Rain fell in curtains as Kael trudged across the moss-laced stones of the Sunken Vale. Mist coiled low along the marshy ground, blurring the lines between water and land. Behind him, Elira muttered a protective incantation under her breath while Tovan scanned the veiled horizon with a soldier's sharp eyes.
They had followed the Echoheart's pulsing light here—through thickets and abandoned trails, past silent ruins and toppled statues. The relic, nestled against Kael's chest, thrummed like a second heartbeat, drawing him toward a jagged ridge hidden beneath twisted trees.
"There," Elira whispered, pointing to a cracked stairway descending into the earth. Lichen blanketed its edges, and time had worn the stone to a slant. A breeze spilled from the darkness below—cool and dry, like the breath of something long forgotten.
Tovan exhaled. "Shrine's still intact. That's rare."
Kael stepped forward, each movement measured. The weight of the Echoheart grew heavier with every pace. At the threshold of the shrine, his vision wavered—a flash of fire, a shadowed hall, and a woman's scream swallowed by collapsing stone. He staggered.
"You saw something again?" Elira asked gently.
He nodded, touching the relic. "A memory. Not mine. A warning, maybe."
The shrine's interior was vast and cold, lined with mural-covered walls. Symbols of relics, constellations, and battle scenes faded into the gloom. Vines sprouted through cracks in the ceiling, their roots dangling like veins of an ancient creature.
Kael reached the central dais—a circular platform etched with runes. The Echoheart pulsed violently as he stepped into its center. The floor responded, runes lighting one by one in golden arcs. Then the center stone sank with a click, and a hidden chamber groaned open beneath them.
They descended into a stone chamber choked with roots and silence. In the middle stood a pedestal, and atop it, a hollow where something once rested. Kael's heart sank.
"Whatever was here, it's gone," Tovan said.
But Kael's attention had shifted. On the far wall, etched deep into the stone, was a sigil identical to the Echoheart's—a sun burst wreathed in flame.
"Wait," he murmured. The relic grew warm again, and the chamber responded. A gust of air stirred, and with it, a faint hum—a resonance that curled around Kael's thoughts.
Images cascaded through his mind. A woman with hair like night, clutching a glowing relic. Her voice, distant but clear: "Echoes remember. So must you."
The sound of stone grinding snapped Kael from the vision. Behind them, a construct of ancient brass and bone creaked to life. Its face was a mask of timeworn steel, its limbs etched with forgotten glyphs.
Tovan fired instinctively, bullets ricocheting. Elira flung a warding glyph that burst into violet light. Kael reacted differently. He didn't reach for his blade.
He reached inward.
The Echoheart blazed.
Time slowed. Sound stretched thin. Kael felt each breath, each beat of his heart—and the movement of the guardian before it attacked. He ducked, rolled, and cried out, "Now! Its flank!"
Tovan and Elira moved in concert, drawn into Kael's instinct. Steel met rune-bound metal. Sparks flew. The guardian faltered. Kael lunged and pressed the Echoheart to its chest.
Light erupted.
When the brilliance faded, the construct was still. Silent.
Kael dropped to one knee, panting.
"What was that?" Elira asked, stunned.
"Guidance," Kael said softly. "Or something more."
He looked down at the relic, its light dimming but steady. For the first time, he didn't feel fear. He felt connection.
To the past. To the battle long ended. To something awakening.
And deep within the stone, another hum answered.