Kael didn't move.
The image still lingered in his mind—like soot clinging to the edges of memory. His breath came in short, shallow bursts, but the world around him remained eerily silent, as if even nature was watching.
He turned his gaze back to the altar.
The chains that bound it were unlike anything he'd seen. Not forged by smith or blessed by sect. They pulsed faintly, like veins through stone—each beat echoing with something alive. Something ancient.
He reached again, slower this time.
The moment his fingers grazed the surface, the chains snapped taut—reacting like they recognized him. A crack of lightning split the sky far above, though not a single drop of rain fell.
Kael staggered back.
The whisper came again, this time clearer, threading through his thoughts like smoke.
> "Break… or be broken…"
He didn't understand.
But it didn't matter.
That feeling—that pull—was stronger now. Not curiosity. Not fear. Need.
---
He spent hours in that ravine.
Not meditating. Not resting. Listening.
And slowly… something started listening back.
Small lights began to gather—tiny flames no larger than fireflies. They hovered near the altar, dancing in a strange pattern. When Kael reached toward them, they didn't flee. They circled his fingers. Warm. Familiar.
But as one touched the cracked hilt of his blade—it vanished.
As if the sword had devoured it.
Kael narrowed his eyes.
This blade wasn't just broken. It was hungry.
---
Night fell.
Kael remained by the altar, unmoving.
He no longer feared the whispers. He was starting to understand them. They weren't threatening. Not yet. They were testing him. Calling out to something dormant inside.
The moment he stood to leave, one of the runes lit up behind him.
Just one.
But enough.
Enough to let him know the door wasn't closed.
Just waiting.