The Thorned Sisters gathered around the hearth, their faces lit by the flickering flames of the firepit. The carved stone Rhea had found lay on the table before them,

its bluish light casting eerie shadows on the rough wooden walls of their lodge. Despite the warmth of the fire, the air felt colder, heavy with the weight of the unknown.

“What do you make of it?” Rhea asked, her voice low as she looked to Zarya.

The eldest daughter leaned forward, her amber eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. She traced the symbols on the stone with a cautious finger, her expression unreadable.

“The runes are ancient,” she said after a moment. “Older than anything I’ve studied. It’s... alive, in a way. Magic flows through it, but it’s wild—untamed.”

“Untamed magic never bodes well,” Vira muttered, crossing her arms over her chest. Her tower shield leaned against the wall nearby, still streaked with blood from the battle.

Nyssa, perched on a stool by the door, twirled an arrow between her fingers. “We should destroy it,” she said. “Bury it, burn it—whatever it takes to get rid of it.”

Eira snorted from where she sat sharpening her spear. “Easier said than done. That thing survived being carried by raiders through gods-know-what. If it’s as powerful as Zarya says,

it won’t go quietly.”

“I don’t like it,” Lira said, pacing the length of the room. Her fiery hair seemed to spark in the firelight, mirroring her restless energy. “That thing brought trouble to our doorstep,

and it’ll bring more. We should toss it in the river and be done with it.”

“No,” Rhea said firmly, her tone silencing the room. “We don’t understand what this is yet. Tossing it away might make things worse. For now, we keep it safe—and find out what it means.”

As if in response to her words, the stone began to hum. A faint, otherworldly sound filled the air, growing louder and more insistent. The sisters exchanged uneasy glances, hands

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instinctively moving to their weapons.

“What in the—” Nyssa began, but she was cut off as the light from the stone flared, filling the room with a blinding brilliance.

When the light faded, they were no longer alone.

A figure stood at the edge of the firelight, cloaked in shadow. It was tall and robed, its face obscured by a hood. The air around it seemed to shimmer, as though it didn’t fully belong to this world.

“Who are you?” Rhea demanded, rising to her feet, her axe already in hand.

The figure raised a hand, palm outward, in a gesture of peace. Its voice was deep and resonant, echoing as though it came from a great distance. “I am a messenger,” it said. “The artifact

you possess is no mere trinket. It is a fragment of an ancient power—a power that must not fall into the wrong hands.”

“What kind of power?” Zarya asked, her eyes narrowing.

The figure’s head turned slightly, as if studying each of them. “The kind that could unmake your world,” it said. “Long ago, it was used by a sorcerer to bend the will of the land itself.

He was defeated, but the artifact was never destroyed. Now, others seek it—those who would awaken its full potential.”

“And why should we trust you?” Lira asked, her daggers glinting in the firelight.

“You have no reason to,” the figure said simply. “But the raiders you faced were only the beginning. There are those far more dangerous who will come for it. If you wish to protect your

home, you must take the artifact to the Cursed Spire—a place where its power can be unmade.”

The room fell silent. The sisters exchanged glances, their thoughts unspoken but clear. To journey to the Cursed Spire was to face untold dangers, to leave their home vulnerable. Yet the

weight of the figure’s words settled heavily upon them.

“What’s the catch?” Rhea finally asked.

The figure’s voice grew softer, almost sorrowful. “The artifact will test you. It will seek to corrupt and divide you. Only the strongest bonds can withstand its influence. Should you

falter... it will consume you.”

The figure began to fade, its form dissolving into the shadows. “Decide quickly, daughters of Draegath,” it said. “For time is not on your side.”

And then it was gone.

For a long moment, no one spoke. The only sound was the crackling of the fire.

“Well,” Nyssa said finally, breaking the silence. “I guess we’ve got a choice to make.”

Rhea stared at the stone, its glow dim but constant. Deep in her gut, she knew there wasn’t a choice at all. “We leave at first light,” she said. “Pack what you need. This isn’t going to be easy.”

Her daughters nodded, their expressions a mix of determination and unease. Together, they began to prepare for the journey ahead, unaware of the trials that awaited them—or the shadows

that already followed in their wake.