At first, they mistook the tremors for another aftershock from Ashgate's collapse.
But when the earth beneath Fort Thorne began to pulse in steady, unnatural rhythm—like a second heartbeat echoing through the bedrock—Duncan knew it was something else entirely.
He stood atop the inner wall, wind tugging at his cloak, watching the dust clouds rise to the north. The sentries along the parapets clutched bows and spears, eyes wide.
Kael appeared beside him, rubbing her fingers along the edge of her spear. "Scouts report the tremors started from beneath the ridge. A crevice opened along the valley floor—old stone, carved with strange symbols."
Brannoc stomped up from the lower gate, crossbow slung over his shoulder. "Path's too symmetrical. Not a landslide. Looks like… something made it."
"Something old," Duncan said. He didn't take his eyes off the horizon.
Unearthed
By midday, they reached the site.
The ridge had split, revealing a stairless slope of bone-colored stone descending into darkness. Along the edges, petrified timbers jutted like ribs, and deeper down, tunnels branched out—smooth, deliberate, ancient.
One of the scouts knelt near the rim, holding up a fragment of silvered rock. "This isn't natural. These carvings match the old Dominion sigils—the ones before the civil schisms."
Kael frowned. "That would make this... pre-Empire."
"No," Duncan said, stepping closer. "Pre-everything."
He pointed to a single, faded glyph chiseled into the edge of the entrance. It resembled a spiral flame coiled around a broken crown.
"The Bonepath."
Whispers Below
They descended in cautious formation—three squads of spear-wielders and bowmen, torches lit, weapons drawn. The air grew colder as they moved, too cold for the heat-trapping stone that surrounded them. A constant pressure pressed on their chests, a hush that dulled even the clink of armor.
Kael tapped the shaft of her spear. "It's too quiet."
Brannoc rolled his shoulder. "Quiet is good. Screaming's worse."
They didn't have to wait long.
As they passed the third branching tunnel, something scraped against the walls—a high, dry hiss like stone grating bone. One of the rearguard turned to look—
—and vanished into the dark with a strangled cry.
Then the tunnel exploded into motion.
Figures crawled from cracks in the walls, emaciated and bone-thin, their bodies stitched from ash and sinew. Hollowed—but twisted. Leaner. Smarter.
Burrowed.
"Form ranks!" Duncan shouted.
The soldiers closed up. Spears forward, archers behind.
The Emberblade flashed into Duncan's hand, and its blue fire lit the tunnel like a rising sun.
The Hollowed hesitated.
Then they charged.
The Narrow Battle
The fight was chaos—too close, too dark.
Screams echoed through the halls, punctuated by the thud of bolts and the clang of steel. Kael moved like a phantom, her spear lashing out with impossible precision, dropping one Hollowed after another.
Brannoc bellowed, cleaving through enemies with a feral grin, one arm bleeding, the other still hurling bodies aside.
Duncan held the center, the Emberblade carving arcs of burning light. Each Hollowed that died let out a sound not of pain—but of release, as though something inside them was glad to be destroyed.
They drove the creatures back slowly—inch by bloody inch—until finally the tunnel widened into a great subterranean corridor.
And there they found it.
The Bonepath.
The Beast Gate
A bridge of rib-like arches stretched before them, half-buried in the dark stone. Below, a chasm roared with wind, but the sound didn't reach them. Old banners still hung from rusted spikes—torn and blackened, bearing the sigils of long-forgotten beastkind tribes.
At the path's far end stood a gate—tall, cracked, and pulsing with faint red light.
In front of it, a single beast lay curled in chains.
It was massive—taller than any war rhino, broader than a siege wagon. Fur ashen white, antlers cracked and blackened, breath rattling in pained gasps. Its eyes opened as they approached.
Kael whispered, "By the Flame…"
Duncan lowered his blade. "It's not attacking."
The beast looked at him.
And spoke.
"You bear the flame. But you do not wear the crown."
Its voice was deep and hollow, echoing as though spoken by a hundred mouths.
"They come, bearer. They come to reclaim what was left behind."
Duncan stepped closer. "What are you?"
"I was Gatewarden. Before they turned me. Before they stole the bones from the stars."
Brannoc spat. "Sounds mad."
"No. Dying."
The creature shuddered, and its body began to disintegrate into ash.
Before it vanished completely, it lifted its antler and touched the ground.
A symbol burned into the stone:
A spiral bound in iron chains.
Retreat and Warning
Duncan gave the order.
"Collapse the entrance. Now."
The soldiers worked fast, setting fire to the old support beams, driving wedges into weak stone. As the Bonepath cracked and rumbled behind them, they emerged back into daylight—scarred, shaken, but alive.
The entrance collapsed in a thunderous wave of ash and dust.
But even as they caught their breath, Kael looked toward the horizon.
Smoke.
Not from the Bonepath.
From the east.
Duncan followed her gaze.
"Another army?" Brannoc muttered.
"No," Duncan said. "Not yet."
He touched the Emberblade, and it pulsed.
"They're stirring. The Bonepath was just the mouth. Now the whole body's waking."