The tremor passed through the broken plain like a heartbeat, rattling Kaelen's bones. He stood rigid, blade raised, eyes fixed on the void ahead. Nothing moved—yet the weight of that voice still pressed against his chest like an invisible hand.
Silence. Heavy, suffocating.
The shades were gone, scattered like frightened birds. All that remained was the echo of their whispers, trapped in Kaelen's mind: Bound… chained… betrayed…
He forced his feet forward, each step crunching against shards of black stone. The fractured terrain shifted as though resisting him, drifting apart then grinding back together with teeth of jagged crystal. He realized with a shiver that this realm was alive.
The Abyss within him pulsed in rhythm with the ground. It wanted him here.
Kaelen ignored it. He pressed on.
In the distance, he spotted a faint glow—flickering, pale blue, like a dying flame. Relief sparked in his chest. Light meant answers. Or at least… something other than shadows.
But as he drew closer, the glow revealed itself not as fire, but as a figure. A Keeper's armor, rusted and broken, half-buried in the stone. From the hollow helm, the faint light bled outward, pulsing like a heartbeat.
Kaelen crouched beside it, reaching toward the glow. The armor's chestplate was split open, as though torn apart from the inside.
The light flared suddenly, and a voice hissed into his skull: "You are late."
Kaelen staggered back, blade raised. The helm turned—slowly, impossibly—and though no face lay within, he felt unseen eyes pierce him.
The glow dimmed. The voice whispered again, softer this time.
"If you walk this path, Keeper, you must learn what it means to be forgotten."
Then the light snapped out, leaving him in darkness once more.
And somewhere deep ahead, that ancient presence stirred again.
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