The forest seemed to tighten around Reiner and Isolde as they pushed forward on the Forsaken Path, each step marked by the distant, mournful creaking of trees that swayed without wind. The stone-carved runes lining their route pulsed in uneven intervals, casting faint, blood-red glows that flared and dimmed like a heartbeat. Reiner's chest rose and fell heavily, sweat mingling with the chill that clung to him despite the layers of leather and wool. The shard embedded in his palm vibrated with an insistent, unnatural hum.
"The Guardians will return," Isolde whispered, her eyes darting across the forest as if reading an unseen script woven through the shadows. "They are drawn to the mark you bear. We must reach the Spire of Veils before nightfall."
Reiner clenched his jaw, refusing to let exhaustion break his resolve. The Spire of Veils was the key—Merric's final riddle before the journal's pages turned black with ink. An ancient tower, hidden within the Eldergloom, where truth and madness were said to entwine. The thought sent a shiver through him, but there was no room for doubt now. Not when the forest itself felt like it was watching.
They came to a clearing where the mist coiled like living tendrils, shifting aside to reveal shattered columns and statues eroded by time and sorrow. Figures carved in mid-scream, warriors and queens alike, their stone eyes wide with terror. A testament to those who had ventured here before and failed.
"We must pass the Stone Court," Isolde murmured, stepping carefully over the broken remains. "Stay close and do not speak. Their voices hunger for remembrance."
Reiner's breath caught as he looked closer at the statues. Their mouths, carved agape, seemed almost to move, as if forming words just beyond hearing. The forest groaned around them, and the whispering returned—not the familiar hiss that had haunted Reiner since entering the Eldergloom, but a deeper, almost melodic hum.
Tell us... Remember us...
A chill clawed up Reiner's spine. He glanced at Isolde, who moved with a deliberate grace, her eyes narrowed and unfocused. She was muttering something under her breath, a rhythm of syllables that matched the pulse of the runes.
A sudden sharp crack snapped through the air, and Reiner spun, drawing his dagger as shadows leapt from the trees. Dark, sinewy figures emerged, their bodies a patchwork of bark and bone, their hollow eyes glowing with baleful light. The Guardians of the Forsaken Path had returned.
Reiner lunged, the shard in his palm flaring to life with a searing darkness that lashed out like tendrils of shadow. The nearest Guardian recoiled, its scream resonating like metal scraping stone. But the reprieve was brief. Another figure charged, jagged limbs slicing through the space where Reiner had been only moments before.
"Hold them off!" Isolde's voice rang out, sharper than the clash of blades.
Reiner didn't need to be told twice. He pivoted, ducking beneath a sweeping claw and driving his dagger into the creature's chest. It buckled, shuddering as the obsidian shard's dark energy surged through it, but a third Guardian loomed behind him. Its breath was ice, and he could feel it condensing on the back of his neck.
A blinding white light erupted between them, sending the creature skittering back. Isolde's staff glowed as she completed her chant, runes spiraling along its length and filling the clearing with searing brightness. The Guardians' screeches turned into a cacophony of pain and rage, and one by one, they melted back into the mist.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Reiner's heart thumped in his chest as he caught his breath, the adrenaline still burning in his veins. He glanced at Isolde, who now looked more ghost than woman, her eyes sunken and skin pallid. Whatever spell she had cast had taken a toll.
"We don't have much time," she said, leaning heavily on her staff. "The Stone Court holds more than echoes."
As if in response, the statues' eyes began to glow faintly, a dull, mournful yellow. Reiner's stomach clenched. He could feel the weight of a thousand stares pressing against his will.
"Remember," a voice whispered, not from the clearing but from within his own mind. A vision burst behind his eyes: an ancient battle, warriors in obsidian armor clashing against giants of living wood. He felt the echo of pain, the crushing force of defeat.
Reiner staggered, shaking his head to dispel the memory. Isolde's fingers gripped his arm, pulling him back to the present.
"Focus," she commanded, her eyes locked onto his. "Do not let the past claim you. It is their trick to keep us here."
He nodded, the vision receding to a dull throb at the base of his skull. Together, they pressed on, the clearing's whispers following them like a fading song.
The path narrowed ahead, framed by towering monoliths carved with jagged runes that glimmered darkly. Reiner felt the shard pulse again, this time in a steady, urgent beat. A sense of foreboding washed over him, stronger than before.
"The Spire is near," Isolde said, though there was no relief in her voice. "And the true test begins."
Before them, at the edge of a cliff shrouded in mist, rose the Spire of Veils. It spiraled into the sky, made of dark stone that shimmered with an oily sheen, as if it were alive. Its surface was marked with runes that shifted and rearranged, never resting in one form for long.
"Are you ready?" Isolde's voice was quiet, almost resigned.
Reiner met her gaze and saw the fear mirrored there, softened only by the flicker of hope. He nodded, stepping forward. The shard burned hot against his skin, and with a final breath, he crossed the threshold, leaving the whispers behind.