The night swallowed me whole.
Mountains loomed like black knives against the stars, their peaks crowned with mist. Every breath was a razor in my lungs, every heartbeat a hammer against my ribs. I moved through the underbrush like a wraith, silent, unseen, my senses sharpened by something not entirely my own.
Behind me, the Empire's searchlights combed the valley floor, sweeping through the trees with ruthless precision. Distant shouts carried on the wind — orders barked, hounds loosed. The hunt had begun in earnest.
They would not stop until I was ash in the dirt.
But something deeper than fear kept me moving.
The relic pulsed beneath my skin, a faint warmth threading through the chill. It whispered fragments of knowledge, half-formed instincts rising from the depths of memory not my own.
I was not alone.
Something else had awakened with me.
Hours passed. Or perhaps mere moments. Time unraveled in the wilderness, becoming a thing without meaning.
At last, I stumbled into a hollow — a clearing ringed by ancient stones, their surfaces worn smooth by countless centuries. Moonlight pooled within the circle, cold and silver, casting long shadows that seemed almost to breathe.
I dropped to one knee, gasping. My muscles screamed for rest, but the sword's presence refused to let me collapse.
Not yet.
The clearing was wrong.
Not in a way I could name.
But in the way an animal senses the coming storm.
The air was too still.
Too heavy.
The relic pulsed once, hard enough to jolt my arm.
Danger.
I rose slowly, every instinct on edge. The stones around the clearing seemed to shift under my gaze, their worn surfaces rippling like water.
From the center of the circle, mist began to rise — thin tendrils at first, coiling upward like grasping fingers.
A voice, soft and hollow, carried through the mist.
"Bearer of the Broken Blade... why do you tread the paths of the Forgotten?"
The mist thickened, coalescing into a shape — a figure draped in tattered robes, its face hidden beneath a hood darker than midnight. It hovered inches above the ground, untouched by earth or gravity.
I gritted my teeth, raising my empty hand. The glyphs along my skin flared in answer, and in a breath, the sword materialized once more — solid, cold, ready.
The figure tilted its head, as if amused.
"So eager to brandish steel. So little understanding of what you carry."
"Who are you?" I demanded, forcing strength into my voice. "What do you want?"
The entity's laughter was a sound like dry leaves caught in a dying wind.
"We are the Echoes. The memory of a time before your kind crawled from the dust."
It drifted closer, the mist parting before it like a living thing.
"You wield the Key, mortal. And with it, you have opened doors long sealed. The Black Sun stirs. The Watchers wake. The Old Blood hungers."
The words meant nothing — and yet my soul recoiled at them, understanding more than reason allowed.
"You're wasting your breath," I growled. "If you came to scare me, you'll have to try harder."
Another soft chuckle. Pitying.
"Bravery... or ignorance? The line is thin."
The figure raised a hand — skeletal, blackened, crowned with twisted nails. Around the clearing, the standing stones blazed to life, lines of fire tracing ancient glyphs across their surfaces.
The ground shuddered.
From the shadows beyond the stones, shapes began to emerge.
Tall. Twisted. Their bodies half-flesh, half-shadow, stitched together by threads of sickly green light. Eyes like dying embers burned in their hollow faces.
Creatures born from nightmare.
The Echo's voice fell to a whisper.
"Prove your worth, Warden. Or be devoured as countless before you."
The abominations lunged.
I moved without thought.
The relic's energy flared, flooding my veins with fire. The sword snapped upward, carving a radiant arc through the mist. The first creature met the blade head-on — and was cleaved apart with a shriek that split the night.
But there were more.
Dozens.
I ducked as a clawed hand raked through the space where my head had been. I countered, driving the blade into its gut. The thing convulsed, dissolving into smoke.
They came from all sides, tireless, mindless.
Every swing became survival. Every step became a dance with death.
Pain blossomed along my ribs as a claw grazed me — shallow, but enough to burn ice-cold. I bit down a cry, lashing out with a desperate sweep. The creature fell, but more replaced it.
The relic whispered guidance, ancient battle forms flooding my limbs. I spun, parried, struck, each movement more fluid than the last.
Still — it wasn't enough.
They wore me down, inch by inch.
A shadow loomed above me — larger, faster — a brute crowned with a twisting halo of fire. It swung a massive claw, shattering a stone pillar in its rage.
I raised the sword to block — and the relic answered.
Sigils ignited across the blade's surface. Power surged outward, a blast of force that hurled the creature back, smashing it into the trees with bone-crunching force.
The remaining creatures hesitated.
I seized the moment, driving the blade into the ground. A pulse erupted outward, a ring of light that seared through the clearing.
One by one, the abominations dissolved into ash and mist.
The Echo watched it all in silence.
When the last of the creatures had fallen, the mist began to retreat. The stones dimmed, their glyphs fading into darkness.
The Echo's voice, softer now, almost reverent:
"You are untempered. Unworthy. Yet still... you endure."
It extended a hand — and in its palm, a shard of black crystal appeared, pulsing faintly with sick light.
"Take this. It will guide you to the first Seal. Beyond it... lies the truth you seek."
I hesitated.
Trusting a ghost?
Madness.
But I had few choices left. The Empire was hunting me. The world itself seemed to recoil from my existence.
And somewhere, deep beneath the surface of my mind, I knew —
this was the first step.
I reached out, fingers closing around the shard.
The instant I touched it, visions flared behind my eyes — a map, ancient and broken, carved across a world I barely recognized. Cities in ruin. Skies torn open. Oceans turned to glass.
And above it all, a tower of obsidian rising into the heavens — the heart of the storm.
The Echo's voice was the last thing I heard before darkness claimed me:
"Ascend, Warden. Or perish."