The caravan limped into Blightrest two days late, battered and silent.
Villagers gathered in hushed clusters as the bloodstained adventurers passed. Word of undead in the forest spread like wildfire, and fear took root.
Kaelira took command immediately, storming into the mayor's hall to report the attack. Meanwhile, Myrelion sat under a twisted elm near the village shrine, gazing into the flickering candlelight.
His mind replayed Vareth's words:
> "The Order wants your soul."
"You will lead the pyre."
The Shadow Order was supposed to be dead. Disbanded. Forgotten.
He had killed them all.
Or so he thought.
Tobin sat beside him, face pale. "You okay, kid?"
Myrelion didn't answer.
Riven, arm in a sling, joined them. "You fought like a monster back there."
"Thanks," Myrelion said quietly.
"Not a compliment."
Kaelira returned, fuming. "The mayor's a coward. He's sending a raven to the capital. They'll cover it up, pretend it was bandits."
She handed Myrelion a worn scroll. "You need to know what's coming. That symbol you saw—"
He opened it.
At the top was a black seal: a serpent devouring a star.
His hand trembled. "The Mark of the Hollow Flame."
Kaelira nodded grimly. "You know it?"
"…It was the Order's final rite. The sign of irrevocable rebirth."
He stood abruptly.
"I need to go to the ruin beneath the village. Now."