THORNWAKE RUINS | EMBERDEEP
D3 | 990 U.V
—
The hearth flickers like memory trying to hold a warm glow in a room that never asks too much. Kaelen Vire stands at the edge of a fire that never burns too hot. The walls breathe with old magic: their texture familiar, like the inside of a dream woven from every almost-home he has ever lost. Shadows curl in the corners: harmless and soft. Somewhere, someone is humming a lullaby in a language no one speaks anymore. Only Kaelen's body remembers the frequency.
A hand reaches across the table. His name: not the one he wears now, but the one he shed when the Ley almost claimed him, echoes gently beneath his skin.
"Come closer, Little Spark."
He wants to. The pressure of the room is inviting a low humming comfort. His shoulders ease his twin crescent blades crossed like a holy sigil on his back do not hum with threat here. Even the runes inked into his arms feel still calm and quiet.
And then the pressure spikes.
"KAELEN!"
The impact is devastating. A full-bodied slam sends him flying off his feet, shattering the illusion like a mirror smashed from behind. His head collides with the ruined stone, the familiar scent of firewood and clover replaced by the foul odor of rot and cracked moss. When he finally opens his eyes, the cathedral he once knew is now a twisted ruin, its memories intertwined with thorns. Above him, crouched like a wolf caught mid-sprint, stands Rook Dastan.
Rook's golden eyes are wide, runes flaring blue beneath his sweat and blood. He is bleeding from the cheek, his hair tousled and damp from the subterranean heat. With bronze skin and broad shoulders, Rook resembles a half-forgotten god from ancient war statues, an ancient prince resurrected for the end of the world. His tunic is half-scorched, and his coat flaps behind him like a banner of defiance.
"You were moaning," Rook pants, bracing himself over Kaelen. "Walking into a mimic gate like you wanted to marry it."
Kaelen blinks the daze away, tasting the atmospheric weight of the trap he nearly tripped. "You tackled me."
"You are welcome."
"Hard."
"You are welcome."
Kaelen groans, pushing himself upright. His coat is a rune-stitched blend of obsidian fiber and salvaged techplate that shifts with him. It is built for battle, stitched with ash-thread and prayer-wire. His locs are perfectly twisted despite the heat, tied low at the nape and damp with effort. His skin is bronze-gold, the tattoos on his neck pulse with sigils earned, not gifted.
Around them, the ruined cathedral groans. Long vines slither across shattered tile: a dead drone buzzes in the corner, sputtering bursts of static. It is too old to be real.
As Kaelen studies it, he feels the pressure of time around the machine. "Temporal artifact," he mutters. "From before the loss of the surface."
"Like from before the VeilWars?" Rook asks.
"Ley-time rupture. It slipped through, proof something is wrong with the local synchronization."
A laugh cuts through the ruin like silver on glass.
Thalinar.
He emerges from the far wall as if he were grown from it. Bare-chested and barefoot, he is crowned in sacrilegious bone and ivy. His skin is brown-gold, coiled with power. Tattoos stretch across him like living ink, whispering as they move. His eyes are opal-white, pupils like cracks in glass. They emit a radiant glow, consumed by something that might've shattered the very fabric of his existence.
"Aw," he says, his voice rich with smugness. "Did I interrupt something sacred?"
Kaelen's crescent blades are in his hands before the smile fades. "Flank," Kaelen says.
Rook grins. "Gladly."
Kaelen launches himself to the left, his form folding into shadow and warping with ley-fed magic. He vanishes, reappearing mid-air behind Thalinar with one blade already spinning. Steel sings as flesh answers. The blade bites into Thalinar's shoulder, causing the Fae to scream raw and furious. His body lights up green as corrupted magic lashes outward.
Kaelen flips backward, narrowly missing the first blast. Rook is already moving, cartwheeling through rubble like a dancer on fire. He throws twin sigils like knives, which explode into blasts of blue light that split the air.
"Gods, you are dramatic," Rook shouts. "Was the crown really necessary?"
Thalinar sneers, hurling a curse-sigil that warps space as it flies. It clips Rook's thigh, causing him to hiss and roll behind a pillar. Kaelen, however, remains unfazed and charges forward. He skillfully slides under a swinging vine, slashes twice, and then whips his left blade backward in a crescent arc that cuts through summoned bark and blood. Thalinar lets out another howl, his body smoking from the gash.
"You do not understand," Thalinar gasps. "Something is coming."
"Not my concern," Kaelen's response is cold and clean.
Rook jumps off a broken archway. "Hey! Catch!" He lands both feet square on Thalinar's back, slamming him forward into Kaelen's waiting blade. The metal punches through magic and bone. Thalinar screams, the sound bouncing like a metronome.
Kaelen withdraws, blood sprays the stone. Rook flips back, sticking the landing while wincing as his rune-arm pulses with feedback.
I am certain I am bleeding in four places," Rook says, grinning through the pain. "This better come with a bonus."
Thalinar slams his palms into the stone, casting a last-ditch burst of force. The ground fractures, vines writhe from the floor like tongues. Kaelen carves a circle mid-air with his blades, charging a binding glyph with one hand.
"We are not killing him, correct?" Rook shouts, dodging a vine.
"Contain," Kaelen commands.
"This is going to hurt,"Rook snorts.
They move in perfect synchronization. Kaelen lunges low, slashing at Thalinar's knees. Rook leaps high, planting both feet firmly into Thalinar's chest just as Kaelen drives the burning glyph into his sternum. A blinding light erupts, instantly freezing the stasis locks and killing the vines. The ruin falls silent.
Thalinar is frozen in mid-scream, blood dripping from the corners of his mouth. Kaelen gasps for breath, while Rook collapses against a pillar, chest rising and falling with each labored breath.
"That was not subtle," Rook mutters. "And I am definitely concussed."
"We… might be getting paid less," Kaelen says.
"Do you wish to fight me?" Rook complains. "I kissed a mimic, you raggedy son of a bitch."
Kaelen kneels beside Thalinar's suspended form, the air still rippling where the stasis lock holds him. He draws one blade, its tip etched with a cancellation rune. He taps it against the glowing glyph on Thalinar's chest. A shimmer rolls outward like a sheet of wind.
The temporal freeze shatters. Thalinar jerks as time snaps back, and he gasps and chokes on the scream that never finished. The glyph of containment holds, bands of blue-gold crackling around his limbs.
"Where are the children?" Kaelen asks, his voice low and dangerous.
Thalinar smirks, his opal eyes wide. "You think you are not still dreaming? You always were."
Kaelen lifts a finger, tracing a sigil mid-air. A detection rune meant to unravel layered illusion. The mark pulses, then flares bright.
Rook stiffens. "Are we still inside it?"
"No. Not fully," Kaelen frowns. "A collapsed field with residual imprint. Like echoes."
Thalinar exhales, his eyes closing. "Some doors never close, Little Spark. You just forget they are open."
Kaelen leans closer, his blades humming. "And some doors get sealed shut with bone and blood. I will not ask again."
Thalinar's smile falters. "Check the lower crypts," he whispers. "Third chamber. Under the organ bed. But you must hurry."
"Why?"
"Because one of them is still alive. And the mark of three calls."
—