The fire crackled low in the center of the ruined hut, its light casting long shadows across Iralious's sunken face. Malious set the broken piece of wood gently on the floor between them while Kalious unfolded the old, brittle map.
The ink was fading, but the landmarks were still there: rivers, mountains, craters, some familiar, some not. A star was drawn at the center, marked with the same crescent sigil that adorned the box. Below it, scrawled in faded charcoal, was a single word: Ekkes.
Kalious traced the word with his fingertip. "What is this place?"
Iralious's eyes fluttered open again. "The last refuge of the Sovereigns. Before the world drowned."
"The Sovereigns?" Malious asked, frowning.
"The rulers of the old blood," Iralious whispered. "Keepers of balance. Defenders of life. Your fathers were of their bloodline, sons of a king who never bowed, even as the flood claimed his throne."
The silence that followed felt heavy enough to collapse the hut.
Kalious looked to Malious, then back to Iralious. "Why didn't you tell us sooner?"
"Because truth without strength is a curse," Iralious rasped. "You had to be ready. You had to survive. Now... now you must decide."
Malious rose slowly, the relic fragment already in his hand, though he had no memory of picking it up. It felt natural there, as if it had been waiting for him. He glanced at Kalious, and for the first time, there was something new in his eyes: weight. Purpose.
"What about the man who attacked us?" Kalious asked. "He knew who we were."
Iralious nodded weakly. "He is no man. He was once Sovereign... but now, corrupted. A servant of the shadows that dwell beneath the skin of this world. He seeks to erase what little light remains. And you, boys, you are the last light left."
The fire dimmed as a cold breeze swept through the camp. Outside, the sky was clear, but the stars pulsed faintly, like distant warnings.
Malious knelt and helped Iralious lie back. The old man's breaths were shorter now.
"We'll find Ekkes," Kalious said. "And whatever's waiting there... We'll be ready."
"No," Iralious murmured, barely audible. "You'll never be ready. But you must go anyway."
And with that, the elder's chest rose one final time... and fell.
Malious stood over him for a long while. Then, with quiet reverence, he covered Iralious's face with the edge of the blanket.
The brothers did not cry.
The world had no room for tears.
Only resolve.