The morning mist clung to the stones like a second skin as Elira approached the gates of Vael'Harth.
The temple loomed at the mountain's edge—half-swallowed by rock and time, its entrance carved into the stone like the open mouth of a sleeping god. Crimson runes shimmered across the archway, flickering in time with her heartbeat.
Kael dismounted beside her, his gaze sweeping the massive structure. "We've walked into a lot of ruins together, Elira. But this… this feels like we're about to step off the edge of the world."
She didn't answer right away. Her fingers brushed ancient glyphs, shapes etched by hands long dead. Hands that feared what they were sealing in—or worse, what they couldn't keep out.
"This is where the old world ended," she murmured. "And where the new one rose from the ashes."
Behind them, Mira, Jareth, and Sienna stood silent, their unease heavy in the air. Thorne was still gone—dragged into the fog two nights ago. The memory lingered like a bruise.
Kael turned toward the others. "You three hold the perimeter. No one enters. No one leaves—unless it's us."
Mira gave a sharp nod. "And if you don't return?"
Elira glanced over her shoulder, voice steady. "Then light the sky on fire and tell the world it's already too late."
At her words, the gates shuddered.
The mountain groaned.
A crack split the obsidian door down the middle. Crimson light spilled from the seam, and the runes flared gold.
The door opened.
Elira stepped inside.
The air inside wasn't just cold—it was dense, pressing down like a memory too heavy to carry. The stone walls curved inward, like the ribcage of something massive and long-dead.
Kael's torch flickered weakly.
"This place doesn't want to be seen," he muttered.
"No," Elira agreed. "It remembers what it's guarding."
She knelt, pressing her palm to the floor.
A pulse answered.
The glyphs lining the walls ignited—one by one—and the temple began to shift. Not violently. But purposefully. As if it were… adjusting to her.
Kael took a step back. "Is it alive?"
"Not alive," she murmured. "Aware. It's a vault, Kael. Not for gold. For truth."
They passed archways that whispered. Voices in ancient tongues. Flickers of faces in the corner of her vision—gone when she turned to look.
In the main hall, a broken mural stretched behind a shattered pedestal.
Elira approached slowly.
A woman knelt at the center of the image—crowned in iron, wrapped in chains, blood pouring from her chest into a burning circle. Behind her, a man rose from flame—his face split in half: one side light, one side shadow.
Kael joined her. "That's her. The Queen from your vision."
Elira nodded. "She didn't destroy the Undying King. She stalled him."
She touched the cracked image. "Her life bought time. But not peace."
Kael's voice was quiet. "And you think you're her… heir?"
"I think I'm the second key."
The deeper they went, the more Elira's magic throbbed beneath her skin.
At one point, she stumbled. Kael caught her before she fell.
"You're bleeding," he said, brushing her hair back.
She touched her nose—blood.
"I'm fine."
"You're not. You're pushing too hard."
"I have to," she whispered. "This is mine to carry."
Kael's expression sharpened. "You don't have to carry it alone."
She blinked, startled.
He stepped closer. "You're not chained anymore. You're not the girl they locked away. You have people now. You have me."
Her breath caught.
"I don't know how to let anyone in," she said.
"Then let me be the first."
She didn't answer.
But she didn't walk away.
At the heart of the temple, mirrors lined a circular room.
They didn't reflect.
They showed memories.
One showed Elira as a child, curled in a cold cell.
Another showed her in battle, power blazing from her hands.
The last showed her wearing a crown—alone.
Kael's reflection was different.
It showed him on a throne.
Cloaked in shadow.
Sword in hand.
And one eye—glowing, hollow.
He looked away.
"What did you see?" Elira asked.
"Nothing," he lied.
She didn't press.
Her own reflection had whispered, "You will kill him. Or you will kneel."
At the center of the room, on a pedestal of bone-dust and ash, floated a crystal sphere.
Kael caught her wrist. "Are you sure?"
She nodded—and reached.
Everything shattered.
She fell into a memory.
A vast hall. Shadowed figures. A queen kneeling before a council.
"You can't contain him," one said.
"I'll bind him to blood," the queen answered. "Let the curse pass down. Let him never be whole again."
The vision turned—and the queen looked straight at her.
"You're late," she whispered.
Elira stepped closer. "You remember me?"
"I remember my scream living in your spine."
"What do I do?"
"Finish what I began. But this time—end him."
A name burned through the vision:
Eryx.
Elira collapsed. Kael caught her.
"I know the vessel's name," she gasped.
Kael tensed. "Who is it?"
She looked up, eyes wide. Voice hoarse.
"Eryx Thandrel."
Silence.
Then Kael's voice—low. Disbelieving.
"Elira… that's impossible."
"Why?"
His expression darkened.
"Because Eryx… is my cousin."