction had hesitated to claim that part of the city.
Kaelen tested the bridge cautiously, each step pressing against the groaning stones. Halfway across, the wind picked up, rattling through the fissure below. He caught a glimpse of something moving in the depths — a pale shape that vanished into the darkness before he could make sense of it. He crossed the rest of the way quickly, his pulse pounding.
The street ahead was choked with shadows, but the air was warmer here. He noticed faint carvings along the walls, similar to those on the statue's base, and again the strange familiarity tugged at him. Following the narrow street, he reached a great blackened archway, its stones fused together as though by fire. This was the second image from his dreams.
He approached it slowly, the air thickening with each step. The archway seemed to hum faintly, though he could not hear it so much as feel it in his bones. His hand twitched toward the stone, but he hesitated. The last time he had touched something in these ruins, it had shown him things that did not belong to the present.
Behind him, the soft scrape of a footstep broke the silence.
Kaelen turned.
Kaelen pressed forward into the ruins, his boots crunching against loose stones that shifted under his weight. The moonlight had thinned behind a layer of drifting clouds, making the crumbling streets darker and more uncertain. He paused at a fork in the road, studying the two paths before him. To the left, the street sloped downward into a shadow-filled corridor between tall, leaning buildings whose windows gaped like eyeless sockets. To the right, the street curved toward what appeared to be a collapsed plaza, where the broken skeleton of a large fountain stood like a monument to decay.
He tilted his head, listening for anything beyond the sigh of the wind. A faint dripping sound came from the plaza, irregular and slow, as if water still pooled somewhere deep within the cracked stone. The sound drew him in that direction. He kept his hand close to the hilt of his sword, scanning every doorway and archway for movement.
When he reached the edge of the plaza, he saw that the fountain was more than just a ruin. Its base was carved with worn symbols, some still faintly glowing in pale blue light, much like the glyphs he had seen before. The glow pulsed faintly, almost like a heartbeat. He stepped closer, drawn to it despite a gnawing instinct that told him to stay back. The stone felt cold when he brushed his fingers against it, yet there was a strange warmth just beneath the surface, as if something alive was buried inside.
A flicker of movement in his peripheral vision made him tense. He turned sharply, eyes sweeping across the edges of the plaza. At first, he saw nothing. Then he spotted it — a figure standing near the far corner, half-hidden in shadow. The person, if it was a person at all, stood unnaturally still, head tilted in a way that suggested it had been watching him for some time. Kaelen's pulse quickened. He could not make out its face, only the suggestion of a cloak or ragged covering that shifted slightly with the breeze.
"Who are you?" he called, his voice steady but low.
The figure did not answer. It took one slow step forward, then stopped again, as if measuring him.
Kaelen felt the pull of the fountain's glow on his back and the silent challenge of the stranger before him. His mind raced. Every moment in these ruins seemed to present a choice, each more dangerous than the last. He took a slow breath, deciding his next move.
Kaelen's eyes scanned the treeline as he moved deeper into the forest, every step muffled by the soft carpet of fallen leaves. The air here felt heavier, as if the shadows themselves carried weight. He had been traveling for hours, keeping to narrow deer trails to avoid leaving obvious tracks, yet the sense of being watched had not faded. Every rustle of branches and whisper of wind seemed deliberate, purposeful, as though unseen eyes followed his every move.
The sun had sunk lower, its fading light filtering weakly through the canopy, painting the world in deep gold and creeping violet. Kaelen paused at a small clearing where an ancient oak stood, its gnarled roots twisting above the earth like the grasping fingers of some long-forgotten giant. He rested a hand on the bark, feeling its age and strength, before crouching to check the ground for any sign of pursuit. No tracks. No broken twigs. Yet the feeling persisted, gnawing at the back of his mind.
He decided to wait, lowering himself into the cover of a fallen log's shadow. If something was out there, it would reveal itself sooner or later. Minutes stretched into what felt like hours, the forest growing unnervingly still. Then, without warning, a faint glow appeared between the trees. It pulsed softly, as though it were alive, swaying with a rhythm too deliberate to be wind.
Kaelen rose silently, hand brushing the hilt of his blade. The light drew nearer, and with it came a strange hum that vibrated in his bones. His instincts screamed both danger and curiosity, the conflicting signals locking him in place for a heartbeat before his legs carried him forward. He stepped carefully over roots and under branches until he saw the source.
Standing in a patch of moonlight was a figure draped in a cloak so dark it seemed to drink in the light around it. The hood was pulled low, concealing the face, but the glow came from the figure's hand, which cradled a small sphere that shimmered with shifting colors. It looked like captured starlight, and Kaelen could not look away from it.
"You have strayed far from the path, Kaelen," the figure said, voice low and smooth, with an echo that made it impossible to tell if it belonged to a man or woman.
Kaelen froze. No one should have known his name here, not this far from the settlements. "Who are you?" he asked, his voice steady despite the cold prickle running along his spine.
The figure tilted their head slightly, as if weighing the question. "One who has watched you longer than you realize. You stand at a crossroads, though you do not yet see it. What you seek will not be found by blade alone."
Kaelen's grip tightened on his weapon. "If you have answers, speak plainly."
The sphere in the figure's hand pulsed brighter, casting ripples of light across the surrounding trees. "Answers are not given freely. But I can tell you this—what hunts you now is older than the kingdom you flee, and its reach extends farther than you can walk in a lifetime. If you wish to survive, you must find the Well of Echoes before it does."
Before Kaelen could press for more, the light flared so suddenly he had to shield his eyes. When the glare faded, the figure was gone, the clearing empty except for the sound of rustling leaves.
Kaelen stood there for a long moment, his breath slow and deliberate. The Well of Echoes. The name meant nothing to him, yet it had lodged itself in his mind like an iron hook. Whoever that figure was, they had shifted the course of his journey, whether he wished it or not.
He turned away from the clearing and began walking again, faster this time. The forest around him felt different now, less like an obstacle and more like a labyrinth closing in. Somewhere out there, something ancient was moving, and he needed to stay ahead of it.