The journey had begun.

Kaelith stood at the entrance of the crypt beneath the palace, the stone door creaking under the pressure of the ritual they were about to undertake. Ryn stood beside them, clutching the worn tome like a lifeline. The young scholar had not spoken much since the decision had been made, their resolve hardening with each step deeper into the darkened tomb. This was no simple summoning—they were about to unearth the stories of the dead adventurers who had once sought the Heart of Harrowstone, and each spirit would reveal a piece of the artifact's elusive puzzle.

The crypt was an ancient place, untouched by time and hidden from the world above. The air smelled of old stone, incense, and dust. Kaelith could feel the weight of countless dead pressing in from all sides, their stories and sins woven into the very walls. There was power here, ancient and twisted, a raw energy that hummed just beneath the surface.

Ryn looked at Kaelith, uncertainty flickering in their eyes. “Are you sure this is the place? These ruins… they feel… wrong.”

Kaelith’s eyes, sharp and unblinking, swept the crypt's dark corners. “The dead are never kind, scholar. They do not dwell in places of warmth. But this is where the first adventurer fell. We need to speak to him before we can move on.”

The necromancer drew a circle on the ground with chalk, each symbol carved with the precision of a master. It was a binding circle, designed to hold the spirits they would summon. In the center of the circle, Kaelith placed a single black candle, the flame burning steadily even as the air grew colder. They whispered the ancient incantations, the words coming as naturally as breathing, pulling the energies of the dead closer, coaxing them from their eternal rest.

At first, there was only silence. Then, a low hum—a vibration that seemed to pulse through the walls themselves. The shadows shifted unnaturally, drawing inward toward the candle’s flame.

A ghostly figure appeared, taking form in the center of the circle. His outline was faint, but as he solidified, the remnants of his once-gleaming armor became visible. His face, though pale and gaunt, still held traces of youth and arrogance. The adventurer had died long ago, but his spirit remained bound to this place, his tale unfinished.

“You seek my tale, necromancer?” The spirit’s voice was a hollow whisper, as though it came from a great distance, echoing across time and space. His eyes glimmered with an eerie light, focused on Kaelith. “You seek the Heart of Harrowstone?”

Kaelith’s voice was steady as stone. “Yes. We seek the Heart. Your story holds the first key. Tell us where you fell.”

The adventurer laughed—a sound like dry leaves scraping across the floor. “My story is not one you will wish to hear, necromancer. I sought the Heart, as many before me. But I was not worthy. None of us were. We came here for immortality, and instead we found only death.”

This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Ryn stepped forward, eyes wide with both awe and fear. “You… you were one of the first?”

The ghost’s expression twisted in something like sorrow. “Yes. We were the first of many to perish in our search. The Heart is not a gift for mortals, not for those who seek power. It is a curse—a lure that destroys all who chase it.”

Kaelith raised a hand, signaling for silence. “Tell us what you know. Where did your journey end? How did you fall?”

The spirit hesitated, then sighed—a sound like the wind over a graveyard. “We came to the ruins of Harrowstone, deep within the mountains. The Heart was said to lie hidden there, waiting for someone strong enough to claim it. We were fools, young and foolish, believing we could control its power. We fought among ourselves, betrayed each other, until I alone remained.”

Ryn’s breath caught in their throat. “And you died alone?”

The adventurer nodded. “Yes. The Heart was never meant to be claimed. Not by anyone. I perished in the ruins, my bones buried under centuries of dust. But the Heart… it calls out still. Even in death, I can feel it. And I know now that no one will ever find it—not without paying a price greater than they can imagine.”

Kaelith leaned forward, their gaze hard and calculating. “What price? Tell us what we need to know.”

The ghost's eyes flickered with a sorrowful gleam. “The Heart requires a sacrifice, necromancer. A soul. A life. The moment you touch it, it will claim you, body and soul. And the worst part… you will never know if you are worthy of its power until it is too late.”

Ryn’s hands tightened around the tome, and they turned to Kaelith. “Is it worth the risk? What if the stories are true? What if the Heart is the only way to end the war?”

Kaelith’s gaze remained fixed on the spirit. “If the Heart is as dangerous as this one claims, then we must tread carefully. But there is more to this story—there are more adventurers, more deaths. We need to know everything.”

The adventurer's form flickered, as if the pull of the grave was tugging him back. “You will learn nothing more from me, necromancer. The Heart calls to you, but it will devour you as it devoured us all. The others… the others will tell you the same. The Heart of Harrowstone is a curse. And you would do well to turn away now.”

With that, the adventurer's form faded, his voice dissolving into the shadows, leaving nothing but the lingering echo of his words.

Kaelith stood in silence for a long moment, the weight of the spirit’s warning heavy in the air. Finally, they turned to Ryn, their eyes hard and unyielding.

“We continue,” Kaelith said, their voice a quiet command. “We will find the others. We will uncover the truth. But we must be prepared—for the Heart is not a simple relic. It is a trial, one that will test us in ways we cannot yet comprehend.”

Ryn nodded, though doubt lingered in their eyes. “What will we do once we find it? And if the price is as steep as this adventurer says, what happens then?”

Kaelith looked at the flickering candle flame, their gaze distant. “We will face the price when it comes. For now, we need to know everything. And the only way forward is to summon the next spirit.”

As the necromancer began preparing for the next summoning, the walls of the crypt seemed to close in tighter, as if the dead themselves were watching. The quest for the Heart of Harrowstone was far from over, but one thing was clear—the further they ventured into the past, the more the shadows would demand.

And those who sought the Heart would not walk away unchanged.

The dead had already warned them. But Kaelith and Ryn had already chosen their path.

The question now was whether they would survive the journey.