"Not all fog hides the same kind of ghosts."
A crimson haze rolled like waves across the valley floor. The air was thick, heavy enough that Lior could taste metal on his tongue. Every breath felt weighted with dust and memory.
Kael pressed a cloth to his mouth. "This air is poisoned."
Lior nodded. "Or cursed."
The two descended the rocky slope cautiously, the ground beneath them coated in fine red dust that glowed faintly with each step. The mist curled around their legs, whispering softly in voices that sounded almost human.
Kael glanced around uneasily. "If someone built that Ember Road to lead here, they must have had a reason."
"Or a warning," Lior replied.
As they reached the valley floor, the whispers grew louder. Lior could almost make out words between them... fragments of sorrow, names that vanished before he could grasp them.
The red mist parted briefly, revealing the outline of ruined towers scattered across the valley. Each was broken halfway up, leaning like a tooth cracked in half. Strange sigils were carved into the stone, glowing faintly as if still alive.
Lior touched one of the carvings. The moment his fingers brushed the surface, an image flashed through his mind.
A battlefield. A thousand soldiers kneeling as fire fell from the sky. Screams swallowed by the mist. And at the center of it all, a figure wearing a crown of broken metal, his face lost behind light.
Lior stumbled back, clutching his head. Kael caught his arm. "What did you see?"
"Death," Lior said quietly. "A war that ended here."
Kael looked around. "Then we're standing on a grave."
A faint rumble rolled through the ground. Dust fell from the ruined towers. Lior straightened, heart pounding. The mist thickened again, swirling faster, as if stirred by unseen hands.
Shapes began to form within it... translucent figures, armored and pale. Their eyes glowed faintly red as they turned toward the living.
Kael drew his sword. "Spirits?"
"Remnants," Lior answered. "Bound by the curse."
The nearest figure raised a rusted spear and charged. Kael met it with a swift strike. His blade passed through the spirit's chest, scattering it into mist, but three more appeared in its place.
Lior lifted his hand, channeling his energy. A sphere of light burst from his palm, pushing the ghosts back. But each time one faded, another rose.
"They're endless!" Kael shouted.
"Then we move!" Lior called.
They ran, weaving between the towers. The spirits followed, their whispers growing into screams. Lior could feel their anger, their hunger for life. It pressed against his skin like claws.
Ahead, a massive stone gate loomed, half buried in the earth. Strange symbols lined its surface, glowing faintly through the mist.
Lior reached it first. "Help me!"
Kael pressed his shoulder against the gate, straining. The stone trembled but would not move. The spirits closed in.
Lior slammed his palm against the symbols, letting his energy surge through them. The carvings flared with light. The ground shook violently, and the gate split open with a deep groan.
A blinding light poured out, pulling the mist inward. The spirits screamed as they were dragged toward it, their forms unraveling into dust and memory. The mist cleared, leaving the valley eerily quiet.
Kael collapsed to one knee, panting. "I hate this world."
Lior managed a small smile. "You say that every time we survive."
Kael looked up at him. "And every time, I mean it."
Lior turned toward the open gate. Beyond it lay a wide staircase descending into darkness. A faint glow pulsed at the bottom, steady and rhythmic like a heartbeat.
He stepped closer. "This is where the curse began."
Kael stood, tightening his grip on his sword. "Then let's end it."
They began their descent. The deeper they went, the cooler the air became. The stone walls were lined with old carvings depicting men kneeling before a throne. At the bottom of the stairs, they entered a vast chamber lit by a single crystal suspended from the ceiling.
In the center stood an altar carved from black glass. Resting upon it was a sword, its blade covered in runes that pulsed faintly red.
Kael whistled softly. "I think we found the reason the spirits are restless."
Lior approached the altar. "It's not just a weapon. It's a seal."
He reached out, feeling the energy radiating from it... ancient, wounded, alive. The moment his fingers touched the hilt, the air rippled. The chamber darkened.
A voice echoed all around them, calm and sorrowful. "Why do you wake what was meant to sleep?"
Lior froze. "Who are you?"
The air shimmered, and a figure appeared before the altar. It was a man clad in dark armor, his face pale and his eyes filled with endless fatigue.
Kael raised his blade. "Another ghost?"
The figure shook his head. "A guardian. I was bound here to ensure no one disturbs the sword of the fallen king."
Lior lowered his hand. "We don't seek to steal it. We seek to understand it."
The guardian studied him for a long moment. "You bear the mark. Then understanding will come with pain."
Before Lior could reply, the guardian stepped forward, his sword materializing from the air. "Defend yourself, heir of the lost crown."
The sound of metal filled the chamber as their blades met. Sparks lit the darkness. Kael moved to join, but the guardian's voice stopped him.
"This is his trial, not yours."
Lior gritted his teeth as the force of the blow pushed him back. Every strike carried the weight of centuries. Yet he refused to fall.
The guardian's eyes softened slightly. "So you will stand. Then prove you are worthy of the name that follows you."
Lior's next strike found its mark. The guardian smiled faintly as the light faded from his form.
"Then let it be known," he whispered. "The crown remembers its heir."
When the spirit vanished, the sword on the altar pulsed once, then stilled.
Kael ran to Lior's side. "You alright?"
Lior nodded weakly. "For now."
He looked at the sword, then at the empty space where the guardian had stood. "He called me heir."
Kael's voice was quiet. "Maybe it's time you start believing it."
They both looked at the weapon glowing faintly in the dark.