The path out of the ruins twisted and turned as if the forest itself sought to confuse them. The air felt heavy, the weight of ancient magic pressing down on Seris. The glow of her newly-empowered sword cast flickering light across the trees, but the shadows seemed to move in ways they shouldn't, curling unnaturally, lingering just out of reach.
Dain walked beside her, his unease growing with every step. "Does it feel... darker than before?"
"It's not just the forest," Seris replied, her voice low. "It's the Flame. It's stirring something here."
The dragon, leading the way, slowed and sniffed the air. "We are not alone."
Seris and Dain froze, weapons at the ready. The dragon's golden eyes narrowed as it surveyed the trees. Then, out of the shadows, came a soft, ethereal hum—like a distant song, carried on a nonexistent breeze.
"What is that?" Dain whispered, his voice tense.
"A warning," the dragon said grimly. "Or a trap."
The song grew louder, and the shadows around them coalesced into forms—wispy and incomplete, like memories given shape. The figures moved in and out of focus, their faces indistinct, their hands raised as if in supplication.
"Stay close," Seris ordered, her glowing sword held steady.
One of the figures drifted closer, its movements jerky and unnatural. Its face remained a shifting blur, but its voice was clear, a raspy whisper. "The Flame burns brightly... but it casts long shadows."
Seris stiffened. "What do you mean? Who are you?"
The figure didn't answer, only tilted its head. Then, more voices joined in, echoing around them in an eerie chorus:
"Beware the burden. Beware the bond. The truth lies in the storm... and the storm lies in you."
The dragon growled, its tail lashing. "Enough riddles! Be gone, specters!"
It unleashed a wave of fire, but the shadows twisted away from the flames, their forms unaffected. One by one, the figures retreated into the darkness, their whispers lingering like a haunting melody.
Dain exhaled, lowering his bow. "What was that? Ghosts?"
"Not ghosts," the dragon said, its voice unusually soft. "Echoes. This forest holds memories of those who sought the Nexus Flame before you. Their fates..." It trailed off, the implication clear.
Seris tightened her grip on her sword, her mind racing. The Flame's power thrummed within her, but the whispers had left a seed of doubt. What price would she pay for this strength?
"We should keep moving," she said finally. "Whatever that was, it won't stop us."
The dragon nodded, but its gaze lingered on the shadows, its unease palpable.
---
As they pressed on, the terrain became stranger. The trees grew gnarled and twisted, their bark resembling anguished faces. The faint hum of the forest seemed to pulse in rhythm with Seris's mark, as though the land itself was alive and aware of her presence.
They came to a clearing where the ground was scattered with shards of blackened glass, reflecting a distorted version of the world above.
"What is this place?" Dain asked, picking up a shard. The moment his fingers touched it, his eyes widened, and he dropped the piece as if it burned.
"Dain?" Seris rushed to his side.
He shook his head, his face pale. "I... I saw something. A vision. Thornhaven, but it was burning. You were there, but you weren't you. Your mark—it was... spreading, like it was consuming you."
Seris felt a chill crawl down her spine. She looked at the shard on the ground, but before she could examine it, the dragon stomped its massive claw over the glass, shattering it further.
"This place is cursed," the dragon said. "We must move quickly."
---
As night fell, they made camp in a small hollow, though the oppressive atmosphere made rest difficult. Seris sat by the fire, staring at her sword, the glowing runes casting strange patterns on her face.
"Do you think the Flame is... dangerous?" Dain asked cautiously, sitting beside her.
Seris hesitated. "I don't know. It feels like it's a part of me now. But those whispers... they make me wonder if there's more to it than we understand."
The dragon, lying nearby, opened one eye. "The Flame is neither good nor evil. It is power, pure and unyielding. It is your will that shapes it."
"And what if my will falters?" Seris asked quietly, almost to herself.
The dragon didn't answer, its gaze drifting to the fire.
---
Late that night, Seris awoke with a start. The campfire had dwindled to embers, and the forest was unnaturally quiet.
A figure stood at the edge of the camp—a man in tattered robes, his face obscured by a hood. His presence was suffused with an aura of otherworldly stillness.
Seris reached for her sword. "Who are you?"
The man didn't move, but his voice came, hollow and echoing. "The bearer of the Flame walks a thin line. The power you hold is not your own, yet it will shape the fate of all."
"What does that mean?" she demanded, rising to her feet.
The man turned slightly, the edge of his hood revealing a faint, glowing mark—identical to hers.
"Find the Whispering Ruin," he said. "And when you do, ask yourself this: Did you choose the Flame, or did it choose you?"
Before Seris could respond, the man faded into the shadows, leaving only the faint echo of his words.
---
When morning came, Seris recounted the encounter to Dain and the dragon.
"The Whispering Ruin again," Dain muttered. "Whoever he was, he clearly knows something about this."
"Or seeks to manipulate you," the dragon said darkly. "The Flame is a beacon for those who covet its power. Do not let these shadows lead you astray."
But Seris couldn't ignore the growing signs. The ruin, the whispers, the visions—they all pointed to something larger, something hidden.
And though doubt gnawed at her resolve, one thing was clear: the Whispering Ruin held answers. Whether they brought salvation or destruction remained to be seen.
lets continue with something new at
Peteron
patreon.com/Horizons685