The dreams returned before dawn.
But this time, Erynn didn't wake screaming.
He stood once more in the broken world—sky cracked like glass, rivers of flame running through the earth. The throne of the Hollowfire King rose in the distance, jagged and bleeding embers.
But the King wasn't there.
Instead, someone else waited.
A woman in black armor stood atop a field of ash. Her cloak shimmered like smoke. Her eyes, twin embers. Runes coiled down her neck and across her arms, glowing red, branded into her skin like chains.
"You wear the Balance," she said. "How quaint."
Erynn stepped back. "Who are you?"
She smiled—slow and deliberate.
"I am Serenya Ashveil. First of the Ashmarked. Herald of the Hollowflame."
She raised a hand, and ash fell like snow.
"We've been waiting for you."
---
Erynn jolted awake. Maerin was already up, eyes scanning the treeline.
"What is it?" she asked.
He hesitated. "I saw someone. In a vision."
Maerin stilled. "A woman, runes like brands?"
He nodded.
"That's bad," she whispered. "The Ashmarked don't send warnings. They send graves."
---
They broke camp at once, heading north across the grasslands of Varrek Hollow. The wind here carried smoke on its breath. Scorch marks dotted the ground. Trees stood burned from the inside out.
Something had passed through.
Or still lingered.
---
By nightfall, they reached a stone ridge, beneath which lay a half-buried temple wrapped in black vines. As they approached, the Rune on Erynn's chest began to ache—not like before. This time it resisted.
"I don't think we should go in," he said.
Maerin glanced at him. "That's exactly why we must."
---
Inside, darkness hung thick as oil.
They descended into the temple's heart, passing walls carved in forgotten glyphs. At the center stood a cracked pedestal—emptied. Something had been taken.
"Too late," Maerin muttered.
Then the sound came.
A slow clap.
From the shadows stepped Serenya Ashveil, exactly as she had appeared in the dream—only now, the heat of her presence was real. The very air wavered.
"You made good time," she said. "Pity you're still too slow."
In her hand, she held a piece of stone—the Sixth Tablet, pulsing faintly.
Maerin raised her staff. "Give it back."
Serenya tilted her head. "Or what? You'll throw snowflakes at a volcano?"
Erynn stepped forward, the Balance Rune burning like wildfire now. "Why do you want the Tablets?"
Serenya looked at him. And for the first time, her voice lost its mockery.
"Because the Hollowfire King was never sealed," she said.
"He was divided."
"And every Tablet… is a piece of him."
---
Then she struck.
A wave of flame slammed into the chamber. Maerin raised a wall of frost, but it cracked instantly. Erynn felt the Rune inside him scream—light pouring from his chest, trying to match her power.
He lost control.
The Balance surged.
Time bent. Gravity failed. Sound warped.
For one blinding second, the chamber was caught between burning and freezing, rising and sinking, imploding and expanding.
And then—
Silence.
Serenya was gone.
The Tablet too.
Erynn lay on the floor, gasping. The rune on his chest dimmed, trembling.
Maerin knelt beside him, blood on her temple. "That wasn't just magic. That was reality breaking."
He nodded weakly. "I didn't… mean to."
"I know," she whispered.
"But next time, if you lose control—" she looked into his eyes, grave as winter.
"—it won't just be a chamber that breaks."
---
To be continued…