The sky was a bruised orange-gray as Konrad, Maela, and Alric descended the ridge overlooking a valley riddled with the remnants of battle. The land bore scars—trenches now mossed over, broken weapons half-swallowed by time, and banners faded to ghosts. Rain drizzled like a sorrow long delayed.
They moved silently through the fields, their boots sinking into the soft earth. Alric paused beside a shattered helm.
"This was Crown ground," he said. "Fought hard for it. Bled harder."
Maela knelt, brushing ash from a small skeletal hand still clutching a cracked medallion.
"It remembers. All of it."
Further in, they reached the heart of the valley: a ruin of marble arches once part of a temple. Now, the arches leaned like tired elders, cloaked in creeping ivy.
[INSERT IMAGE 2: A hyper-realistic painting of ancient marble ruins partially overgrown with vines, under a darkening sky.] Caption: "Time doesn't forget—only hides."
Beneath one arch, a sigil shimmered faintly—a ringed circle with a jagged line splitting it down the middle.
"Another shard site," Maela whispered.
Konrad approached with caution. The sigil pulsed once.
Then the world broke.
The three were cast into memory—not theirs, but the land's. They stood amid phantom soldiers, the air filled with battle cries and fire. The ground shook with catapults. A commander screamed orders to ghosts.
Maela reached for her shard and held it aloft. The visions responded, bending toward her light.
The vision faded. They were left breathless, collapsed among the ruins.
Konrad coughed. "Is this what every shard brings? The weight of the past?"
Maela looked at him, eyes dimmed. "Not weight. Warning."
Alric staggered to his feet. "Then what's this one warning us about?"
A deep crack split the stone below them. From it rose a thin figure, not skeletal—but hollow. Eyes gone, mouth sewn shut with gold thread. It pointed toward Maela.
[INSERT IMAGE 4: A hyper-realistic figure emerging from cracked stone—tall, hollow, terrifying—with golden thread over its mouth.] Caption: "The silent ones still speak in gestures."
More emerged.
Konrad pulled his blade. "We're not ready for this."
Maela didn't move. The shard in her hand pulsed in rhythm with their breathless stares.
"They don't want to fight. Not yet. They're here to test us."
"Test us how?" Alric asked.
She stepped forward. "Truth."
The closest Hollowed reached out. Maela took its hand.
A rush of sound flooded her mind—screams, lullabies, a name: Vael.
She stumbled back. "Lady Vael... she created these. They were once soldiers. Her elite. The Whisper-Bound."
Konrad spat. "No wonder they're cursed."
Maela turned toward the ruins. The shard was pulling now—toward the temple's old altar.
They followed.
Inside, etched in obsidian, a pedestal waited. As Maela approached, the shard in her hand ignited—and another fragment pulled free from the stone.
The second shard.
Red and gold. Burning.
The moment she touched it, the ruins trembled.
A roar from below.
"Run," Konrad growled. "Now."
They bolted. Behind them, the altar shattered and a new creature slithered into form—massive, winged, and blind. Its roar split the very rain.
They didn't look back.
Night fell. The trio sat beneath the charred ribs of a broken tower a mile out, soaked and shaken.
Maela held the shards close, wrapped in cloth.
"She's watching us now," she whispered.
"Vael?" Alric asked.
She nodded. "And she's afraid."
Konrad looked up at the stars—what little could be seen beyond the stormclouds.
"Let her be. She should be."
Far to the east, in a fortress built of bone and dusk, Lady Vael stood before her map of threads—lines of fate woven across the continent.
One shimmered.
Frayed.
"They have the second."
Her Whisperer made no sound.
"Then it's time," she said. "Bring me the Revenant."