The path through the Vahliar Mountains became more treacherous with every step, as if the land itself sought to resist their passage. Jagged rocks cut through their boots, and the wind howled with unnatural force, pushing them back at every turn. Yet Aethren pressed forward, the shard’s power a constant, burning presence within him. His hand, wrapped tightly around it, seemed to vibrate with every pulse of the ancient force.
The Wardens were close, he could feel it in his bones. But with each passing hour, doubt gnawed at him. Was he truly ready to face whatever they had in store? Would they be allies, or would they see him as an enemy? The dark figure’s last words echoed in his mind—You have already given it to me. The moment you claimed its power, you bound yourself to it.
Seris led the way, her eyes constantly scanning their surroundings. Her movements were fluid, as though she were one with the mountain itself, but even she seemed to feel the growing pressure in the air. Kaelor followed close behind, his eyes hard with determination, but he was silent—too silent, Aethren noted. The bond between the three of them had grown over their trials, but now, as the tension rose, there was an unspoken distance.
The temperature dropped as they climbed higher. The wind howled like a restless spirit, its voice piercing and mournful. But there was something else, something faint—a hum in the air, a vibration that seemed to resonate with the shard in Aethren’s hand.
“There,” Seris said suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper. She pointed toward a narrow crevice in the mountainside, hidden behind a veil of thick fog. “The temple is just beyond that pass.”
Aethren nodded, his heart pounding in his chest. This was it—the place where everything would change.
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The fog parted as they entered the crevice, revealing a massive stone archway, its surface carved with ancient runes that glowed faintly in the mist. The temple was hidden deep within the mountain, almost as if it had been swallowed by the earth itself. Its towering spires loomed above them, weathered by time, yet still exuding an undeniable sense of power. It was a place untouched by the outside world—a sanctuary, but also a prison.
Aethren felt the shard react in his hand, its pulse growing stronger as they approached. The air inside the temple was thick with an otherworldly energy, and every step they took seemed to carry them deeper into the heart of the mountain itself.
“This is it,” Seris said, her voice reverberating off the stone walls. “The Wardens are here. But be careful. Not all of them will welcome you.”
Kaelor’s hand rested on the hilt of his sword. “I’m not here to make friends.”
Aethren glanced at his companions, feeling the weight of the moment settle upon him. The path ahead was unknown, and every decision would shape the outcome of their journey. But he couldn’t turn back now.
“Let’s go,” Aethren said, his voice steady despite the storm that raged inside him.
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The entrance hall of the temple was vast, its ceiling so high that it seemed to disappear into shadow. The floor was made of polished obsidian, reflecting their images like mirrors, giving the place an eerie, dreamlike quality. Massive statues of armored figures stood at attention along the walls, their eyes carved from pure sapphire, gleaming in the low light. The air smelled faintly of incense and something older—older than anything Aethren had ever encountered.
At the far end of the hall, a set of enormous doors stood ajar, revealing a chamber beyond. There, standing as still as the statues, were figures cloaked in deep crimson robes. Their faces were hidden beneath the hoods, and their presence was overwhelming—each one emanated a sense of ancient power, the kind that made Aethren’s breath catch in his throat.
One of the figures stepped forward, raising a hand in greeting, though its voice came not from its mouth but from the very air itself, as if the temple itself spoke.
“You have come,” the voice said, deep and resonant, echoing in the chamber. “Aethren, bearer of the Shard. The time has come for you to learn the truth of your destiny.”
Aethren’s heart skipped. It knew his name—the time has come for you to learn the truth of your destiny—the words held a weight that made the room feel even colder. He stepped forward, feeling the eyes of the Wardens on him, and nodded.
“I’ve come for your help,” Aethren said, his voice steady despite the growing sense of foreboding. “The shard’s power is growing. I need to learn how to control it. Before it consumes me—and before it consumes everything.”
The figure in the center of the room lowered its hood, revealing a face as ageless as the temple itself. It was a woman, her features sharp and regal, with eyes that glowed faintly, like burning embers. Her presence was both calming and unsettling, as though she had seen the rise and fall of countless worlds.
“The shard is no mere weapon,” the woman said, her voice soft yet full of ancient authority. “It is a relic of the Old Gods, a fragment of power beyond comprehension. Its true nature is something even we, the Wardens, do not fully understand. But we know one thing: it is not a force to be wielded lightly. Those who seek to control it often find themselves undone by its overwhelming power.”
“I’m not seeking to control it,” Aethren said, his voice tight. “I want to learn how to use it. I need to stop the forces that are trying to take it from me.”
The woman’s gaze softened, but there was a sadness in her eyes. “You are not the first to seek its power. Many before you have tried. Some failed, and others... lost themselves to it.”
Aethren clenched his fist around the shard. “I won’t let that happen. I’m different.”
The woman stepped closer, her eyes scanning him as if weighing his very soul. “The shard does not choose its bearer, Aethren. It is bound to those who are desperate enough to seek it, and in the end, it will shape you according to its will, not yours. But perhaps...”
She trailed off, and Aethren felt the weight of her words settle over him like a shroud.
“Perhaps there is still a chance,” the woman continued, her tone shifting. “But first, you must pass the Trials of the Wardens. Only then will you understand the true nature of the shard—and whether you are strong enough to wield it without losing yourself to its darkness.”
Aethren’s breath caught in his throat. The Trials. He had heard whispers of them, but never in full.
“You will face trials unlike any you have encountered before,” the woman said. “They will test your mind, your body, and your very soul. But only through the trials will you learn how to truly control the shard.”
Aethren looked at Seris and Kaelor, both of them silent but standing firm. He didn’t want to delay the inevitable. If the Wardens could help him, he had no choice but to face whatever trials awaited him.
“I’m ready,” he said, though his voice wavered only slightly.
The woman nodded, as if expecting no less. “Then prepare yourself, Aethren. The trials begin now.”