The sound was faint, yet it seemed to curl around Kaelen's spine like icy fingers. He tightened his grip on his sword, eyes scanning the ruined courtyard. The moonlight bled through the shattered archways, casting jagged shadows that seemed to twitch and stretch on their own.
Then, it moved.
A figure stepped into the pale light—tall, wrapped in a cloak of blackened feathers that shimmered like oil. Its face was hidden, but two eyes, burning like embers in a dying fire, locked onto Kaelen's. It didn't speak. Instead, it inhaled—slow, deliberate—and the air around them seemed to thin. The ash at Kaelen's feet stirred, as though drawn toward the thing's hidden mouth.
Ash that breathes. The old tales whispered of them—ancient guardians, bound to the first Phoenix Lords, tasked with watching the ruins until the bloodline returned. But they were not said to be kind to impostors.
Kaelen swallowed, every instinct telling him to run. But his voice, steady despite the fear clawing at his chest, broke the silence.
"I am Kaelen of Embercrest, son of Lord Deyric. I've come for the Heart of Ash."
The figure tilted its head, as if weighing the truth in his words. Then it stepped closer, each movement stirring the dust in lazy spirals. Kaelen could hear the rasp of its breathing now, could feel it pulling at him—not just the air around him, but something deeper.
Suddenly, the figure spoke, its voice like dry leaves stirred by the wind.
"Blood can lie. Ash cannot."
Before Kaelen could respond, the creature lunged—not with the speed of a man, but with the blur of a shadow snapping forward. His blade met its arm, sparks hissing where steel touched whatever strange armor lay beneath those feathers.
The clash echoed through the ruins, waking something more. From the broken hall, more shadows began to stir.
Kaelen's heart pounded. This was no simple test—this was survival.