Kael felt the city's presence at his back long after the gates of Veylor had vanished into the morning mist. The road east wound through fields left wild by years of neglect, grass brushing his boots, the sky above pale and uncertain. Rylan walked beside him, shoulders squared, his usual easy banter replaced by a thoughtful silence. Ayesha trailed a few paces behind, her eyes scanning the horizon, the tension in her posture never quite fading.
The fused dagger and coin rested inside Kael's cloak, their weight a constant reminder of all that had changed. He could still sense the faint, electric pulse of the runes—no longer a storm raging within him, but a quiet current, as if the blade was learning to rest, too. Sometimes, when he let his thoughts drift, he imagined he could hear the city's bells, distant and faint, ringing for a future he'd never dared to hope for.
They traveled in silence for most of the day, the world around them slowly awakening. Birds called from tangled hedgerows. A fox darted across their path and vanished into the undergrowth. The land felt untouched by the darkness that had gripped Veylor, but Kael knew better than to trust appearances. The shadow's memory was long, and the wounds of old magic ran deep.
By midday, they reached the ruins of a stone bridge, its arches collapsed into the river below. Rylan picked his way across the scattered stones, pausing to help Ayesha when she slipped. On the far bank, they rested beneath the shade of a willow, the air cool and sweet.
Ayesha broke the silence first. "Where do we go now?"
Kael looked at the sky, watching clouds gather in the east. "The Well of Echoes showed me a place—a city older than Veylor, lost to maps and memory. The source of the Echoes is there. If there's any hope of truly ending the cycle, it's in that place."
Rylan nodded, though his brow furrowed. "And if the darkness follows us?"
Kael met his friend's gaze, steady and unafraid. "Then we face it together. We've already paid the price once. I won't let it claim anyone else."
They pressed on, the landscape shifting from gentle fields to tangled woods. The trees grew close, their branches arching overhead to blot out the sun. Shadows pooled between the roots, and the air grew thick with the scent of moss and earth. Kael's senses sharpened, every sound amplified—the snap of a twig, the flutter of wings, the distant rush of water.
As dusk approached, they found a clearing where the remains of an ancient stone circle stood half-buried in ivy. Ayesha knelt beside one of the stones, tracing the faded runes with her fingertips. "These are older than Veylor's walls," she whispered. "I think… I think this place remembers."
Kael crouched beside her, feeling the air hum with old power. He pressed the fused dagger and coin against the stone, and the runes flickered to life, casting blue light across the clearing. For a moment, the world seemed to pause. Shadows gathered at the edge of the circle, watching, waiting.
A voice, thin as wind through leaves, drifted from the stones. Bearer of the silent price… the wound is not yet healed. The source waits. Beware the city of masks, where memory is coin and truth is forbidden.
Rylan shivered. "That's not ominous at all."
Kael's jaw tightened. "It's a warning. The next city—wherever it is—they won't welcome us. We'll need to be careful."
They made camp in the circle, the stones offering a fragile sense of safety. As night fell, Kael sat watch, the dagger across his knees, listening to the forest's quiet song. He thought of Veylor, of his father's sacrifice, of the friends who had become his family. The storm inside him had quieted, but the road ahead was long, and the silent price was never truly paid.
In the darkest hour, when the moon hung low and the mist crept between the trees, Kael saw movement at the edge of the firelight—a figure in a tattered cloak, face hidden behind a mask of tarnished silver. The Watcher from the ruins.
Kael rose, hand on the dagger. "Why are you here?"
The Watcher's voice was little more than a whisper. "The wound you carry is not yours alone. Others seek the source. Not all wish to heal the world—some would see it broken beyond repair."
Kael felt a chill run through him. "Who?"
The Watcher stepped back into the shadows, his words lingering in the air. "Trust is the rarest coin in the city of masks. Remember what you have learned, Kael Veyen. The true price is yet to come."
When the morning came, the Watcher was gone, and the path eastward lay open beneath a sky streaked with gold. Kael gathered his things, the warning heavy in his mind. As they set out, he glanced at his companions—Ayesha, fierce and loyal; Rylan, steadfast and brave. Whatever waited in the city of masks, they would face it together.
The journey beyond Veylor had begun, and with each step, the world grew wider, stranger, and more dangerous. But for the first time, Kael felt hope—fragile, flickering, but real—guiding him forward, the silent price a promise as much as a burden.
And somewhere ahead, beneath the watchful eyes of gods and shadows, the true heart of the Echoes waited to be found.