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Chapter 5: The Canyon of Echoes — Part 1
The road out of Eldrith twisted through the mist like a scar. By dawn, the city's spires had vanished behind the hills, swallowed by fog and distance. Only the dull clang of the watch-bells lingered—one final heartbeat from the life Raph was leaving behind.
Each step felt heavier than the last. The path was narrow, bordered by cliffs that rose like the ribs of a giant. Wind moaned through the ravine, carrying voices that weren't voices at all. They called his name in tones that shifted between whisper and roar.
> I thought I'd known fear, I remember thinking. But fear is quiet when you walk alone into something the world itself doesn't trust.
The canyon opened before him: a vast wound in the earth, walls painted in shades of rust and bone. Light couldn't stay steady here—it flickered, bending around invisible currents of Ember. The stories said this was where the first mages of gravity had torn open the ground during the Ember Wars, and that the canyon still remembered every scream.
Raph swallowed hard and pressed forward.
Loose stones slid beneath his boots. Somewhere high above, a winged creature circled, its shadow gliding along the canyon floor. The air grew colder. The Embers beneath his skin stirred restlessly, sensing the concentration of old magic that slept in these rocks.
He reached the first archway—an ancient formation carved with runes long dead. The marks glowed faintly as he passed beneath them, reacting to the storm of power inside him. The canyon knew him.
A low vibration thrummed through the ground.
Raph stopped.
The sound deepened—stone grinding against stone—and from the dust ahead, shapes began to rise.
Figures of blackened rock took form: tall, twisted guardians molded by the canyon's memory. Their eyes burned with dull orange fire.
Raph's heartbeat quickened. He raised his hand instinctively, and flame flared to life.
"Just echoes," he whispered. "You're only echoes."
The guardians lunged.
Fire met stone. Sparks scattered, blinding. The air filled with the scent of burnt dust. Raph stepped back, summoning water to douse the flames before they consumed him. Steam roared upward, shrouding the battlefield in mist. He shifted his weight, felt gravity bend under his command, and launched himself higher than any human should leap.
From above, he extended both hands, weaving the Embers together—fire and earth twisting into molten arrows. They rained down, piercing the guardians' cores. One shattered; another staggered, collapsing into shards.
But the third caught him off guard. It swung a jagged arm, striking his shoulder. Pain exploded through him; he hit the ground hard, vision flashing white. The creature loomed, ready to crush him.
> Not yet, I thought, fury rising. I'm not done.
Darkness coiled around his hand. For the first time, he let it. The shadow moved like liquid smoke, wrapping the guardian's arm, draining its heat, its motion, its will. When the black fog cleared, the creature was stone once more—lifeless, cold.
Raph staggered to his feet, chest heaving. The canyon fell silent again, except for the wind. He could feel every Ember trembling inside him—some with pride, others with warning. Darkness lingered the longest, whispering softly.
He looked down at his hands. They shook, faint traces of black mist curling between his fingers. "Control," he muttered. "I have to control it."
The canyon gave no answer.
Instead, the whispering wind returned—louder now, more like a voice carried from far away. And within that voice was a message, faint but clear:
> Come deeper, child of all Embers. Your trial waits where echoes end.
Raph wiped the blood from his lip, squared his shoulders, and started walking again.
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