Morning did not arrive gently.
It shattered through the trees in sharp beams of gold, cutting across the camp and dragging Walliam from sleep like a hand yanking him out of deep water.
He gasped and sat upright.
For a second, he didn't know where he was — the ground felt too wide, the air too open. Then the smell of forest returned, along with the quiet crackle of embers and the distant rush of a river.
Not the valley.
Never the valley again.
Elaris was already awake, kneeling beside a flat stone with charcoal in hand. She had drawn a rough map: the cliffs, the forest, the direction the tree-creatures had pointed.
Torren was chewing something that looked deeply suspicious.
"Please tell me that's not a mushroom you found in the dark," Walliam said.
Torren shrugged. "If I die, it was a bad one."
"Comforting," Elaris muttered.
Walliam stood, stretching. The mark in his chest hummed softly — not painful, just… alert.
Like a compass that didn't know north but did know something important was nearby.
He looked ahead through the trees.
"I think we're being pulled," he said.
Torren stopped chewing. "By what?"
Walliam pointed.
Through the forest undergrowth, half-hidden by roots and moss, was stone.
Not natural.
A line.
A road.
It shouldn't have been there.
The stone path cut straight through the wilderness, ancient and cracked, yet oddly untouched by time. Moss avoided it. Roots curved around it.
Symbols lined the edges — the same spirals and broken circles from the cliff descent.
Elaris ran a hand over the carvings. "This matches the path down."
"Old routes," Torren said. "Trade roads?"
"No," Walliam said quietly.
His mark pulsed once, warm.
"This is for something else."
They stepped onto the stone.
The air changed instantly.
The forest sounds dulled, like someone had lowered the volume of the world. Even the wind seemed to bend around the road instead of crossing it.
Elaris swallowed. "I hate when magic has architecture."
They walked.
The road sloped gently downward, though the land around them remained flat. The further they went, the more Walliam felt pressure behind his eyes — not pain, but awareness.
Like passing through layers of something invisible.
Then the trees opened.
And the road ended at a gate that had no walls.
Two massive pillars of pale stone rose from the earth, carved with interlocking rings. Between them hung empty air.
Beyond the space inside the pillars…
The world shimmered.
Torren stared. "I don't like doors that forgot to include the room."
Elaris whispered, "Is that a mirage?"
Walliam stepped closer.
The mark in his chest burned hot — not warning.
Recognition.
"It's real," he said.
And stepped through.
The world shifted.
Sound snapped back, louder, clearer.
The air smelled different — sharper, charged.
Behind them was forest.
Ahead…
Ruins.
An entire city lay half-buried in crystal growths, towers snapped like broken bones, bridges hanging over nothing. Shards of luminous stone grew from buildings like frozen lightning.
And the sky above it…
Was cracked in a circle.
A wound in the shape of a ring, faint but visible.
Elaris stared. "This was hit first."
Walliam nodded slowly.
The city from his vision.
The place that had fallen.
Torren exhaled. "Okay. So we found the 'do not enter' zone."
The road continued into the ruins.
And something else moved there.
Shapes between buildings.
Tall.
Watching.
Walliam felt them before he saw them clearly.
Not shard-beasts.
People.
They wore armor made of layered metal and crystal, their cloaks stitched with glowing thread. Masks covered their faces — smooth, featureless, marked only by a vertical line of light where eyes should be.
One stepped forward.
Its voice echoed slightly, distorted.
"You crossed the Boundary Road."
Elaris lifted her chin. "We were invited."
"By the forest," Walliam added.
The figure tilted its head.
"Then the forest judges you worthy of being seen."
Torren muttered, "I preferred not being seen."
The masked figure looked at Walliam.
And froze.
The line of light across its mask flared brighter.
"The Heart-mark."
Others turned toward him.
Walliam fought the urge to step back. "You know what this is?"
"We know what it was meant to be," the figure said.
A pause.
"You are early."
"That's not comforting," Elaris said.
The figure gestured toward the ruined city. "This is Aethrune. First of the sky-cities to fall when the Fracture began centuries ago."
Walliam's stomach tightened.
"Fall?" he asked. "From what?"
The masked figure pointed upward.
"To where the Heart once rested whole."
Silence.
Torren scratched his head. "Cool. So we're walking inside a history book written by a god with emotional problems."
The figure continued, "We are Wardens. We guard the Thresholds — places where the world remembers what it used to be."
"And us?" Elaris asked.
"You are either cure…"
The mask's light dimmed slightly.
"Or the final infection."
Walliam met the empty gaze. "I'm trying to fix it."
The Warden stepped closer.
"Then you must see what happens when the Heart is not guided."
It turned and walked into the ruins.
After a long moment, the three followed.
They reached a plaza at the city's center.
In the middle stood a massive crystal spire, shattered halfway up. Purple-black veins ran through it like rot.
Around it lay statues.
Dozens.
People frozen mid-scream, crystal erupting from their bodies.
Elaris covered her mouth.
Torren went still.
The Warden stopped beside the spire.
"This," it said, "was the first failed Heart-bearer."
Walliam's breath caught.
"The mark awakened in him. Power came. But he tried to hold it alone."
The crystal veins pulsed faintly.
"The Heart is not power. It is balance. Memory. Choice."
The Warden looked at Walliam.
"If you walk this path alone…"
It gestured to the statues.
"This is your ending."
The mark in Walliam's chest throbbed hard.
Fear finally found him.
Not of monsters.
Of himself.
Elaris stepped beside him. "He's not alone."
Torren grunted. "Yeah. Unfortunately for us."
The Warden watched them.
Then nodded once.
"Then the story is different this time."
Above, the cracked sky ring pulsed faintly.
Like something had heard.