The morning came harsh and cold, as it always did in the Northern Wastes. The sun was a distant memory, hidden behind thick clouds, casting the world in a dull, gray light. The wind had picked up again, whipping through the snow and ice, making each step feel like a battle against the elements.

Zarin marched in silence, the weight of his dream from the night before pressing down on him. Maros, the chains, the darkness—it all felt like a warning, though Zarin couldn’t quite grasp what it meant. Reya walked beside him, her expression unreadable but her posture tense. She had said little since their conversation the night before, but Zarin could tell that she was on edge.

Maros, as always, led the way, his staff tapping against the frozen ground with each step. He moved with purpose, his gaze fixed on the horizon, where the Spire loomed ever closer. Zarin couldn’t help but wonder what Maros was thinking, what plans were forming in the old mage’s mind.

They had been traveling for hours when they came upon another ruin, half-buried in the snow. This one was larger than the outpost they had encountered before—an old temple, its stone walls crumbling but still standing, the remnants of ancient carvings visible beneath the frost. The sight of it made Zarin’s heart quicken.

“Another monument to the past,” Maros murmured as they approached, his eyes scanning the temple’s weathered facade.

Reya slowed, her hand instinctively resting on her sword. “Are we stopping?”

Maros nodded. “We’re close to the Spire, but this place… it holds something important.”

Zarin frowned. “What is it?”

Maros stepped toward the temple’s entrance, his gaze distant. “Answers. Or perhaps more questions.”

Before Zarin could ask what he meant, a sudden sound shattered the silence—a low, rumbling growl that echoed through the air. Zarin’s pulse quickened, his hand flying to the hilt of his sword. Reya tensed beside him, her eyes scanning the ruins.

The growl came again, louder this time, and Zarin realized with a sinking feeling that it wasn’t just one sound. It was many. Shadows shifted in the corners of the ruins, and Zarin’s heart pounded in his chest as figures emerged from the snow.

Creatures—twisted, malformed things, their bodies warped by the Old Magic. Their eyes gleamed with a sickly light, and their limbs moved with an unnatural, jerking motion, like puppets controlled by invisible strings. Zarin had seen something like them before in the pass, but these were larger, more menacing, their jagged teeth bared as they stalked toward the group.

“More of them,” Reya muttered, drawing her sword in one swift motion. “They’ve been following us.”

Zarin felt the power inside him stir, rising in response to the threat. But even as he readied himself for the fight, something felt off. The creatures didn’t attack immediately—they circled the group, their glowing eyes fixed on Maros, as if they were waiting for something.

Maros, for his part, seemed unfazed. He stood still, his staff planted firmly in the ground, watching the creatures with a calm that made Zarin’s skin crawl.

“What are they waiting for?” Zarin asked, his voice tense.

“They know me,” Maros said quietly, his eyes never leaving the creatures. “They are remnants of the Old Magic—twisted by it. But they recognize me.”

Before Zarin could process what Maros meant, the creatures lunged.

Reya moved first, her blade flashing in the pale light as she met the first creature head-on. The clash of steel against bone echoed through the ruins as Reya’s sword sliced through the creature’s malformed body, sending it crashing to the ground. But more came, their jagged claws reaching for her, their growls filling the air.

Zarin didn’t hesitate. He let the power inside him surge forward, unleashing a blast of energy that sent two of the creatures flying back into the snow. The force of the blast left his hands tingling, but it wasn’t enough to stop the rest. They kept coming, relentless, their twisted forms moving with an eerie, unnatural speed.

Reya ducked beneath a swipe from one of the creatures, her blade arcing upward to sever its arm. She moved with the precision of a seasoned fighter, her strikes quick and deadly, but Zarin could see the strain in her movements. The creatures were stronger, faster than anything they had faced before.

Zarin launched another wave of energy, catching two more creatures in its path, but they barely faltered. He gritted his teeth, his heart pounding. There were too many of them.

“Maros!” Reya shouted, her voice strained as she fended off another attack. “We could use some help here!”

Maros remained still, his gaze fixed on the creatures. For a moment, Zarin thought the old mage wasn’t going to respond. But then, with a slow, deliberate motion, Maros raised his staff.

The air around them seemed to shift, the temperature dropping even further as a wave of dark energy rippled out from Maros, spreading across the ruins. The creatures froze, their bodies stiffening as if caught in an invisible net. Maros’ eyes gleamed with a strange light as he stepped forward, his voice cold and commanding.

