The wind howled through the ancient peaks of the Eastmarch Range as Kael and his companions neared the edge of the world. Before them loomed the Ruined Sanctum — a fortress carved into the bones of the mountain, shattered by time and war. Its towers were broken teeth, jutting from the stone like the remains of a dying god's jaw.
No birds sang here. No creatures stirred.
Only silence. And memories.
Lyra stepped carefully through the cracked gate, eyes scanning the crumbling statues — warriors long turned to dust. "This place… it feels wrong."
Darric ran a hand over a scorched emblem etched into the wall. "Old Velaryn crest. From the Age of Ascension."
Kael said nothing. The moment they crossed the threshold, the Crimson Mark had begun to burn — not with pain, but remembrance. Ashrend vibrated at his side, its voice whispering in a tongue he couldn't fully understand.
"This was once home."
They passed through shadowed halls lit by eerie torchlight. Faded murals told stories no longer spoken — of the Crimson Order, of a warrior who once stood alone against the Sovereign… of a blade born from starlight and sin.
And then they reached the Inner Chamber.
A circle of broken swords lay embedded in the stone floor, each one melted into the rock by incredible force. In the center stood a pedestal. Upon it — a fragment of obsidian and steel, humming faintly with residual power.
Kael stepped closer, and the visions came.
The chamber was whole. The blades unbroken. A circle of knights stood around a younger man with red eyes and darker hair. He held Ashrend in both hands, bleeding from the arms, but unbowed.
A robed figure approached — face hidden beneath a golden mask.
"You are the last," the figure said. "If you cross the Veil, you will never return."
"If I don't," the warrior replied, "he wins."
The robed man nodded once.
"Then may your flame burn so bright… even the gods remember."
Kael gasped as the vision ended. Lyra caught him, steadying him.
"What did you see?"
Kael's voice was distant. "Myself. But… not me. Someone who wore this face long before I was born."
Darric knelt at the pedestal. "What is this fragment?"
"Ashrend's twin," Kael said quietly. "The other half of what was shattered."
The fragment flared.
Ashrend responded.
Crimson lightning erupted as the two pieces resonated — and for a moment, Kael's body was weightless, suspended between past and present.
"You were forged to break fate."
"But even fate forgets its forger."
When it ended, Kael's blade had changed.
Ashrend now bore a second edge, trailing a red-black shimmer, and a new inscription along the hilt: "No Oath Forgotten."
Lyra stepped back. "What does it mean?"
Kael's eyes glowed faintly, as if something ancient had stirred.
"It means the war's older than we thought."
But as they turned to leave, a howl rose from the sanctum depths — inhuman, guttural, and hungry.
From the shadows, creatures emerged — cloaked in ash and bound in cursed chains.
The Bound.
Corrupted remnants of those who once guarded this place — now twisted by the Sovereign's curse.
Kael stepped forward, his companions forming a circle around him.
He raised the reforged Ashrend.
"Ready yourselves."
"Let them taste what they were forced to forget."