The Vail of Ashenfall

The first light of dawn crept over the mountains, painting the snow in hues of pale orange and gold. Eryndor and Kaelith packed their gear in silence, the weight of the golden-eyed figure's words lingering between them.

Kaelith adjusted the straps of her pack, casting a glance toward the winding path ahead. "Hollow Spire. Sounds cozy."

Eryndor smirked faintly but kept his focus ahead. "It's not."

They traveled north along the mountain ridge, following faint tracks that cut through the snow. Eryndor's cursed arm pulsed softly, guiding them like a compass. Every few steps, Kaelith's eyes darted to the treeline, scanning for movement.

"Do you feel it?" she asked, breaking the quiet.

Eryndor nodded. "The relic is close."

Kaelith shook her head. "Not the relic. Something else. The air feels… heavier."

Eryndor slowed, gazing at the forest stretching below the ridge. She was right. The atmosphere had changed—like the mountain itself was watching.

They pressed on until midday, when the jagged spire of the fortress finally came into view, jutting out from the valley like a broken spear. Hollow Spire.

Kaelith let out a low whistle. "That's a ruin if I've ever seen one."

The spire's walls were cracked and worn, blackened from age or fire. It stood isolated, wrapped in mist that seemed to pulse faintly, as if breathing.

Eryndor stopped at the edge of the ridge, staring down at the spire. His cursed arm burned hotter, the flames creeping up toward his elbow.

Kaelith noticed. "You alright?"

Eryndor flexed his hand, suppressing the fire. "The relic is inside. But something else is down there too."

Kaelith frowned. "Great. More ghosts?"

"No," Eryndor said softly. "Something worse."

They descended the slope carefully, winding through frozen brush and loose stone. The closer they got to the spire, the more distorted the air became. Shadows stretched unnaturally long, twisting even though the sun sat high overhead.

Kaelith shivered. "I hate this place already."

At the base of the spire, the entrance loomed—a jagged opening framed by carvings of dragons and ancient runes. Some of the symbols were familiar, matching the relic's markings. Others were older, worn down to almost nothing.

Eryndor stepped inside first, his blade glowing faintly with blue fire, illuminating the stone corridor ahead. Kaelith followed, her dagger gripped tight.

The hall stretched deep into the mountain, lined with broken pillars and the remnants of statues. Some had been shattered, while others had melted—as if exposed to intense heat.

Kaelith ran her fingers along the walls. "This place feels… wrong. Like it's been sealed away for too long."

Eryndor paused at the center of the chamber. His cursed arm throbbed sharply. Ahead, at the far end of the hall, a relic sat atop an altar—its surface shimmering faintly beneath a veil of mist.

"There it is," Kaelith said, stepping forward.

Eryndor held up a hand, stopping her. "Wait."

She frowned. "What?"

Eryndor's eyes narrowed at the altar. The mist surrounding the relic wasn't natural. It twisted and curled unnaturally, as if alive.

"Something's guarding it."

Kaelith took a step back, her grip tightening on her weapon. "Warden?"

Eryndor shook his head. "No. This is different."

The mist shifted. Slowly, a figure began to take shape—tall, cloaked in shadow, but unlike the creatures they'd fought before. This one carried no weapon. Its eyes burned silver instead of crimson.

Kaelith stepped closer to Eryndor. "Is that… another ghost?"

The figure's gaze locked onto Eryndor's cursed arm. "Flamebearer."

Eryndor lowered his sword slightly, watching the figure carefully. "I'm guessing you're not here to help me."

The figure's voice echoed through the chamber. "The fire you carry does not belong to you. It is not a gift. It is a chain."

Eryndor's arm pulsed painfully in response.

Kaelith glanced at him. "I think it doesn't like you."

The figure's form began to dissolve, spreading out into the mist. The air thickened, growing colder.

"Leave the relic… or be consumed by the fire beneath the mountain."

Eryndor stepped forward, ignoring the figure's warning. His cursed arm flared brighter, and the relic on the altar pulsed in response.

Kaelith watched him carefully. "Eryndor, maybe we should—"

Before she could finish, the figure surged forward, its form splitting into three shadowy shapes. They rushed at Eryndor with blinding speed.

Eryndor's sword ignited, and the chamber erupted in blue flame.

Kaelith dodged to the side, slashing at one of the figures as it passed. Her blade cut through smoke, but the shadow reformed instantly, circling her like a vulture.

Eryndor met the second figure head-on, their weapons clashing in a burst of sparks. The third shadow broke away, racing toward the relic.

Kaelith's eyes widened. "It's going for the relic!"

Eryndor twisted, driving his sword into the first figure's chest. The flames consumed it, but he didn't stop. He lunged forward, reaching for the relic just as the third figure's hand closed around it.

A blinding flash filled the chamber.

Eryndor felt the fire surge through his arm, searing against his skin. The shadows dissolved, retreating into the walls as the relic pulsed violently in his grasp.

Kaelith staggered back, shielding her eyes. "What just happened?"

Eryndor exhaled, cradling the relic in his cursed hand. The flames had dimmed, but he could feel the weight of the relic's power pressing down on him.

Kaelith approached, eyeing the relic warily. "You alright?"

Eryndor nodded slowly, but his thoughts lingered on the figure's words.

A chain.

The fire wasn't protecting him.

It was binding him.