The northern frostlands of Winterbell stretched endlessly, a white abyss beneath a pale sky. Beneath that silence, guarded by nothing but biting winds and half-buried ruins, lay the place the coordinates pointed to.
Flynn stood at the ridge's edge, cloak flapping like a torn banner behind him. Beside him, Elior scanned the distance, while Khalid kept a hand on his sword silent, but alert.
"We're close," Flynn murmured. His breath came out in a puff of frost. "Too quiet."
The old temple half-sunk in ice below was not marked on any current map. Only the oldest texts spoke of it a place once called Velhara, known as the Temple of Pacts, built by the first bloodline of mages during the Elarian golden age.
"It's a tomb," Elior said under his breath. "Not just of stone, but of secrets."
Flynn nodded. "Then let's wake them."
They descended the slope. The entrance had caved in long ago, but the symbols above the broken arch remained untouched Elarian glyphs Caelan once memorized as a child during his first command.
Inside, torchlight flickered over smooth, frost-coated stone. A trail of footsteps led deeper into the sanctum.
Not theirs.
Someone had arrived first.
Flynn held up a hand to halt the others. "We're not alone."
Khalid stepped forward, voice steady. "If it's Thorne, he's been expecting us."
And he had.
A voice echoed from the far chamber. Low. Familiar.
"Five years, and you finally come."
They entered the heart of the ruin a circular chamber, the ceiling long collapsed, exposing a ring of jagged ice and dying light. In the center stood a man draped in black fur and crimson-gold robes. His silver hair had grown long, tied back, and the scar across his lip hadn't healed clean.
Varian Thorne.
He turned, golden eyes matching Khalid's too perfectly to be coincidence. "Hello, brother."
Elior cursed under his breath.
Khalid froze.
Flynn stepped forward. "You're alive."
Varian tilted his head. "And you're... different."
His gaze sharpened. "Strange. You carry yourself like Caelan... but you're not him."
Flynn's jaw tightened.
"You know nothing of Caelan," Khalid spat.
"Oh?" Varian grinned. "You stabbed him in the back, didn't you? I'd say you knew him quite well."
Khalid drew his blade. "Enough."
But Varian was already moving hands glowing, ice magic lashing out across the floor.
A trap sprung.
The chamber shook. Walls collapsed behind them, cutting off escape. From the shadows, cloaked figures emerged masked warriors bearing the sigil of a burning eye.
The Ember Hand.
Flynn raised his blade, heart pounding.
Varian smiled like a ghost come to collect.
"Now let's see if the ghost of a prince can still bleed."