Strong arms caught him, breaking his fall. He blinked, his vision blurry, and saw Andromeda's face swimming into view. Her expression was grim, her brow furrowed with concern, but her grip was firm.
"Easy there," she said, her voice barely a whisper above the wind. "It's over. We made it."
He looked around, trying to gather his bearings. The obsidian plains, with their jagged rocks and malevolent energy, were gone. In their place was a lush forest, the air thick with the scent of pine and damp earth. Sunlight dappled through the canopy, painting the forest floor in shifting patterns of light and shadow. They stood on a narrow path, the remnants of the portal shimmering behind them like a heat haze.
Toula and Maverick, their faces pale but relieved, rushed to his side, their voices a mixture of concern and relief.
"Are you alright?" Toula asked, her hand hovering over his arm as if afraid to touch him.
"You scared us back there," Maverick added, his voice trembling slightly. "That spell… it was like nothing I've ever seen."
Pag managed a weak smile. "I'm alright," he said, his voice raspy. "Just… drained. That place… and that kind of fighting, it takes a lot out of you."
He glanced back at the portal, now fading into nothingness. He couldn't shake the feeling that the obsidian plains, with their oppressive atmosphere and terrifying inhabitants, were watching them, waiting for their return. He shuddered, turning his back on the unsettling sight.
A notification, crisp and businesslike, appeared in his vision, pulling him from his thoughts:
You have faced the obsidian blades and emerged victorious. Your mastery over fire magic has been tested and proven. The land itself recognizes your strength. A new path has opened to you. Seek the Lunar Oracle in the city of Kyrbane. She will guide you towards the resolution of the crown prince of Draggor’s assassination.
Reward: Access to the Lunar Empire, Mark of the Flamebringer>
Pag stared at the notification, his mind racing. He glanced at Andromeda, who was watching him with a curious expression.
"We really need to get to Kyrbane," he said, a new determination hardening his voice. "There's someone I need to meet."
A wave of exhaustion, unlike anything he had ever felt before, crashed over pag. his vision swam, and the world tilted precariously. It felt as though the very ground was surging upward, ready to swallow him whole. The world dissolved into a dizzying swirl of colors and shapes, and he braced hisself for the impact, for the oblivion that he was sure awaited...but it never came.
Strong arms caught him, breaking his fall. Blinking, Pag tried to clear my blurry vision and saw Andromeda’s face swimming into focus. Her expression was grim, her brow furrowed with concern, but her grip was firm, anchoring me to reality.
"Are you alright?" Toula asked, her hand hovering hesitantly over my arm.
"You scared us back there," Maverick added, his voice trembling slightly. "That spell… it was like nothing I've ever seen".
Pag forced a weak smile, my lips feeling stiff and dry. "I'm alright," he croaked, his voice barely a whisper. "Just… drained. That place… it takes a lot out of you".
As they fussed over him, pag glanced back at the spot where the portal had shimmered moments before. It was gone, vanished without a trace, leaving behind only the swirling snow and the oppressive silence of the obsidian plains. The encounter with the obsidian blades had left me shaken. Andromeda’s words echoed in my mind: "They are not mere creatures, Pag. They are spirits of shadow and anger, given form by the land itself." They were more than just creatures; they were a manifestation of the land’s resentment, its fury. A chilling thought.
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They pressed on, eager to leave the unsettling atmosphere of the plains behind. As they journeyed towards Kyrbane, the landscape gradually softened. The desolate plains gave way to rolling hills, and the biting wind subsided, replaced by a gentle breeze that carried the scent of pine and damp earth. The remnants of a once-great forest stood in the distance, a stark reminder of the power of the obsidian blades.
The pale, highland forest thinned with every step, the canopy giving way to moon-drenched sky as the party pressed on. Pag’s boots whispered over fallen needles and brittle shale, the rhythm of their movement broken only by the occasional crackle of a twig or the wind curling through hollow branches like some ancient spirit sighing in sleep. A hush had settled over them—not tense, but reverent, as though the forest itself watched, waiting to see what they would bring with them into its heart.
