The wind howled through the narrow, jagged peaks of the Aerys Mountains, biting at Isabelle Darvin's skin as she ascended the frozen slopes. The world around her was silent, save for the occasional crack of ice beneath her boots and the eerie whispers of the storm that swirled around her. At the top of the mountain stood her goal: the ancient ruins of a long-forgotten civilization, rumored to hold the key to the legendary Heart of the Soul.
Isabelle had heard the stories all her life. Tales of a powerful gem that could reshape the world, capable of granting its wielder unimaginable power. For years, she had dismissed it as nothing more than a myth, a fable spun by the old storytellers to amuse children. But after her father disappeared—vanishing without a trace—those stories had begun to take on new meaning.
She tightened her grip on the hilt of her sword, the cold metal almost comforting in its familiar weight. Her father had always warned her to stay away from the Heart, telling her that such power was never meant for mortal hands. But she had to know the truth. She had to find him. The trail had gone cold, but these ruins were the last lead she had.
The mountain seemed to press in on her, the stone walls on either side closing in with each step. The air was thick with snow, and visibility was nearly nonexistent, but Isabelle pressed on. She had always been a warrior—strong, independent, and determined—and there was no turning back now.
As she reached the entrance of the ruins, the temperature dropped even further. Her breath came out in sharp, frosty gasps, and she could feel the chill seep into her bones. But something else was there, too. A presence. A feeling, as if the stone itself was watching her, waiting. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.
She stepped into the shadowed archway, and immediately, the world outside seemed to disappear. The wind stopped, the storm faded, and the silence deepened. The ruins were vast, a labyrinth of crumbling stone and forgotten chambers. Faded murals adorned the walls, depicting strange symbols and scenes that Isabelle couldn't understand. And in the center of the room—illuminated by a faint, otherworldly glow—was a pedestal. Atop the pedestal sat a small, glowing gemstone.
Isabelle felt her heart quicken. The Heart of the Soul. She had found it.
She approached cautiously, every instinct in her body telling her to turn back, but she refused. Her father had hidden the truth from her, but she was determined to discover it for herself. Her fingers brushed against the cold stone of the pedestal, and as they touched the gemstone, a jolt of energy shot through her body.
A voice whispered in her ear, faint but unmistakable: "You are the chosen one."
Isabelle recoiled, her hand instantly pulling away from the gem. She spun around, eyes scanning the shadows. Nothing moved. The air was still. But the voice remained, echoing in her mind, like a distant memory.
Her heart pounded in her chest as she stepped back, unsure of what she had just experienced. Was it a trick of the mind? Or had the Heart truly called to her?
She wasn't alone.
The thought struck her like a thunderclap, and just as she turned to leave, the ground beneath her feet rumbled. The stone walls groaned, and the air thickened with magic—dark, ancient, and powerful. A shadow passed over her vision, a flicker of movement too quick to catch. She drew her sword, ready for whatever came next.
"Who's there?" Isabelle called, her voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins. She knew this place was dangerous, but she hadn't expected the ancient ruins to awaken with such force.
From the darkness, a figure emerged. Tall, cloaked in shadows, with eyes that seemed to glow like embers. Isabelle's breath caught in her throat. This wasn't just a guardian or a mere illusion. This was something else, something far more powerful.
"I told you to leave, Isabelle," the figure said, its voice low and grave, almost too familiar. It was a voice she had not heard in years—the voice of her father.