The night had deepened, and the shadows stretched long over the frozen lake. Aldric stood at the edge of the water, watching the moonlight dance on the ice. The chill in the air was biting, seeping into his bones, but it was nothing compared to the weight of Isolde's words.
The Wyrmkin.
Ancient enemies, older than kingdoms, and now they were awake again, drawn to something—him.
He turned toward the fire, where Isolde was already packing their things. Her movements were swift, methodical, as if she had long ago accepted the danger that hung over them. She didn't look at him as he approached, but her eyes flickered up briefly, meeting his gaze with a knowing intensity.
"You've been quiet," she said, her voice low.
"I'm trying to understand what's happening," Aldric replied, his hand on the hilt of his sword. "The Wyrmkin are supposed to be myths, legends… how are they connected to me?"
Isolde paused, then stood, facing him. The firelight reflected in her violet eyes, casting an otherworldly glow around her. "The Oath you bear, Aldric… it was never meant for a man like you. It's tied to an ancient power that the Wyrmkin once sought to control." She stepped closer, her voice steady but edged with a faint edge of urgency. "The Oath binds you to a force beyond death, beyond mortality. The Wyrmkin covet that power."
Aldric frowned. "They want me because of the Oath?"
"They want you because of what the Oath represents," she said, her expression hardening. "The Oath binds you to the powers of the Ashen realm, but it also makes you a vessel for a greater force—a force the Wyrmkin could use to break free from the chains that have held them down for centuries."
Aldric swallowed, feeling a cold shiver run through him. "So they want to use me. To what end?"
"To bring about an age of darkness. To unravel the world, piece by piece, until nothing remains but their reign." She turned away, looking at the blackened horizon, her lips curling in distaste. "And the Hollow Sun is just a tool. They have no idea what they're truly meddling with."
Aldric's gaze followed her. The fire crackled behind him, but all he could hear was the thrum of something ancient and unsettling in his chest.
"What now?" he asked.
Isolde hesitated for a moment. "We need to find where the Wyrmkin have gathered. They won't come for us in full force just yet. But we're not safe here. They've already started sending their minions—those wolves, the undead… they're just the beginning. We need to move."
Aldric looked at her, his resolve hardening. "Where?"
Isolde didn't answer immediately. She scanned the surrounding mountains, her eyes narrowing as though seeing something he couldn't. Finally, she spoke, her voice quieter, almost to herself. "There's an ancient city beneath these mountains. Long forgotten. Ruins now, but once a place of power. The Wyrmkin's slumbering fortress."
Aldric raised an eyebrow. "A fortress?"
"Yes," she said. "But it's not just theirs. There are other creatures there—other remnants of the old wars. And I believe that's where they're gathering." She met his gaze, her expression grim. "If we don't reach it first, we'll be surrounded. And it will be too late."
Aldric felt the weight of her words. "How do we get there?"
Isolde's lips tightened. "We follow the old roads. They're hidden, buried beneath layers of snow and ice. The paths aren't marked on any map anymore, and the creatures of the Wyrmkin's making are always watching. But we have no choice. It's the only way."
Aldric nodded. "Then we leave at first light."
The night dragged on, and as the hours stretched into the blackness, the air seemed to grow heavier. Aldric couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching them. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it a chill that seemed to seep into his very bones. He didn't speak as Isolde finished her preparations, but his thoughts raced.
The Wyrmkin were not just a myth. They were real. And they were hunting them both.
When the first light of dawn finally broke over the mountains, they were already on the move. The road ahead was long, winding through the treacherous paths of the northern pass. The snow crunched beneath their boots, and the cold bit into their skin, but Aldric barely noticed it. His mind was focused on the road ahead—and the battle he knew was coming.
The Wyrmkin would not wait forever.
And when they came, they would come with everything they had.
Aldric gripped the hilt of his sword tighter. Whatever happened, he wouldn't let them take Isolde. He wouldn't let them take anyone. Not while he had breath left in his lungs.
Not while the Oath still bound him.
"Ready?" Isolde's voice cut through the air, breaking his thoughts.
Aldric nodded. "Let's go."
And so they set off, their journey leading them deeper into the mountains, into the heart of the Wyrmkin's forgotten realm. What awaited them was unknown—but they would face it together.
And if they were to die, they would die fighting.