The gaunt figure lay sprawled on the stone floor, its laughter curling like smoke in the cold, oppressive air. Kael tightened his grip on his staff, the faint glow of his magic casting eerie shadows against the ruined chamber walls.
Beside him, Tharion remained motionless, his jagged blade still embedded in the ground from the final strike. "He isn't dead," Tharion said, his gravelly voice cutting through the silence.
The figure stirred, its glowing red eyes flickering as it slowly pushed itself upright. "Dead?" it rasped, its tone mocking. "You don't kill a curse, boy. You merely endure it."
Kael shuddered at the malice in the figure's voice but took a step forward, his fear overshadowed by a growing determination. "If you can't die, then talk. What do you know of the Shadow? Why is it rising?"
The figure chuckled, a brittle, hollow sound. "Ah, the questions of the naive. The Shadow does not rise to rule. It rises to consume."
"Consume what?" Kael demanded, his pulse quickening.
"Everything." The figure's grin widened, exposing sharp, decayed teeth. "Mortals, gods, cursed ones like us—it will devour them all. Until only silence remains."
Kael's breath hitched. He had imagined war, destruction, perhaps even the fall of kingdoms. But annihilation? His grip on the staff tightened. "If that's true, how do we stop it?"
"You don't." The figure's tone was flat, final. "But you might delay it—if you're willing to pay the price."
Kael felt a surge of frustration. "Then tell us how! What do you know?"
Tharion, who had been silent until now, stepped forward. "Enough riddles, brother," he growled. "Speak plainly or fall silent forever."
The figure's glowing eyes shifted to Tharion. For the first time, it seemed uneasy. "Still the brute, I see. Very well." It gestured to the crumbling walls around them. "The gods cursed us, but they also left the tools to bind the Shadow—their relics. Only their power can sever its grip on this world."
Kael frowned. "Relics? What relics?"
"Tools of creation," the figure said. "Weapons of gods. Scattered across this wretched land, hidden where no mortal dares tread. If you want to stop the Shadow, you'll have to find them. All of them."
Kael's head spun. He had expected answers, but this was far more than he'd bargained for. "And how are we supposed to find these relics?"
The figure grinned again, its expression sly. "You'll need a guide. Someone who knows the old paths. Someone like me."
Kael recoiled. "You're asking us to free you?"
"I'm offering you a chance to survive," the figure corrected. "Release me, and I'll lead you to the first relic. Or leave me here, and see how far you get on your own."
Kael turned to Tharion, his uncertainty plain. "We can't trust him."
"We don't have to trust him," Tharion said, his voice cold. "But we can use him." He stepped closer to the figure, his sword still in hand. "If you betray us, I will end you."
The figure let out a dry laugh. "I wouldn't expect anything less."
Kael hesitated, then nodded. He raised his staff, channeling his magic. A soft glow spread through the room as he began unraveling the bindings that held the figure to the throne. Shadows writhed and hissed, reluctant to release their prisoner.
The figure groaned, its body convulsing as the last of the bindings dissolved. When the magic faded, it slumped forward, panting like a man who had been drowning. Slowly, it rose to its full height, towering over Kael.
"Free at last," it said, rolling its shoulders. "You won't regret this, mage. At least, not yet."
Tharion stepped between Kael and the figure, his blade gleaming in the faint light. "No more games. Lead us to the relic."
The figure inclined its head, a mockery of respect. "As you wish. But know this—once you set foot on this path, there is no turning back."
"We already know that," Kael said firmly.
The figure's grin returned, sharper than ever. "Then follow me, little mage. And pray you're as brave as you think you are."
As they left the chamber, Kael felt the weight of their decision settling on his shoulders. The storm on the horizon seemed to grow darker, its presence an ever-looming reminder of the stakes. He had stepped into a world far more dangerous than he'd imagined, and there was no telling where this journey would lead.