“Begone,” he said, his voice filled with power.

The creatures shuddered, their bodies contorting as the magic took hold. One by one, they crumbled into ash, their forms disintegrating before Zarin’s eyes. The growls faded into silence, leaving only the sound of the wind and the distant crackle of Maros’ magic.

Zarin stood frozen, his breath coming in short gasps. He had seen Maros use magic before, but never like this. The sheer power of it, the coldness in Maros’ voice—it sent a chill down his spine.

Reya sheathed her sword, her eyes narrowing as she turned to Maros. “You could have done that sooner.”

Maros didn’t respond. He stared at the spot where the creatures had been, his expression unreadable.

Before Zarin could say anything, a voice rang out from the shadows of the ruins.

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“Well, well. I thought I sensed your magic, Maros.”

Zarin’s blood ran cold. The voice was low and smooth, but there was something dangerous about it, something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

A figure stepped out from behind one of the crumbling pillars, his face half-hidden beneath the hood of a tattered cloak. His eyes gleamed with a cold, knowing light as he approached, his movements fluid and confident.

Reya’s hand went to her sword, but the man raised a hand, stopping her.

“I’m not here to fight,” the stranger said, his gaze flicking to Maros. “At least, not unless I have to.”

Zarin glanced at Maros, expecting the old mage to react, but Maros remained still, his face expressionless.

“You should have stayed hidden, Rovan,” Maros said quietly, his voice filled with an edge Zarin hadn’t heard before. “This isn’t your concern.”

Rovan smiled, a cold, calculating smile. “Oh, but it is. You’re still chasing the Spire, aren’t you? Still clinging to your old ambitions?”

Zarin’s heart raced. Whoever this man was, he clearly knew Maros—and not just as an acquaintance. There was history here, something deeper than just a passing connection.

“What’s going on?” Zarin asked, stepping forward. “Who is this?”

Rovan chuckled, his gaze flicking to Zarin with mild curiosity. “I’m an old friend of Maros. Or at least, I was, before he decided that he wanted to change the world.”

Maros’ jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

Reya’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, change the world?”

Rovan tilted his head, his smile widening. “You really don’t know, do you? Maros here hasn’t told you the full story.”

Zarin’s pulse quickened. “What story?”

Rovan turned to Maros, his expression mocking. “Tell them, Maros. Tell them why you really want to reach the Spire. Tell them about your deal with the Ascendants.”

The words hit Zarin like a blow. His mind raced, trying to process what he had just heard. A deal with the Ascendants? Maros had been their enemy, their guide in the fight against the Ascendants’ control. But now…

Zarin turned to Maros, his chest tight. “Is it true?”

Maros met his gaze, his expression hard. “It’s complicated.”

Zarin’s heart pounded in his chest, the doubt that had been gnawing at him for days finally surfacing in full force. “You made a deal with them? With the Ascendants?”

Maros’ eyes darkened. “I did what I had to do —to survive,” Maros finished, his voice as cold as the wind cutting through the ruins. His words hung in the air, sharp and final.

Zarin’s breath caught in his throat, the weight of the revelation sinking into him like a stone. Everything he had believed about Maros—his guidance, his wisdom—was now clouded with doubt. Maros had made a deal with the very beings who had enslaved Zarin’s siblings, who had destroyed the elemental kingdoms and twisted the world to their will.

Rovan stepped closer, his smile widening as he watched Zarin’s reaction. “Oh, he hasn’t told you the half of it. Maros didn’t just survive, boy. He thrived. The Ascendants gave him power, and he used it—until he decided that wasn’t enough.”

Zarin turned to Maros, his chest tightening with anger. “Is that true?”

Maros held Zarin’s gaze, his expression unreadable. “I made choices. Difficult choices. But not all of them were wrong.”

Reya stepped forward, her hand still resting on her sword, her eyes narrowing at Maros. “You made choices that led you to work with the Ascendants? How can we trust anything you say?”

Maros’ jaw tightened, his knuckles white around his staff. “It’s not as simple as you think. I sought knowledge, not servitude. The Ascendants offered me something—insight into the Old Magic, the same power that runs through Zarin. But their goals and mine diverged.”

“So what did you give them in return?” Zarin’s voice was sharp, his anger boiling over. “What price did you pay for their power?”

