The trail to the Red Ring Mountains twisted like a scar through the land. Trees gave way to jagged slopes, their roots clawing at loose stone. Every step forward was a reminder that they were leaving behind not just a home, but the last warmth of their childhood.
Kalious walked in silence, the relic fragment tied to his back with a leather cord. Though it no longer pulsed, he could feel its presence like a low thrum beneath his skin. The memory of the white fire haunted him, not because of the power, but because of how natural it had felt.
Malious led the way, as always. His movements were efficient, brutal, and sharp. He didn't waste time on small talk or comfort. But his eyes scanned everything: the sky, the trees, the shape of every shadow.
"We're being followed," Kalious said on the third morning.
Malious didn't stop walking. "I know."
They didn't speak of it again, but that night, they set up camp between two cliffs with only one entrance. Malious placed crude traps: sharpened branches, braided tripwire, and powdered ember leaves that would flare if disturbed.
Nothing came that night.
But they dreamed.
Kalious's dream was of a city made of marble and flame. He stood on a high dais, overlooking an ocean that screamed as it churned. A voice, his own? Spoke from everywhere at once
"Light is not always kind."
He awoke with sweat clinging to his skin, and for a moment, he thought the fire had gone out. But no, the flames burned pale and white, just like the light from the relic.
Malious stirred as well, breathing heavily. "You saw it too?"
Kalious nodded slowly.
"Then it's beginning." Malious stood, staring out toward the dark ridges in the distance. "The relic isn't waking up. We are."
The next day, they reached the first peak of the Red Ring.
Rising from the mountain's base, half-buried in the cliffs, were the ruins of a forgotten watchtower. Carvings marked the stone symbols that echoed those on the relic fragment. Kalious reached out, running his hand over the markings. They pulsed faintly beneath his fingertips.
"What is this place?" he whispered.
Malious didn't answer.
He was staring at the base of the tower, where something was etched in fresh blood:
'Sons of the King. We are waiting.'