The wind keened across the charred ridge like a wounded animal, dragging the scent of ash and frozen pine through the air.
Each breath Azrael took felt like inhaling smoke-glazed knives. The snow beneath his boots was streaked gray and blackremnants of the Morrin Outpost explosion.
They had marched in silence for hours. Veyna led the trio, her black-and-white robes barely brushing the frozen earth. Beside her, Janis moved with sharp, calculated awareness, her hand never far from her bow. Azrael trudged a step behind, eyes flitting between the distant ruins and the frostbitten trees around them.
"We shouldn't be out here," Janis murmured.
Veyna didn't slow. "Fear protects the cautious. Curiosity drives the chosen."
"That sounds like something my mother would say," Azrael muttered.
"Your mother is a wise woman," Veyna replied. "You should listen more."
Azrael frowned. The only reason he agreed to this was because he felt like a ghost in the Vale; alive but not quite seen. Here, away from the pressure of family and doctrine, maybe he could at least breathe.
He turned to Janis. "You still think this is a bad idea?"
"Yes," she answered without hesitation. "But that doesn't mean I'll leave you alone with her."
Veyna smiled faintly but kept her gaze forward.
---
By midday, they reached the edge of Morrin's broken perimeter. What had once been a tall wooden palisade now lay scattered like cracked bones across the frozen ground. Burned towers leaned like dying trees, their hollow interiors groaning in the wind.
Azrael stepped through cautiously. Each footstep crunched over snow, soot, and the shattered remains of relic containers, smooth black canisters carved with rune script, now melted and twisted.
Janis coughed. "Smells like charred meat."
"It wasn't only storage," Veyna said, pausing to kneel beside a ruined crate. "They were hiding something beneath."
Azrael approached her. The ground near the crate shimmered faintly—an oily gleam under the snow.
"What's that?" he asked.
Veyna took a deep breath. "Residual breathstone discharge. Something tried to suppress it, but failed."
Janis frowned. "Are we saying someone caused this intentionally?"
"Not just someone," Veyna said. "Something divine. Possibly broken."
A chill that had nothing to do with the snow slid down Azrael's spine.
---
Further into the outpost ruins, they found what remained of the vault. Its entrance was half-buried, collapsed by the explosion. But a narrow crawlspace had formed near the side; just wide enough for someone lean.
Azrael peered into the gap. "You want me to go first, don't you."
Veyna nodded. "You are least likely to trigger any dormant effects."
"You mean because I'm weak."
"Because you're… unclaimed. Yet."
He didn't ask what that meant. With a sigh, Azrael dropped to his knees and crawled inside. The cold stone scraped against his cloak. Dust filled his mouth. Behind him, Janis followed, muttering curses.
When they emerged inside, the vault felt… wrong.
It wasn't the silence; it was the hum beneath it. The air vibrated faintly, like a plucked string.
"Do you feel that?" Azrael asked.
Veyna nodded. "Echo resonance. It's alive."
"Is that possible?" Janis asked.
"Not unless something left behind a memory. Or a message."
At the center of the room lay a pedestal—blackened, fractured, and empty.
Azrael approached it, drawn without thought. His left eye itched beneath the patch.
Suddenly the hum grew louder. A flash of light sparked across the pedestal.
"Az!" Janis shouted, grabbing his arm.
The moment broke. The light vanished.
Azrael staggered back, heart pounding.
Veyna studied him. "Something recognizes you."
"No," he whispered. "I don't want to be recognized."
"Unfortunately," Veyna said, "some things are older than your fear."
---
Hours passed as they catalogued the ruins. Veyna sketched symbols on parchment, muttering old chants from the Monochrome doctrine. Janis stood guard at the entrance tunnel, ever alert.
Azrael wandered through broken shelves, half-melted scrolls, and cracked weapon racks. Something pulled him deeper, toward a ruined wall that bore the ghost of a mural—faded and scorched, but still legible.
He traced a section with his fingers.
A circular pattern. A man with one eye marked in gold. A burning tree.
Azrael stumbled back.
Janis turned. "What is it?"
"Nothing," he lied.
But the mural stayed in his mind like a splinter.
---
They made camp on a ridge overlooking the ruins. A small fire crackled beside them, and the sky above was silver-black with clouds.
Azrael sat apart, staring into the flames. Veyna joined him, silently offering a carved bowl of hot root stew.
He took it, mumbled a thank you.
After a while, she spoke. "You saw something in that vault."
"No," he said. Then, "Yes." Then, "I don't know."
She nodded. "That's fair."
He looked up. "Why me? Why bring me?"
"Because you don't wear armor around your mind. Most people do."
"That's not bravery," he said bitterly. "That's weakness."
"It's openness. Which is rarer."
He poked the fire. Sparks rose. "You think I'm special. Everyone keeps saying that, but I don't feel it."
"You're not special," Veyna said flatly. "You're dangerous."
He blinked.
"The way a flint spark is dangerous near old straw. You might light something you don't understand."
Azrael didn't reply.
Janis came over then, wrapped in her cloak. She plopped down beside Azrael and sighed. "If you two are done being mysterious, I'd like to sleep before dawn breaks my face."
"Sleep well, Janis," Veyna said, standing.
Azrael watched her disappear into the trees.
Janis elbowed him gently. "Still want to go home?"
He didn't answer.
---
Azrael couldn't sleep. The air buzzed too loud.
He stood, walking toward the edge of the camp. The valley below shimmered faintly—ruins glowing in strange blue hues.
He blinked. The colors were gone.
A voice echoed inside his skull.
"Why do you cover your eye?"
He spun around. No one.
"It was given to you. Not taken."
He clutched the patch. Sweat beaded on his brow.
"Stop," he whispered.
The forest hushed.
He staggered back to camp and sat beside the fire, trying to steady his breath.
You are being watched, something in him whispered.
And you are watching back.