The road stretched ahead, winding through dense forest that seemed to darken with every step. Eryndor led the way, his eyes flicking between the trees as the lingering mist from the relic's destruction slowly thinned. Kaelith walked beside him, silent for once, though her gaze never left his cursed arm.
"You're stalling," she finally said.
Eryndor didn't look at her. "I'm walking."
"You know what I mean."
He sighed but kept moving. "Flamebearer isn't a title I chose. It's something I earned… or inherited. I'm not sure anymore."
Kaelith frowned. "Inherited? From who?"
Eryndor hesitated. The path beneath his feet felt heavier, like he was carrying more than just his pack. "My father."
Kaelith blinked in surprise. "Your father was cursed?"
"Not exactly." Eryndor glanced down at his arm, where faint blue embers still flickered beneath the skin. "He carried this flame for years. When he died, it passed to me. It doesn't burn like normal fire. It's older, tied to something I can't explain."
Kaelith mulled that over. "And the wraith recognized it?"
Eryndor nodded. "It seems so."
Kaelith crossed her arms. "Great. So now ancient spirits are on a first-name basis with you. What's next? Dragons writing letters?"
Eryndor smirked faintly but said nothing.
They walked in silence until the forest thinned, revealing a stone crossroads. A single wooden post stood at the center, its arms pointing to three directions. One arrow read "Ashenfall – 3 miles." Another pointed west toward the coastal trade route, while the third pointed east, leading deeper into the wildlands.
Eryndor stopped at the post. "We should reach the capital by midday tomorrow."
Kaelith stepped forward, leaning lightly against the wooden sign. "You think the King's Blades will still be there when we arrive?"
"They'll be there," Eryndor said. "And they'll be waiting."
Kaelith clicked her tongue. "I love a warm welcome."
Eryndor crouched near the base of the signpost, brushing dirt away from a strange mark carved into the wood. His eyes narrowed. It was the shape of an open eye, with a single jagged scar running down the middle—an old symbol he hadn't seen in years.
Kaelith noticed his focus. "That's not a map, is it?"
"No," Eryndor muttered. "It's a warning."
The air around them shifted, growing colder. Kaelith straightened, her hand instinctively reaching for her dagger.
"We're not alone," she said under her breath.
Eryndor rose slowly, his eyes scanning the edges of the clearing. The shadows beyond the crossroads seemed to stretch unnaturally, curling along the ground like grasping fingers.
A faint sound drifted through the trees—the creak of a branch under pressure.
"Show yourself," Eryndor called out, drawing his sword.
For a moment, there was only silence. Then, a figure emerged from the treeline.
The man was tall and wrapped in a dark traveler's cloak, but his armor glinted beneath it—a telltale sign of the King's Blades. He stepped forward calmly, his face partially obscured by the hood, though the faint scar running down his cheek was unmistakable.
Kaelith stiffened. "Rhoan."
Eryndor's grip on his sword tightened. Captain Rhoan—the leader of the King's Blades—was not someone he had expected to see so soon.
Rhoan lowered his hood, his sharp eyes locking onto Eryndor's cursed arm. "You left quite the mess back there," he said, his voice steady.
Eryndor didn't lower his blade. "Didn't have much of a choice."
"You had a choice," Rhoan replied. "And you chose to break the seal."
Kaelith stepped forward, her tone defensive. "That wraith wasn't staying locked up forever. We didn't release it. The relic was already crumbling."
Rhoan's gaze shifted to her. "Your intentions mean little now. The veil grows weaker by the day. That wraith was only the beginning."
Eryndor frowned. "You know what's coming, don't you?"
Rhoan studied him carefully before answering. "We've been tracking similar relics across the kingdom. This one was the third to break… and the most dangerous so far."
Kaelith narrowed her eyes. "If you knew these relics were failing, why keep it quiet?"
"Because panic won't save the kingdom," Rhoan said coldly. "Only action will."
Eryndor lowered his sword slightly but didn't sheath it. "So what now? Are you here to arrest us?"
Rhoan met his gaze, then glanced at Eryndor's cursed arm. After a long pause, he shook his head. "Not today."
Kaelith arched a brow. "That's surprisingly generous of you."
"I'm not feeling generous," Rhoan said. "I'm giving you a warning."
Eryndor tilted his head. "What kind of warning?"
Rhoan's expression darkened. "There's something hunting relic hunters—people like you. I don't know what it is, but whatever woke up beneath that relic… it's looking for you now."
The wind shifted, rustling the leaves around them.
Rhoan pulled his hood back up. "I suggest you find shelter before nightfall."
Without another word, he turned and disappeared back into the forest, leaving Eryndor and Kaelith alone at the crossroads.
Kaelith exhaled sharply. "I don't like him."
Eryndor sheathed his sword. "You don't have to."
She glanced up at him. "So, what do we do now?"
Eryndor looked down the road to Ashenfall, his eyes hard.
"We keep moving."