Maros hesitated, his eyes flickering with something that Zarin couldn’t quite place—regret, perhaps, or guilt. “I kept secrets. I helped them suppress knowledge of the Old Magic, to keep their grip on the world. But I never supported their tyranny.”

Zarin’s heart pounded in his chest, the cold air burning in his lungs as he tried to process Maros’ words. His mind raced with conflicting emotions—anger, betrayal, and a deep, unsettling doubt. Everything he had believed in was now in question.

“You used us,” Reya said, her voice filled with quiet fury. “You’ve been leading us to the Spire for your own reasons, haven’t you? Not to help Zarin, but to get the power for yourself.”

Maros shook his head, his expression hardening. “No. The Spire is a key, yes, but not just for me. For Zarin. The power locked away there will help him break free of the Ascendants’ control. It will help all of us.”

Rovan let out a soft laugh. “He’s telling the truth, in his own twisted way. Maros doesn’t want the Ascendants to rule anymore—not because he cares about you, but because he wants to take their place.”

Zarin’s blood ran cold. “Take their place?”

Maros’ eyes snapped to Rovan, his voice sharp. “That’s enough.”

Rovan shrugged, his smile never fading. “Don’t play the martyr, Maros. You’ve always wanted power, control. That’s why you sought out the Spire in the first place. You think you can reshape the world in your own image, just like the Ascendants did.”

Zarin felt his hands shaking, the anger inside him building with every word. Maros, the one who had guided him, the one who had taught him how to harness his power—he had been leading them all toward his own twisted goal. Zarin wasn’t just a student or an ally to Maros. He was a means to an end.

Reya took a step forward, her sword half-drawn. “I’ve heard enough. If Maros is using us to gain power, then we can’t trust him.”

Maros’ gaze hardened as he looked at Reya. “You don’t understand what’s at stake here. The Spire isn’t just a place of power—it’s the last hope to break the Ascendants’ grip on the world. Zarin’s power is the key to unlocking it. And yes, I need him. But that doesn’t mean I’ve betrayed you.”

Zarin’s heart raced, the conflict inside him tearing at his thoughts. He could feel the weight of his power, the burden of the choices ahead. He glanced at Reya, her expression fierce and determined, and then at Maros, whose eyes burned with a cold intensity.

“I don’t know if I can trust you,” Zarin said, his voice trembling with anger. “Everything you’ve done, everything you’ve said—how do I know it isn’t just another manipulation?”

Maros stepped closer, his gaze unwavering. “You don’t have to trust me. But you must understand this: the Ascendants are the real threat. They’ve ruled through fear and power for too long. The Spire is our chance to change that. If you want to free your siblings, to free yourself, you need the power that lies within the Spire. And you need me to help you unlock it.”

Zarin clenched his fists, the raw energy inside him swirling just beneath the surface. He could feel the storm brewing, the power demanding to be unleashed. But beneath the anger, beneath the uncertainty, was the undeniable truth: Maros was right about one thing. The Ascendants were the true enemy.

Before Zarin could respond, Rovan spoke again, his voice laced with amusement. “It seems like you have a choice to make, Zarin. You can either follow Maros to the Spire, or you can turn back and leave the fate of the world in the hands of the Ascendants.”

Zarin’s breath came in short bursts, his mind racing. He wanted to walk away, to leave Maros and his lies behind, but he knew that he couldn’t. The Spire held the answers he needed—the power to defeat the Ascendants and free his siblings. But now, that path seemed more dangerous than ever.

Reya stepped closer to Zarin, her voice quiet but firm. “Whatever you decide, Zarin, I’m with you. But we need to be sure about this. We can’t afford to be wrong.”

Zarin looked at her, seeing the trust in her eyes, the belief that they were fighting for something greater. He had relied on her strength, her loyalty, and now, in this moment, he knew that whatever decision he made, she would stand by him.

He turned to Maros, his voice steady but filled with resolve. “We go to the Spire. But if you betray me, Maros—if you use me the way the Ascendants have—I will stop you.”

Maros’ eyes darkened, but he nodded. “I understand.”

Rovan chuckled softly, stepping back into the shadows. “Well, this is going to be interesting.”

With that, he disappeared into the ruins, his presence vanishing as quickly as it had come.

Zarin’s heart pounded as he watched him go, the weight of his decision settling over him like a heavy cloak. The Spire was close now, but the road ahead was more uncertain than ever.

And as they set off once more, Zarin couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever waited for them at the Spire would change everything.