The tremor passed, but silence didn't return.
Instead, the old stones of Vareth Tal seemed to hum—low and pulsing, as if the very mountain had begun to breathe again. Dust fell from the cracked ceiling of the ruined cathedral.
Liora glanced at Kael. "You said something's in the vaults. What is it?"
Kael's face was stone. "There were many vaults. Weapons. Writings. Things even the dragons feared."
"And this one?"
Kael hesitated. "A heart."
Liora stared. "A heart?"
He stood and turned from the throne. "Follow me."
Behind the throne, a shattered mosaic depicted dragons soaring across a red sky, their wings framing a burning world. At the center of it was a single word, carved in the oldest of scripts.
Kael reached forward and touched it.
The stone shifted with a deep groan. A staircase spiraled down beneath the ruined floor—each step covered in frost and lined with runes that flickered faintly as Kael passed.
Liora followed close behind, whispering a ward under her breath.
The air grew colder with every step. The silence here was ancient, unbroken even by time.
"How far does it go?" she asked softly.
Kael didn't look back. "Far enough to forget light."
At the bottom of the stairs lay a door of iron and bone, sealed by seven interlocking rings.
Kael knelt and placed his hand on the center.
A pulse of golden fire ran down his arm into the metal, and the rings began to unwind—slowly, reluctantly, like a beast long asleep being forced to wake.
Liora gripped her staff tighter. "This feels wrong."
"It is wrong," Kael said. "This was made to hold a soul that couldn't be destroyed."
The final ring clicked open.
The door swung inward with a hiss of ancient air.
Inside, the chamber was pitch black—save for a single object floating in the center of the room.
A heart, wreathed in chains of dragonbone and gold, suspended in a web of pulsing red light.
It was still beating.
Liora's breath caught. "That's alive."
Kael's voice was a whisper. "It belonged to one of the First Flameborn. A dragon forged in pure hatred during the oldest war. Too dangerous to destroy. Too powerful to let free."
Liora took a slow step forward. "And now it's waking."
Kael didn't move. "It must have felt Nytheris return."
The heart beat louder.
Then, from the shadows, a voice spoke—not from the heart, but from behind them.
"You should not have come here, my king."
Liora spun, staff raised.
A figure stepped from the stone—half-dragon, half-shadow, its body flickering between physical and spectral. It bowed low before Kael.
"Lord Kaelrith. I watched your empire fall. I buried your banners. I kept this vault sealed for eternity."
Kael's eyes narrowed. "And who are you now?"
The being raised its face. Its eyes were burning cinders.
"I am what you left behind. The last warden. Bound to your will… until your flame died."
Kael stepped forward. "My flame hasn't died."
The warden studied him. "Then why do you smell of mortality?"
Liora moved beside Kael. "Because he chose to walk among those he once destroyed."
A long silence followed.
Then the warden bowed again, slower this time.
"Then my blade is yours once more."
From the wall, it drew a sword of blackened flame and offered it to Kael.
But the moment Kael touched it, the heart flared red—and the chains cracked.
Liora gasped. "You're connected to it!"
Kael dropped the sword, staggered.
The heart beat once—twice—and a voice echoed from it, deep and terrible.
"The king awakens. The locks weaken. I remember the fire."
Kael's eyes burned gold.
"No," he whispered. "You stay buried."
But the chains had begun to splinter.
Aboveground Far above, outside Vareth Tal, the clouds split.
A crimson light broke across the northern sky.
And in distant lands, those who once served darkness stirred from their hiding.
The dragon king had returned.
And with him, so had the past.