The rain blurred everything into shades of grey — the forest, the stream, even the three cloaked figures blocking their path. Elara could feel the weight of their stares, sharp and cold, like the prickle of frost against her skin.
The scarred man tilted his head slightly, as if giving her one last chance to be reasonable.
"I won't ask again," he said, his voice carrying easily over the rushing stream. "The shard."
Kastor didn't move. "And if I say no?"
The scarred man's smile thinned. "Then we'll take it from what's left of you."
It happened all at once. The two men flanking him stepped forward, blades flashing silver in the muted light. Kastor was already moving, pulling Elara behind him as the first attacker lunged. Steel met steel with a ringing crack, the force of the blow sending water spraying from the shallow stream.
Elara's pulse hammered in her ears. She didn't wait — her sword was already in her hand. The second attacker came at her from the side, his movements quick but overconfident. She sidestepped, letting his blade skim past her shoulder, then drove her elbow into his ribs. He staggered, and she swung upward in a tight arc. Steel caught steel again, the shock jarring her arm.
The scarred man hadn't moved. He stood at the water's edge, watching, his hands clasped behind his back like a commander observing a drill. There was something in his stillness that unsettled her more than the clash of blades.
Kastor fought with the precision of someone who had seen too many battles to waste movement. His opponent pressed hard, but every strike was deflected, every opening punished with a swift riposte. Within moments, Kastor's blade found the man's shoulder. The attacker fell back with a curse, clutching the wound.
Elara was less clean. Her opponent pressed her hard, forcing her back toward the stream. The wet stones were slick underfoot. She slipped once, barely catching herself in time. The man saw it and lunged for her exposed side.
Something inside her flared — not fear, but something sharper. She stepped into the strike instead of away from it, parrying so close she felt the scrape of his blade along her vambrace. Her own sword swept upward, biting into his forearm. He cried out and dropped his weapon into the rushing water.
Kastor was beside her in an instant, his blade leveled at the scarred man.
"Your turn."
The scarred man's gaze shifted from Kastor to Elara. His eyes were pale — so pale they looked almost silver. A faint smile curved his lips.
"You're quicker than I expected," he said. "But speed won't help you when the Ash wakes."
Elara's grip on her sword tightened. "What do you mean?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he reached into his cloak and tossed something into the stream. It hissed as it touched the water, releasing a coil of dark smoke that rose unnaturally fast. The mist spread in seconds, swallowing the clearing in a swirling wall of black and grey.
"Elara!" Kastor's voice was close but muffled, as if the smoke thickened the air between them. She reached for him, but her fingers brushed only empty space.
The ground beneath her feet shifted — no, not the ground. She was moving, though she hadn't taken a step. The world bent and twisted, the trees stretching into shadows and the stream vanishing entirely.
And then she was standing somewhere else.
The air was dry, burning her lungs with every breath. The sky above was the color of dying embers, and in the distance rose a black spire crowned with shifting flames. The shard in her pouch pulsed against her hip, and with every pulse, the flames on the spire seemed to burn brighter.
"Elara."
The voice came from behind her, soft but clear. She turned slowly.
The scarred man stood there, but his cloak was gone. His armor was blackened and cracked, as if it had been pulled from a fire.
"You've seen it now," he said. "The Ash Throne. And whether you want it or not, it's coming for you."
Before she could speak, the ground beneath her split open, and the world fell away.
She was back in the clearing, the rain still falling, the stream rushing past. The mist was gone. So was the scarred man. Only the two wounded attackers remained, dragging themselves into the forest.
Kastor appeared at her side, his expression unreadable. "What happened?"
She swallowed, her throat dry despite the rain. "I saw… something. A place. A throne of fire."
His eyes darkened. "Then we need to move. Now."