The Echo Valley welcomed them with a roar that was not mere wind, but the dying cry of an ancient giant exhaling its last breath into the void. The air was stagnant, heavy with a metallic, bloody tang, and thick white fog clung to the hooves of the horses, which stumbled over rocks smeared with sticky purple moss, as if the very earth itself exhaled a hidden poison.
Sultan, his white hair absorbing the valley's dim light, held his horse's reins with iron grip, knuckles whitening beneath the gauntlets. His blue eyes no longer merely scanned for enemies, but sensed the subtle tremors in Khalid's shoulder, the creeping chill of the Water Mark—warning that this valley was no place for mere physical death, but a guillotine for souls, a brutal confrontation with one's inner demons.
Behind him, Khalid clung to a fragile illusion like a drowning man. His dark eyes sunken, skin pale, veins under his eyelids dark threads of anxiety. He wasn't looking at the treacherous path, but listening intently to voices unheard by any other—whispers from the rocks calling ancient names, promising power too dark for him to imagine.
Laila of the Winds moved like a broken shaft of light through the fog, her silver scarf fluttering delicately despite the still air. Her deadly fan danced between her fingers, every movement calculated, anticipating every trick the valley could conjure. Every step deeper was a dive into the swamp of memory and pain.
"Do not listen to the stones, do not follow the mirage of emotion," Sultan's hoarse voice cut the oppressive silence like a blade. "Sheikh Abdulrahman warned us—this valley feeds on regret. What you hear now is only the echo of your own weakness."
Laila's amber eyes shone with instinctive fear. "The wind here does not carry sounds, Sultan. It carries bleeding memories. The earth remembers every drop of blood shed upon it, and now it wants to reclaim our blood to wash away the sins of the broken covenant."
Suddenly, the fog thickened violently, swallowing the horses' hooves. They were torn apart as if the very land stretched and shrank to separate each soul, leaving them alone before their inner tribunal. Sultan found himself isolated, walking cautiously, his heavy sword glowing with a chilling blue light as he carved a path through the opaque darkness concealing horrors unseen.
"Sultan…" A soft voice, like dew falling on a blade, made his heart stall. He turned, white hair whipping violently. Amid the fog, stood Mariam, his mother, long dead. Her face pale, eyes carrying the ancient pain of the covenant.
"Why did you leave me to the worms and dust, my son?" Her voice hissed like wind through graves. "All this light you flaunt, the white hair, the blue eyes… I fed it with my spilled blood. You live because I am dead, and you fight because I have been silenced forever."
The heat of his Flame Mark surged, not to battle an enemy, but a fire within that burned certainty and stability alike.
"It was not my choice, mother… The prophecy demanded blood, and the earth demanded a new covenant."
Mariam laughed bitterly. Her face cracked, oozing black sap, a curse of the emperors. "The prophecy is the real killer, and you are merely its poisoned blade. Look at your brother—look at Khalid whom you love… You are killing him slowly with your cold light, just as you killed me with your first scream."
Elsewhere, Khalid faced his personal hell: he did not see his mother but saw Sultan in the most grotesque vision imagination could conceive. His brother, wearing a crown of gold and false light, stood atop a mountain of skulls, and Khalid was among the shattered bones beneath his feet. Sultan extended a blazing sword toward his throat: "You are the shadow that must be cut away!"
Khalid screamed, summoning his shadows in a frenzy. Black arms emerged, attempting to shatter the false image, yet the vision pierced his mind relentlessly.
Laila was not spared: she saw her Eastern homeland burning, her family slain by swords bearing Mecca's emblem. "A broken tool, Laila," whispered the echo of her dead father, "you sold your rebellious wind to become a pawn in a blood-soaked legend."
Sultan's anger erupted. Fire and water waged war in his veins until his body threatened to split. He closed his eyes, remembered the falcon, concentrated energy at the heart where light meets shadow. A deafening scream erupted, steam and white sacred fire, tearing through the valley like an explosion. The fog ripped apart, false images vanished, and Sultan stood, blood streaming from his nose, face to face with Khalid, whose shadows coiled like angry serpents refusing to return to their lair.
"It was an illusion, Khalid! Laila! Wake from this black magic!" Sultan shouted, lunging at his brother. Gripping his wrist, the tremor ran through him like electricity. "I will never do that. You are my shadow, and a shadow dies only when the light dies. We are one covenant, baptized in blood and ash since the first cry."
Laila wiped her silver scarf, smeared with valley dust. "This valley didn't stop at torturing us—it was only an appetizer. The emperors smelled our doubt, and now they move their pieces."
She looked toward the cliff's summit, seeing ranks of the Abomination Knights, once valiant warriors, standing in eerie silence. Torn banners flapped over dead bodies, at the forefront the Black Knight, his armor reflecting the faces of his victims in eternal agony.
"Prepare yourselves," Sultan sheathed his sword briefly, hair gleaming like dawn's first light. "This time, we fight not phantoms, but the ugliness of the present."
The Abomination Knights charged, skeletal hooves clattering like thunder. Sultan shot forward, silver hair streaming, fire and water surging. The first circular strike shattered the first knight's glass armor, molten helmet spraying gold dust. Khalid unleashed shadows into the ground, swallowing the abomination's horses into black sands. Laila soared, wind blades slicing heads before the weapons could reach Sultan.
The battle was an epic dance of destruction—Sultan blending fire's heat and water's cold, every strike an explosion of blood and bone. A massive knight raised a hammer; Sultan dove, thrusting into a chink in the armor, black sap spewing on him, but he kept striking.
After the battle, an oppressive silence fell. Khalid stood atop the fallen leader, clutching his still-beating crystal heart. "Break it, don't let it corrupt you!" Sultan urged. Khalid's cold smile: "This is a key, a price we must pay to reach the North."
Suddenly, the ground quaked, a massive rift swallowing the remnants of battle. The valley transformed into a purple-black portal extending to the crimson sky. Sultan gripped his sword, eyes on Khalid. "The journey North has no return. In the prophecy's embrace, there is no place for the weak."
Laila looked to the horizon, polar chill spitting forth. "The winds say we will lose ourselves before we find salvation. Who will remain human when we reach the throne?"
And so they moved again, leaving Echo Valley behind, marching into the frozen wastes, the center of the Great Displacement awaiting with all its horrors. Sultan led, white hair glowing in northern darkness, Khalid trailing with his dead heart, Laila guarding them like a wary wraith. The battle with oneself had ended, and the freefall into the prophecy's abyss had begun.