The Eldergloom's silence returned, heavy and oppressive, pressing on Reiner like a leaden shroud. Each step forward seemed to drag him deeper into the forest's malevolent heart, where the light of day could never touch. Shadows twisted and writhed at the edge of his vision, playing tricks on his weary mind. But now, the whispers had dulled to a distant hum, as if whatever had awakened was content to watch, for now.
He kept his hand curled against his chest, feeling the pulse of the obsidian shard embedded in his Shadowmark. It pulsed like a second heartbeat, thrumming in rhythm with his own, yet subtly off-kilter—a reminder that he was no longer entirely himself. The memory of the Watcher's molten eyes and its words clawed at the edges of his thoughts.
The burden of truth.
Reiner glanced at the journal strapped to his satchel, its pages still faintly quivering as if aware of what he carried. Merric had written about places in the Eldergloom where reality itself faltered, yielding to nightmares and forgotten memories. Places where echoes of the past refused to die.
He stumbled into one such place now.
The path before him widened into a clearing, lit by the weak glow of ghostmoss clinging to ancient, fallen trees. The air crackled with an unnatural chill, each breath blooming in mist despite the season. In the center stood a statue, weathered by centuries yet unmistakably regal—a tall, imposing figure draped in robes, a crown of antlers crowning its stone brow. The eyes, even carved from stone, seemed to hold a flicker of life.
Recognition shivered down Reiner's spine. The figure in his vision. The one who sat upon the throne.
"King Vareth," he whispered, the name coming unbidden to his lips. His voice barely disturbed the stillness, swallowed by the frozen air.
Suddenly, a movement in the periphery drew his gaze. A shadow detached from the darkness and coalesced into form—a spectral knight clad in tattered armor, its helm cracked to reveal the hollow gaze of a long-dead soldier. It stood with a broken sword clutched in one gauntleted hand, the blade glistening with spectral light.
Reiner's pulse quickened as he backed away, only for a second specter to emerge, and then a third. Their eyes locked onto him, and a silent understanding passed between them: he was trespassing, and the dead did not forgive.
The first knight raised its weapon, and without a sound, charged.
Reiner's instincts screamed at him to run, but the eldritch pulse of the shard in his hand stilled his terror. It whispered a word, not in his voice but deep within his mind—command. Without thinking, he thrust his marked hand forward, and darkness erupted from his palm, writhing like tendrils of ink through water.
The charging knight faltered, its spectral form ensnared by the dark magic. The other two hesitated, spectral eyes shifting as if in recognition of an old enemy.
"Obey," Reiner found himself saying, though the voice sounded nothing like his own. It echoed with a deep, ancient authority that left a bitter taste on his tongue. The knight's hollow gaze dimmed, and it knelt, the other two following in its stead.
A tremor ran through the clearing. The moss-light dimmed further, and the carved eyes of King Vareth blazed with sudden, eerie brilliance.
"The bearer of the Shadowmark returns," a voice boomed, though the statue's lips did not move. It reverberated through the clearing, shaking the earth beneath Reiner's feet.
"Why do you awaken us?"
Reiner opened his mouth, but no words came. The shard pulsed harder, sending waves of heat through his veins, urging him onward, forcing his answer.
"To find the truth," he said, struggling against the force seizing his voice. "To know why I was chosen."
The eyes of King Vareth dimmed slightly, as if considering. The spectral knights remained knelt, silent but ever-watchful. A sudden wind swept through the clearing, and with it came a thousand voices whispering as one.
Blood calls to blood. The curse lies within.
The wind died, leaving an uneasy stillness. Reiner's heart thundered as he met the carved gaze of the ancient king.
"If you seek answers, tread where even death dares not," the voice warned. The glow faded, and the silence resumed, leaving only the cold and the ever-present thrum of the shard within his hand.
Reiner released the breath he had been holding, the tension seeping from his limbs. The spectral knights had dissolved into mist, their presence lingering only in the frostbite left on his skin. But now he knew—there were answers to be found, though at a price.
And somewhere deeper in the Eldergloom, an ancient king's legacy waited to claim him.