The moment my hand touched the cold stone, the world burst into blinding light. My chest tightened as if squeezed by an iron fist, and for a breathless moment, I feared I might be crushed by the sheer force of it. But then the pressure receded, and the silence that followed was deeper than any I had known.
When I opened my eyes, I stood in a vast hall, the air heavy with an unnameable tension. The walls stretched high above me, their surfaces carved with constellations that seemed to shimmer and shift. Torches flared in sconces, casting flickering shadows across banners marked with sigils I half-remembered. Everything was familiar and yet painfully distant, as if a part of me was buried in the stone itself.
Figures moved through the hall, their polished armor gleaming in the firelight. They strode with purpose, voices clipped and urgent as they passed orders. Each warrior's helm bore the same runes etched into the pendant at my chest. I reached out, wanting to touch one of them, to stop them and ask where I was, but my hand passed through the nearest figure like mist.
A deep, resounding boom shook the hall, drawing every eye toward the towering doors at the far end. They buckled inward, splinters of ancient wood flying as something pounded on them from outside. The warriors surged forward, forming a line that bristled with shields and weapons, their movements sharp and synchronized. The air crackled with the intensity of their defiance.
I turned my gaze to the center of the room, where a man stood apart from the others. He was tall, with dark hair shot through with silver, and eyes as fierce as a storm about to break. He wore a cloak woven with threads of silver that shimmered with an otherworldly light, and a sword at his side glowed with runes that pulsed like a heartbeat. He didn't move with the others, didn't flinch as the doors threatened to give way. Instead, he stared at them, unyielding, as if daring whatever lay beyond to face him.
My pulse quickened, a strange echo beating in time with his. Do I know him? The question gnawed at me, the answer on the tip of my tongue, just out of reach.
The man's eyes shifted, landing squarely on me. They widened, not in shock, but in recognition. The expression in them softened for the briefest moment, as if he were seeing something—or someone—long lost. He stepped forward, parting the sea of warriors, each movement deliberate and commanding. The torches flickered wildly as he spoke, his voice carrying over the din with a timbre that resonated through my chest.
"You're here," he said, and there was no question in his voice, only certainty and a flicker of something that might have been relief.
Before I could respond, a cold, malevolent voice slithered through the crack in the doors, wrapping around the hall like a suffocating fog. "You cannot hold what has already fallen."
The man's expression hardened, eyes narrowing with a mix of anger and resolve. His hand moved to the hilt of his sword, the glow of the runes intensifying. He looked at me once more, the intensity in his gaze pinning me to the spot. "Remember who you are," he said, the command rippling through me with the weight of a vow. "Only then can you stand against the shadow."
The doors exploded inward, and the vision shattered like glass. I fell forward, gasping as I landed on the damp moss of the forest clearing. The ruin stood silent and cold beneath my hand, its glow dimmed as if the light had been snuffed out. The pendant throbbed against my chest, its heat seeping into my skin.
"Aric!" Lyra's voice broke through the haze, sharp with urgency as she dropped to her knees beside me. Her eyes darted between my face and the ruin, wide with worry. "What happened? What did you see?"
"A hall," I said, struggling to catch my breath. "There were warriors... and a man who knew me. He told me to remember who I am, that only then could I stand against the shadow."
Krael approached, his expression tight with concern as he scanned the dormant sentinels. The once-glowing eyes had faded, their threat momentarily quelled, but the forest felt charged, as if holding its breath.
Before I could explain further, a distant horn call echoed through the woods, low and desperate—the village's alarm. Lyra stiffened, eyes locking onto mine with a sudden rush of fear. "The village. They're under attack."
"Move!" Krael's voice snapped us out of our stupor, and we sprinted into the dark, the sounds of battle urging us forward. My legs ached with the strain, but the pendant's warmth pushed me on, the man's final words ringing in my ears: Remember who you are.
The fight ahead would demand everything I had, but the vision had left me with one truth: this battle was more than survival. It was the first step toward reclaiming what had been lost, and facing the shadow that knew my name.