"To remember is to carry weight. To forget is to lose shape. Power lies in knowing what must be done with either."
— Inscription from the shattered pillar of Elaren the Hollow
The mountain loomed long before they saw it.
They felt it in the stone, in the air, in the flickers of heat that brushed against their skin even beneath the ash-choked clouds. No birds flew here. No beasts stirred. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath as Kael and the others stood on the jagged rim of the old causeway.
The Vale had ended behind them.
Before them, a dead plain stretched toward a mountain wrapped in clouds of smoke and memory.
"Is that where the voice came from?" Elen asked.
Kael didn't answer.
He had no proof.
But he knew.
Something in the marrow of his bones responded to that distant, silent fire.
"Yes."
The Mountain of Mourning had many names. The Corpse-Lords called it Silencrag. Old Thorns called it Vael'karth, the First Pyre. The Codex had written it differently each time Kael flipped the pages—like it couldn't agree with itself.
But every name meant one thing:
This was where the First Thornbearers died.
And where something else did not.
They began the trek with little ceremony. Bryn, ever quiet since the voice had echoed through the world, took the lead again, his gaze sharp and movements fluid. Elen walked close to Kael, her fingers twitching near the hilt of her blade, as though expecting the mountain itself to strike.
Even Thorne, always grim and grounded, moved with caution.
The Codex was strapped to Kael's back now, wrapped in cloth that did nothing to mask its presence. It pulsed like a second heartbeat, resonating with each step closer they took to the peak.
The land here bore no trees. No grass. Just ashen stone and brittle soil that cracked underfoot.
Sometimes, Kael swore he saw faces in the rock.
Eyes weeping dust.
By midday, they reached the base of the mountain.
No path led up.
Just a sheer slope of blackened glass and jagged obsidian—natural, but cruel.
Bryn crouched and ran his hand along the slope. "No recent tracks."
"Then we're first," Thorne muttered.
Kael felt the lie in that.
Not recent tracks, no.
But something had climbed here once. Something with wings and memory and fire braided into its breath.
He put his hand to the stone.
It was warm.
Alive.
They climbed.
It was slow work. Dangerous. Elen slipped once, her hand barely catching a cracked ledge before it could break. Kael followed last, mindful not just of the terrain, but the growing pressure in the air. The Codex grew heavier with each step.
By the time they reached the first ridge, hours had passed.
The sky had grown darker.
Not from nightfall.
From ash.
The ridge curved along the mountain like a fractured spine. From here, they could see a crater ahead, ringed with stone spires and fractured monuments that might once have been statues.
Kael stared at it.
"It's a grave," he said.
Thorne frowned. "You've been here before?"
"No."
"But you remember it," Elen said quietly.
Kael nodded.
He could feel it.
This was the place where names had burned out of control. Where Thornbearers had turned on each other. Where the first failed ones became Name-Eaters.
The echoes whispered still.
They made camp near a stone arch crumbled with time. No creatures had followed. No scouts had trailed. The mountain seemed empty—but not silent.
That night, the fire crackled.
No one spoke.
Even Elen, usually first to fill silence with commentary or warmth, sat quiet, staring into the flames as if searching for herself.
Then Kael asked:
"Why did they fall?"
Thorne raised an eyebrow.
"The first Thornbearers," Kael continued. "They had power. They had names. Why did they become monsters?"
Thorne didn't answer.
Elen said, "Because they forgot who they were."
Kael shook his head. "No. They remembered too much."
Bryn's voice, quiet and sharp: "Both are dangerous."
Kael stared into the Codex, still unopened at his side.
"I think the fire doesn't destroy you. It preserves you. And if you're not ready to carry the memory…"
"You collapse under the weight," Elen finished.
As they slept, Kael dreamt again.
This time, there were no voices.
Only fire.
It poured across the sky like a veil of stars, folding into itself, until a single massive eye opened in the darkness.
Not a beast's eye.
A mind.
And it looked at him not as prey, nor as servant—
But as mirror.
"You are not mine," the voice echoed in his chest.
"But you carry me."
When he woke, the mountain had changed.
The ridge behind them had sealed.
Where the path once lay, now there was only obsidian wall.
"We're being guided," Thorne said as they broke camp.
"Or herded," Bryn added.
Kael didn't argue.
The mountain was no longer a place.
It was a gate.
And it had closed behind them.
They climbed again.
This time, the way led through tunnels—veins of scorched stone with veins of gold running like ancient blood. Strange glyphs marked the walls, glowing faintly as they passed. Kael could read none of them, but he felt their meanings in his teeth.
Warnings.
Prayers.
Histories of names long burned to ash.
The group stopped before a chamber flanked by two colossal pillars carved with wings—one feathered, one flame.
Elen reached toward one.
The stone hissed and recoiled.
Kael stepped forward.
The glyphs lit up.
The door parted.
Inside was a cavern the size of a cathedral.
Empty.
But not quiet.
In the center lay a dais of black stone, and atop it—a skeleton.
Not human.
Vast. Coiled.
And crowned with horns like branches of cindered oak.
A dragon's bones.
"Vaelarith?" Elen asked.
Kael shook his head.
"No. This one died."
They approached.
The bones shimmered with the faintest heat, as if memory still clung to marrow long turned to ash.
Bryn circled it. "What killed it?"
Kael looked up at the cavern walls.
Symbols burned there now.
Not painted. Not carved.
Burned.
"Truth," he said.
Suddenly, the Codex burst open.
The wind howled inside the chamber.
Pages flipped violently, smoke spilling upward in ribbons.
Kael fell to his knees as the fire poured from the book.
The others backed away, weapons drawn.
A sigil formed above the bones—curved, clawed, bright.
The dragon's skeleton shook.
But it did not rise.
Instead, it spoke.
No mouth moved. No breath passed.
Only thought filled the chamber.
"You walk my grave."
Kael stood, barely.
"You are not Vaelarith."
"No. But I knew him. I was the last to see him fall."
The flames pulled inward, forming a shape beside the bones.
A humanoid figure of fire and shadow, eyes like dying stars.
"And you carry his ember now, Thornbearer."