The ruins of Ironmarch rose from the swamps like the bones of a forgotten god. Towering monoliths of broken stone and rusted steel jutted from the murky water, their once-proud banners long since torn to ribbons by wind and time. Vines choked the old walkways, and the scent of wet rot clung to every breath.
Duncan stood at the edge of a crumbling causeway, eyes fixed on the shattered skyline. This had once been the capital of the Beast-King Vaerok, a tyrant who had ruled the southern wilds with claw and flame before being broken by the First Imperial Legion nearly a century ago.
Now it was a tomb.
"Charming place," Brannoc muttered behind him, one hand resting on the haft of his axe. "How many beast-witches you think are still lurking in those towers?"
"Too many," Kael replied. She drew her spear and tested the waterlogged bridge with one boot. "But it's not the witches I'm worried about. It's what they left behind."
Duncan didn't answer. He was already walking.
The Lost City
They moved cautiously, boots splashing in ankle-deep water. Crooked statues of horned kings watched them from broken plinths. Strange glyphs pulsed faintly on stone archways, glowing with a sickly green hue when Duncan drew near.
Kael noticed it first. "Those symbols react to you."
Brannoc frowned. "More of your crypt tricks?"
Duncan ignored them. The medallion at his chest had begun to hum again—faint, but insistent. Like a compass, it tugged him deeper into the ruins, toward a vast domed structure at the city's heart.
The Throne Hall.
As they reached its steps, the earth trembled beneath them.
Kael spun, weapon raised. "What was that?"
Brannoc gritted his teeth. "Felt like something... shifting."
Duncan pressed his palm to the stone door of the hall.
The glyphs lit up—and the door opened with a deep, grinding groan.
Tomb of Kings
Inside, the air was thick with age. Pillars lined the hall, each one carved in the likeness of beastlords—some feline, some avian, others monstrous amalgams of fang and horn. At the far end stood a broken throne, half-swallowed by roots that glowed faintly in the dark.
In the center of the chamber lay a sarcophagus of black stone, untouched by moss or decay. It was sealed with bands of silver and gold, each etched with ancient warnings.
Duncan stepped forward. The hum of the medallion grew louder.
Kael hissed, "This feels wrong."
"It is wrong," Brannoc added. "This place is death wrapped in stone."
Duncan placed his hand on the sarcophagus.
The bands snapped like dried twine.
Awakening
The lid of the sarcophagus slid aside without a sound.
Inside lay a massive figure, humanoid in shape but unmistakably beast in form. Horns curled from its brow, and fur grew in ridges along its forearms and chest. Its armor was plated in obsidian and bone. Across its chest lay a spear of white metal—piercing its heart.
Its eyes were closed.
Then—opened.
Not fully. Just a flicker.
But it was enough.
Kael shouted, "Back!"
Brannoc raised his axe.
Duncan didn't move. The medallion blazed with white light.
The beast-creature inhaled—slow and deep. Its mouth did not move, but its voice reached them all, echoing inside their skulls like a forgotten prayer.
"I smell… blood of the root… and iron of the sky…"
Kael's face turned pale. "It speaks without breath."
Duncan swallowed hard. "What are you?"
"I am Vaerok… once king of beast and bone… and you… are not yet worthy."
The throne hall shook.
Trial of the Wild Flame
The creature rose—not fully, but enough to send water and dust cascading from the sarcophagus. It gripped the white spear and hurled it toward Duncan.
He barely dodged—metal screaming as it skidded across stone.
Then the creature leapt.
Kael and Brannoc moved in tandem. Spears flashed. Axes rang. But every blow passed through smoke—illusion or magic, it didn't matter.
Vaerok's form blurred. He towered over Duncan, one massive hand reaching out—not to strike, but to test. To judge.
Duncan raised his sword, heart thundering.
The medallion shone—and the blade caught fire.
Not ordinary fire. Silver flame, wild and bright.
Vaerok paused.
Then laughed—a deep, rumbling sound that shook the throne hall.
"You carry the spark… but you are not yet flame."
And with that, the beast-king collapsed, returning to his sleep.
What Lies Ahead
Duncan staggered backward, gasping.
Kael grabbed his arm. "What was that?"
Brannoc retrieved the spear. "He should've killed us. That thing was a nightmare made flesh."
"He wasn't trying to kill us," Duncan said. "He was testing us."
Kael stared at the sarcophagus. "And if we'd failed?"
Duncan didn't answer.
Outside, the skies had begun to darken—not with storm, but with shadow. A flock of bone-winged birds flew overhead, silent and fast.
Duncan looked east, where the capital of Aetherholde lay.
"We need to warn them. Whatever's coming… it's older than kings."
Kael nodded grimly. "And it's waking up."