Pag's gaze swept the horizon. The ruins Toula had mentioned shimmered in the distance, just past the treeline—tumbled stone cloaked in vines and moonlight, half-swallowed by the loam of forgotten centuries. The bones of a city lost to time. No name, no history. Just the shape of memory worn into stone.
Maverick, still riding high on Toula’s back, let out a soft whistle. “That it?”
Toula nodded, her voice low. “What’s left of it. That grove up ahead—don’t stray off the path. Even the roots remember.”
Andromeda’s metallic fingers twitched at her side, adjusting the grip on her blade. “You ever see anything move in there that shouldn’t?”
“Yes,” Toula replied without pause.
A chill danced down Pag’s spine. He didn’t ask for details.
As they crested a shallow rise, the full breadth of the forest unfurled before them—a shadowy sea of silver and black, dotted with bioluminescent fungi and mist that clung low to the undergrowth. The wind changed. Carried on it came the scent of stone dust, damp lichen, and something fainter still—sweet, like honeysuckle and old magic. The kind that didn’t ask permission.
Pag slowed, his hand instinctively brushing against the vambrace on his arm. A soft hum responded—faint but steady. Magic thickened here, more than wild. Intentional.
Andromeda noticed. “Your gear reacting?”
He nodded. “Something old. Layered, like… like we’re walking through wards. Or memories.”
Toula bent low and touched the soil with her bare fingers. “This place is built on what came before. Like Kyrbane. You’ll see when we get there. The forest has teeth—but Kyrbane has roots.”
Behind them, the last glimmer of the portal faded fully from the horizon. Ahead, the path narrowed, forcing them into single file. The forest became tighter here, the trees arching inward, bark slick with dew and glowing moss. Pag could feel something beneath the ground—subtle tremors, almost like breathing. Not dangerous. Not yet.
They passed under a natural arch of stone, its face carved with glyphs so worn they could barely be seen in the low light. But Pag’s vision, sharpened by long exposure to the ember magic within him, caught them—swirls, stars, an eye split down the center. Symbols of observation and judgment. Watchers.
The notification flared and vanished. And almost immediately, the world blurred.
The forest twisted.
Shapes emerged—not physically, but as echoes. Translucent figures walked the path before them—flickering images of people long gone, speaking in forgotten tongues, carrying banners etched with the same split-eye glyph. A procession. A ritual. And then…
Fire.
The vision snapped into a scene of ruin. The procession broken. Screams. Beasts formed of smoke and blades. A clash of magic and iron and howling void.
Pag stumbled, heart hammering, but the vision passed. The path returned.
“Everyone see that?” he asked quietly.
Andromeda’s face was pale. “Yes.”
Toula’s voice trembled slightly. “They were fleeing something.”
Pag turned his gaze to the dark beyond the trees. “Or burying it.”
They continued, more cautious now, until the forest gave way to the edge of a shallow ravine. Beyond it, silhouetted in the pre-dawn light, stood Kyrbane.
The city rose in elegant defiance of nature—built not on stone alone, but grown from it. Towering spires wrapped in living bark and crystalline veins rose like trees dreaming of flight. Bridges of petrified root arced between buildings. Pale blue fires danced in lanterns that hovered freely above open plazas. A waterfall, lit from within by some unseen source, cascaded in slow rivulets down the side of the city’s outer walls, feeding a moss-ringed basin below.
Kyrbane was not a city that had been built.
It had been sung into existence.
Pag stopped at the ridge, breath caught in his throat.
“Well,” Maverick said softly, “you weren’t kidding about the roots.”
Andromeda gave a low, appreciative whistle. “We’ll need to be careful how we step. Cities like that don’t forget the past.”
Pag nodded slowly. “And if the past is coming back?”
Toula’s face hardened, eyes sharp as flint. “Then we’d best find the Oracle before it does.”
And with that, they descended toward Kyrbane—into a city of song and shadow, where even the stones had stories to tell.