The ashes of the Warden of Ash and Stone settled across the clearing, carried by the gentle breeze. Drakar wiped his brow, the glow of the Ember Veil Strike fading from his arms as exhaustion settled over him. The air was still and heavy, like the forest itself was holding its breath.
Taronis knelt near the crumbled remains of the Warden, brushing away fragments of blackened stone. Beneath the rubble, a small, polished shard gleamed—a fragment of molten obsidian, swirling with faint embers.
"Take it," Taronis said, gesturing toward the shard. "This is no ordinary stone. It is a Core Fragment, a remnant of the Warden's will. It will serve you in ways you may not yet understand."
Drakar reached down, his fingers brushing the fragment's warm surface. A strange hum pulsed through him—a rhythm that resonated with his heartbeat.
Kaelen leaned over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. "Careful with that. It might explode or curse you."
Drakar shot him a half-smile. "Then I'll be cursed with resilience." He slipped the Core Fragment into a small leather pouch.
The Tarnweald Stirs
As they continued through the Tarnweald, the forest's stillness became oppressive. The trees, though vibrant and ancient, seemed watchful. Shadows danced along the forest floor even though the sun hung high above.
Taronis slowed, his hand raised. "Something stirs."
Drakar narrowed his eyes and felt a shift in the air—an unnatural stillness that pressed against his senses. The ground beneath their feet softened as though the forest itself was shifting.
A faint whisper drifted through the trees, melodic yet unsettling. It was neither human nor beast.
"What is that?" Kaelen asked, his voice low.
Taronis's jaw tightened. "Forest Wyrds—spirits of the Tarnweald. They are neither malicious nor kind. They guard the deeper secrets of this place."
As if summoned by his words, the ground before them rippled like water. From the shifting earth emerged glowing, ethereal forms—creatures that looked like twisting vines woven into serpentine shapes, their eyes glimmering like emeralds.
One of the Wyrds coiled itself around a nearby tree and spoke, its voice like wind through leaves. "Why do you trespass beneath the canopy of whispers?"
Taronis stepped forward, his tone respectful but firm. "We seek to pass through. We mean no harm."
The Wyrd's eyes dimmed and then flared again. "The path forward is not given—it is earned. One must face the truth they fear most."
A Trial of Memory
Before Drakar could speak, the Wyrds circled him, their light pulsing in time with his heartbeat. The world around him blurred, and the forest dissolved into darkness.
When the haze lifted, Drakar found himself standing in a familiar place—the training grounds of Garmok. The distant roar of the forge fires and the clatter of steel filled the air.
Ahead of him stood a figure—a tall orc clad in ceremonial armor, his eyes cold and filled with judgment. Drakar's breath caught in his chest. "Roghar."
The older orc's voice was like a hammer striking an anvil. "You still believe you're more than a weakling? You think one or two victories mean anything?"
Drakar's fists clenched. "I've changed. I'm stronger."
Roghar stepped forward, his massive frame casting a shadow over Drakar. "Prove it. Show me that your resolve isn't just words."
With a bellow, Roghar lunged, his greatsword cutting through the air. Drakar barely dodged in time, the force of the swing sending a gust of wind past his cheek. He drew his dagger, steadying his breathing.
This isn't real, he told himself. It's a memory.
But the pain in his muscles and the thrum of adrenaline felt real.
Roghar swung again, a brutal overhead strike that Drakar sidestepped before countering with a slash to the side. His blade connected, but Roghar didn't flinch.
"Is that all?" Roghar taunted.
Drakar's mind raced. Roghar had always been unrelenting, and memories of past failures flooded back.
Focus. Drakar steadied himself, remembering Taronis's teachings. Strength wasn't just power—it was control. He waited as Roghar charged again, his footsteps heavy and predictable.
When the greatsword descended, Drakar shifted to the side, his feet precise and swift. He drove his dagger upward, striking just beneath Roghar's guard.
Roghar's form shimmered, his scowl fading into a look of acknowledgment. "Maybe you've finally learned."
The illusion shattered like glass, and Drakar found himself back in the forest, his heart pounding.
The Wyrds' voices whispered in unison. "The truth you feared was not failure—it was believing you could not change."
Drakar exhaled, his hands steady. "I've already chosen to change."
The Wyrds drifted away, their forms dissolving into motes of green light. The path ahead brightened, revealing a winding trail deeper into the forest.
Kaelen let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "I don't know what just happened, but that looked intense."
Taronis placed a hand on Drakar's shoulder. "You passed the trial not by strength, but by understanding. That is how you'll endure."
Drakar nodded. He felt lighter—not in body, but in spirit. The doubts he had carried for so long seemed fainter now.
The Path Forward
The group pressed on, the Tarnweald's shadows parting to reveal a vast expanse of glimmering stone outcroppings and crystalline pools. Though the forest still whispered, its tone had changed—it was no longer warning them, but guiding.
Kaelen glanced at the shimmering trees. "This place... it's more alive than I thought."
Taronis smiled faintly. "The forest watches those who walk with purpose."
Drakar touched the pouch where the Core Fragment rested. The hum of the fragment resonated within him—a quiet promise of strength yet to be understood.
As they walked, he felt the whisper of something deeper—a power that stirred within, waiting for its moment.