The wind from the north carried with it the scent of snow and ash as Kael, Liora, and Graal'Torak continued their march through the forgotten trails. Graal'Torak lumbered behind them in silence, the weight of his clawed feet carving deep marks into the soft earth. Birds no longer sang in this part of the world, and even the wind whispered with hesitation.
They had been walking for days. Ever since the encounter in the Scholar's City—the rift, the harbingers, the moment when the creature bowed to Kael—something had changed. Kael could feel it in the way the air grew still around him, how animals turned away, how even the shadows seemed to hesitate when he passed. The Silent Flame burned within him now, no longer a faint ember but a steady, silent blaze.
They were heading toward Yvarra, a place older than the Kingdoms, older even than most remembered gods. The map taken from the Scholar's archives had marked it simply: "Sanctuary of the Lost Voice." But Graal'Torak knew more.
"It is where the Veiled Flame first whispered," the beast had said. "Where your sister may be held. Where the Choir builds its throne."
---
Three days into the mountains, they encountered the first sign: a massive stone slab, broken clean in two, half-buried under snow and root. Strange symbols were seared into its surface, not carved, as if burned there by divine fire.
Kael stepped forward, brushing snow away with a gloved hand. The symbols pulsed faintly under his touch.
Graal'Torak lowered himself beside it. "A passage seal. One of the Old Wards. It bars the way to Yvarra. It needs either the song of flame or the blood of one marked."
Liora crossed her arms. "I vote for the singing."
Kael didn't laugh. He stepped forward, pressed his hand flat against the stone, and closed his eyes. Inside him, the Flame stirred.
"Burn in silence," he whispered.
A heat flared through his veins. The stone lit from within, symbols blazing bright gold before cracking down the middle with a sharp, ringing chime. Snow melted in an instant. The path beyond, once hidden by enchantment, unfolded like a road of starlight.
Liora stared. "I take it back. That was cooler than singing."
---
That night, their camp sat within the hollow of a wind-worn cliff. The stars blinked through ragged clouds, and the fire crackled low. Graal'Torak kept watch, unmoving, his eyes glowing dimly.
Kael couldn't sleep.
He sat near the fire, blade across his knees, as Liora snored softly from her bedroll. His thoughts swam—of the rift, the monsters, the voice in his head, the ever-growing pull toward something vast and ancient. And his sister. Gods, was she really alive?
Then—
A whisper.
Not aloud. Inside.
"She sings without sound... you must listen through fire."
Kael looked around, but saw only darkness. Graal'Torak had not moved. The voice came again, deeper this time, layered.
"They will try to silence her. They will fail. But only if you reach her in time."
He clutched the blade tighter.
"Who are you?" he asked the shadows.
Only the fire answered, crackling like a secret unspoken.
---
The next morning brought with it an unnatural chill. The path had become a narrow ledge winding through jagged cliffs, and below, a chasm that swallowed light. The silence here was oppressive—so thick it made even Liora's jokes seem blasphemous.
Then they found the ruins.
What remained of the once-grand gates of Yvarra stood shattered, their stone arch cracked and bent. Something had torn through here. And recently.
Burn marks lined the ground. Scratches. Blood.
"What the hell happened here?" Liora muttered.
Graal'Torak sniffed the air. "The Choir was attacked."
Kael turned to him. "By what?"
"Not what. Who. Another Scion."
Kael blinked. "There are others like me?"
"Not like you," the beast said. "But touched. Differently. Dangerous."
Liora kicked a piece of rubble. "Of course there are more. It wouldn't be a proper prophecy if there wasn't competition."
Kael knelt, touching the ground. Among the bloodstains, he found a faint mark scorched into the stone: a feather inside a ring.
The figure in the tower. The one with the mask.
They were ahead of him.
---
Inside the ruins, the air grew thick with whispers. Not heard, but felt. Like vibrations in the chest, in the skull. The ruins descended into darkness, a spiral of broken marble and cracked obsidian leading deeper underground.
Torchlight danced across old murals—half-scratched out images of beings with halos of smoke, children singing in circles, flames rising from their mouths.
"The Choir," Graal'Torak growled, "learned to shape silence. Here, they turned children into vessels."
Kael's hand clenched. Liora placed hers on his shoulder.
"Hey. Whatever they did, whatever they're doing—we'll stop it. We'll find her."
He nodded, but didn't speak.
The chamber at the base of the ruins was massive—a cathedral beneath the world. At its center stood a dais, and upon it, a single black candle burned with white fire.
"That's not ominous at all," Liora whispered.
Kael approached. The moment he stepped onto the dais, the fire flared.
And he heard her.
Not with ears. Not with mind. But with soul.
A song, pure and full of longing. It cut through him like sunlight through cloud. His knees buckled.
"Kael..." Liora ran to his side. "What is it?"
He looked up, eyes glowing. "She's alive. She's close."
The flame of the candle split, twisting into shapes—symbols, words. A map. A direction.
"Northwest," Kael said. "There's a keep. She's there."
Graal'Torak growled low. "The Fortress of Thorns. Choir stronghold."
Kael stood. "Then that's where we go."
---
They moved fast, crossing snow-laced valleys and ruined bridges, making their way toward the last known seat of the Choir's power. Along the way, Kael's dreams deepened. He saw glimpses of her—his sister, older now, eyes glowing faintly, hair like shadowed fire. She stood in a chamber of black stone, singing without sound, her voice a beacon in the void.
Then, one night, he dreamt of the fox-masked figure.
It stood over her, watching.
And whispered: "She is the key."
Kael awoke in a cold sweat.
---
By the fifth day, they reached the outskirts of the Fortress. The keep loomed ahead—twisted towers wrapped in thorned vines, stone blackened by flame, and a ward of shimmering silence enclosing it.
Kael felt the pulse in his chest grow stronger.
"She's in there," he said.
Liora unslung her spear. "Then let's break a cult."
But Graal'Torak raised a claw. "Wait. The Choir knows you come. They prepare. We need allies."
Kael looked to the horizon.
And then... he heard the march.
From the forest behind them, dozens of shapes emerged.
Not men. Not beasts. But something between.
Awakened.
Servants of the Silent Flame.
Drawn by Kael's rising power, by the call of blood and fire.
They knelt as one.
Kael stepped forward, light in his eyes.
"Then let them prepare. Because I'm coming for her."
And the sky, dark with storm and prophecy, split open again..