The air in Evershade smelled of pine and iron, a sharp tang that clung to the back of Kaela’s throat as she knelt beside the broken stone. Her fingers traced the cracks in the relic’s surface, jagged lines etched by something older than the kingdom’s first king. The map had led her here—past the crumbling watchtower, through the thorned undergrowth where no one dared tread—and now the weight of it pressed against her palm, warm as a heartbeat. She didn’t know what it was, only that the old tales spoke of it in hushed tones, a key to a world that had long since burned out.
A gust of wind scoured the ridge, whipping Kaela’s cloak into a tangle of shadows. She glanced over her shoulder, half-expecting to see the hunters from the village, their torches flickering like dying stars. But the valley below was still, the fog curling around the base of the mountains like a serpent coiled for strike. The relic hummed faintly, a sound she felt more than heard, and she swallowed hard. This was it. The thing that had drawn her here, that had whispered through her dreams in fragments of song and broken syllables.
She stood, brushing dust from her knees, and turned toward the pass. The path ahead was a wound in the earth, a narrow trail carved by ancient hands and forgotten gods. The sky above was a bruise of violet and gold, the sun sinking behind the peaks like a stone dropped into a well. Kaela’s boots crunched over gravel as she moved, each step echoing in the silence. The air grew colder, thick with the scent of wet stone and something else—something metallic, like blood on a blade.
The first shadow came at dusk.
It didn’t move like a man. It slithered, a ripple of darkness that pooled at the edge of her vision before vanishing into the trees. Kaela froze, her breath shallow, as the relic flared in her hand—a sudden burst of silver light that made the shadows recoil. The thing hissed, a sound like glass shattering, and lunged. She stumbled back, fingers fumbling for the dagger at her belt, but the thing was already gone, swallowed by the trees. Her pulse roared in her ears as she pressed a hand to the relic, its heat seeping into her skin. It wasn’t afraid of her. Not yet.
The next night, she found the ruins.
They rose from the earth like the bones of a dead god, their stone faces worn smooth by time and wind. Kaela stepped through the shattered archway, her torch casting flickering shapes on the walls. The air here was different—thicker, heavier, as if the silence itself had weight. She ran her hand over a carved sigil, its edges still sharp despite the centuries. The relic pulsed in response, and suddenly the carvings glowed, lines of light weaving across the stone like veins of molten silver.
A voice echoed in her mind, not spoken but felt, a vibration that rattled her bones. *The gate is sealed, but the key remains.* Kaela’s breath hitched. She had heard this before, in the stories her grandmother told by the fire—of a world beyond the Veil, where light and shadow bled into one. The relic was not a key. It was a wound.
She didn’t sleep that night. The shadows outside the ruins pressed closer, their forms shifting like smoke. When dawn came, she left the ruins behind, her fingers still tingling from the sigil’s touch. The path ahead narrowed, the trees closing in until the sky was a sliver of blue above her. The relic grew heavier in her hand, its light dimming as if retreating from something unseen.
Then she saw the tower.
It loomed at the edge of a cliff, its spire piercing the sky like a blade. The stone was black, smooth and unbroken, as if it had been carved from the night itself. Kaela hesitated, her hand tightening around the relic. This was where the stories ended, where the last light of Evershade had died. She stepped forward, and the tower welcomed her with a whisper of wind that carried no sound.
Inside, the air was cold, laced with the scent of old paper and something else—something sweet and rotting. The walls were lined with shelves, their contents shifting when she looked away. A door stood at the far end, its surface etched with the same sigils as the ruins. Kaela approached, her boots echoing in the silence. The relic flared again, brighter this time, and the door creaked open.
Beyond it was a room that should not have existed. The ceiling stretched into darkness, stars flickering like distant fires. The floor was a mosaic of shattered glass, each piece reflecting a different world. Kaela’s breath caught. She had seen this before—in dreams, in the fragments of the old tales. This was the threshold.
A figure stood at the center, cloaked in shadows that moved like living things. When it turned, Kaela saw its face: not a face, but a shifting mask of light and void. *You have come far,* it said, its voice a chorus of whispers. *But the gate is not open. The key is not whole.*
The relic in her hand grew hot, searing her skin. Kaela gritted her teeth, ignoring the pain. She had come too far to turn back. The figure tilted its head, and suddenly the room was filled with voices—memories, dreams, echoes of lives she had never lived. She stumbled, clutching the relic as the weight of it pressed against her chest.
*Choose,* the figure said. *Light or shadow. Truth or illusion.*
Kaela closed her eyes. The relic burned, and she saw it—images flashing through her mind, a thousand possibilities, a thousand endings. She saw herself standing at the edge of the Veil, the world behind her crumbling into dust. She saw the tower falling, the sky splitting open, the light consuming everything. And she saw another path, one where the relic was not a key but a sacrifice, a price paid in fire and memory.
When she opened her eyes, the figure was gone. The room was silent, the stars above dimming as if waiting. Kaela stepped forward, the relic now cool in her hand. The gate was open. The light was still there, waiting.
She crossed the threshold and did not look back.
