The mountain loomed above them, its jagged cliffs wrapped in mist like the folds of a burial shroud. Each step upward felt heavier than the last—not from fatigue, but from the crushing weight of unseen eyes. The mountain wasn't just stone. It was alive, and it remembered.
The air thickened, vibrating with whispers too low to understand. Eira felt them slide over her skin like cold hands. The pull inside her chest became a pounding, as though her heart wanted to tear itself free.
Then the shadows came.
The First Wave
They bled from the mist, dozens of them—phantoms shaped like warriors of old, armored in fractured steel and bone. Their eyes burned with faint gold, their mouths forever open in silent screams. The first of them charged, its blade trailing mist like smoke.
Lucien's sword was already moving, his strike cutting the phantom down in a flash of silver. But instead of falling, the shadow dispersed into ash, only to reform a few steps behind him.
"They won't stay dead!" Eira shouted.
Valtherion's voice was low, steady, commanding. "Then burn them so thoroughly they have nothing left to reform."
He moved like a storm unchained—his great sword sweeping through three phantoms in one brutal arc, scattering them into vapor. His presence alone was enough to carve space in the onslaught, a wall of steel and fury.
Lucien fought beside him, their movements clashing at first, then finding rhythm—shadow and flame weaving together.
And in the heart of it, Eira stood, her pendant glowing as though her blood itself was on fire.
The Key Awakens
The shadows swarmed, clawing at her with hands that passed through steel but bit into flesh. Pain lanced her arms, her sides, her face. She stumbled, the world spinning—until something in her snapped.
Light burst from her chest, blinding-white edged with silver. The nearest phantoms screamed as their forms unraveled, torn apart not by blade, but by sheer radiance.
The mountain itself groaned.
Eira's breath came ragged, her hands trembling as she clutched the pendant. But for the first time, she wasn't only resisting the pull—she was answering it.
The key inside her wasn't just a burden. It was a weapon
The Relentless Climb
The higher they went, the more violent the resistance became. Shadows grew thicker, wielding spears of pure darkness, their armor gleaming with false life. The path narrowed to a ledge where one misstep meant a fall into endless mist.
Lucien's shoulder bled from a spear-graze. Valtherion's blade was notched from the strain of cleaving foes that weren't meant to be killed. Still they fought, their breath steaming in the cold air, their bodies moving like men possessed.
"Don't stop," Valtherion barked. "If we falter here, the mountain will bury us alive."
Eira forced her legs forward, light flaring from her with each step. Her radiance burned the mist away, clearing paths where the others could strike true. Yet every time she unleashed it, her body screamed in protest, as though she were tearing herself apart with every burst.
The Guardian of the Gate
At last, the path opened into a plateau—a flat shelf of stone halfway up the mountain. The mist parted just enough to reveal what waited there.
A figure stood at the far edge, taller than any man, clad in jagged armor that pulsed like living bone. Its face was hidden behind a helm, but its eyes shone with molten gold. A massive spear was planted into the stone at its feet, taller than Valtherion himself.
The guardian.
The shadows stilled, retreating into the mist as if bowing to their master.
Eira felt her legs lock, terror freezing her blood. The pull in her chest became unbearable—like a scream she couldn't release.
The guardian raised its spear. When it spoke, the mountain echoed with its voice.
"The key returns. The bloodline kneels. None may pass but through the breaking of chains."
And then it struck.
The Battle of the Plateau
The spear shattered the ground where they stood, hurling Lucien and Valtherion back in showers of stone. Eira was flung to her knees, the pendant searing against her chest.
Lucien surged up, intercepting the guardian's next blow. Sparks screamed as steel met the monstrous weapon. His arms shook under the force, but he held, his teeth bared in defiance.
Valtherion struck from the flank, his great sword carving deep into the guardian's armor. For a heartbeat, the creature staggered. Then golden light flared from the wound, searing his blade and nearly wrenching it from his hands.
"It heals," Valtherion snarled.
"Then I'll burn what can't be healed!" Eira cried.
She stood, pendant blazing like a star. Light erupted from her in a storm, slamming into the guardian's chest. The creature roared, its form flickering—but it did not fall.
Instead, its gaze locked on her.
Chains of Light
The guardian dropped its spear, raising one hand. Golden chains erupted from the air, wrapping around Eira's arms, her throat, her waist. She screamed as the light dragged her to her knees, crushing her lungs, her heart.
Lucien ran for her, his blade flashing—but the chains lashed out, hurling him back.
Valtherion lunged, his fury blazing brighter than the storm. "You will not take her!" His strike cleaved through the chains binding her wrists, and for a heartbeat, the guardian faltered.
Eira gasped, air flooding her chest. Her vision blurred with tears and light. Somewhere deep within, the mirror-voice whispered again.
You are me. And I am what comes when you break.
Her scream tore through the mountain as the pendant shattered its glow into a storm that ripped the chains apart. The blast hurled the guardian backward, its armor cracking with a sound like thunder.
The plateau shook. The mist recoiled. The guardian staggered, its form flickering with fractures of light.
Eira collapsed, her body trembling, smoke rising from her skin as though she had burned herself from the inside.
Lucien caught her, pulling her close. "Eira—stay with me."
Valtherion raised his blade again, his voice low and grim.
"This was only the first."
The guardian straightened, its wounds already glowing shut.
And the mountain roared.