The ruins of Velmora rose from the mist like the bones of a fallen giant.
Kellen had grown up hearing tales of his ancestral capital—how its towers had once pierced the clouds, how its forges had burned so hot they sang, how the Iron Vows carved into its foundations had kept even gods at bay.
But time had not been kind.
Now those towers were shattered stumps, their spires crumbled like broken spears. The streets were littered with rusted relics and half-collapsed bridges that once spanned the air itself. Vines choked the remnants of ancient halls. Silence hung like a fog.
Elyra stepped carefully across the cracked flagstones, her boots silent. The Wyrdborne trailed behind her, eyes scanning the city like a memory was pulling at his throat. Kellen felt it too—the weight of history pressing down like a buried mountain.
They passed statues with blank eyes, faces worn smooth by centuries of wind and ash. Some had once held blades, others books. Now all they held was dust.
"No one's been here in ages," Kellen murmured.
"Not no one," Elyra replied, brushing a hand along a carved pillar. "The roots of the world remember every footfall. And some things… don't forget."
They found the Hall of Iron Vows beneath the central dome of the Velmoran Citadel—a building carved into the rock itself, deep within the earth. Its gates stood half-collapsed, but the great seal above it still glowed faintly: a sword wrapped in chains, bound to a flame.
Kellen stepped forward and felt it pulse beneath his ribs.
The moment they passed through the threshold, the air changed.
It was heavier. Older. Charged with a kind of expectancy that made the hair on his arms rise. They moved down a long corridor lined with iron tablets—each engraved with names, titles, and oaths, sealed in the blood of those who spoke them.
Elyra lit a torch from her palm. Its flame burned silver.
They descended a staircase that spiraled down and down, into the very heart of the mountain.
And there it was.
The Sentinel.
It stood twenty feet tall—humanoid, armored in layered plates of iron etched with runes. Its face was expressionless, its limbs still, but it radiated presence like a sleeping storm. Around it, a circle of chains ran from floor to ceiling, each one humming with contained power.
The Wyrdborne stepped forward, his face unreadable.
"I forged its heart," he said. "Long before Eldain fell. We needed a weapon against the gods. Something that didn't dream. Something that didn't love."
"You succeeded," Elyra murmured.
He nodded. "Too well."
Kellen moved closer, staring up at the giant.
"And it will obey you?"
"No," the Wyrdborne said. "It doesn't obey. It remembers. And it judges."
He stepped into the circle.
The chains around the Sentinel pulsed. A voice, deep and metallic, echoed from the walls.
"Oathbreaker."
The word was a hammer, and the Wyrdborne staggered.
"I broke nothing," he growled. "I was betrayed."
"You forged vows in fire. And left them to ash."
Kellen reached forward, but Elyra held him back. "It's testing him."
The Wyrdborne fell to his knees. His voice cracked.
"My kingdom burned. My people slaughtered. I carry their bones in my blood. If you demand payment—take my breath. Take my soul. But do not deny me my right to vengeance."
Silence.
Then the Sentinel moved.
Its eyes flared with gold fire. The chains snapped like threads. It took one step forward—and knelt.
The mountain trembled.
The Wyrdborne rose slowly. "We ride."
They emerged into moonlight with the Sentinel at their back. Every step it took made the ground shudder. Birds scattered from the trees. The wind howled like a warning.
Elyra looked at Kellen. "Velmora wakes."
"Now what?"
"We draw the gods out. We strike before they rise fully."
"And if they're already here?"
She looked toward the horizon. "Then we die. But not quietly."
They didn't make it far before they were intercepted.
On the third night of travel, as they crossed the Black Vale—an open stretch of charred meadow where nothing grew—the sky tore open.
Literally.
A slash of crimson light ripped across the stars, and from it poured something wrong. Shadows that slithered like ink. Wings made of bone and void. Creatures that once wore the shape of angels.
Kellen barely had time to draw his sword.
The Wyrdborne shouted something in his native tongue, and the Sentinel surged forward. Its fists cracked the earth, sending tremors through the field. It smashed the first creature into ash. Elyra sent waves of burning silver into the sky, carving glowing runes that blazed like suns.
Kellen fought beside her.
He moved on instinct, parrying blades made of shrieks and sorrow. One creature lunged at his throat—only for the Wyrdborne to drive a dagger into its back.
The tide was endless.
For every fallen beast, three more spilled from the rift.
Then Kellen heard a sound that didn't belong.
Sobbing.
He turned—and saw a child standing in the middle of the field. Alone. Pale. Crying.
He took a step.
"Kellen, don't!" Elyra screamed.
Too late.
The child looked up—and its face melted into something with too many mouths.
Kellen slashed at it—
But his blade passed through air.
Pain exploded across his side. He hit the ground hard. Blood filled his mouth.
He saw the Wyrdborne leap, the Sentinel crush the mimic, Elyra's magic close the wound with light—but the world spun.
Then darkness took him.
He woke in firelight.
His ribs burned. The world was blurry. The first face he saw was the Wyrdborne.
"You're lucky," the old warrior muttered. "Most who touch them don't wake up."
Kellen coughed. "That… thing. It looked like a child."
"That's how they work," Elyra said, appearing beside the fire. "They find the shape that breaks you. And they wear it like skin."
Kellen sat up, trembling. "And the gods? Are they—"
"They're still sealed," the Wyrdborne said. "But not for long."
Elyra tossed a burning log into the flames. Her voice dropped.
"One of them has broken through. A Herald. A fragment of the god of hunger—Mevrion. It's gathering strength."
Kellen looked between them. "Then we kill it."
Silence.
Then the Wyrdborne smiled. For the first time, it wasn't bitter.
"It's suicide," he said.
"But not impossible," Elyra added.
Kellen stood slowly.
"Then let's go do the impossible."
And behind them, the Sentinel raised its head—and began to march.