The Iron Moors stretched for miles, a vast wasteland of rust-colored hills and jagged rock. Nothing grew here, and the wind screamed like it was mourning every soul lost to its chill. Kaelen wrapped his cloak tighter and pressed forward, guided by the glowing stone he carried. It pulsed faintly at his hip, warm as a heartbeat.
On the second day, the ground trembled beneath his feet.
He dropped to a crouch, hand on his sword, as a low, grinding roar rose from beneath the soil. From a cracked hillside ahead, something enormous emerged—a creature of iron and bone, draped in chains, its skull crowned with molten ore.
A voice echoed from its chest. "Kaelen. Flamebearer. Why do you disturb the sleep of kings?"
"I seek the Ember Crown. I seek my sister," Kaelen called back.
The beast raised its head. "Then you seek fire, death, and betrayal. As did the kings before you."
It lunged.
Kaelen ducked, narrowly avoiding a blow that shattered a boulder beside him. He struck with Virelion, and the runes along its blade flared white. The sword bit deep into the creature's side, where the bones met the iron—but the thing did not bleed. It screamed, a terrible sound that shook the moors.
The battle raged through the night.
At dawn, Kaelen stood bloodied and breathing hard. The beast lay crumpled in the hollow it had carved, and in its shattered chest lay the second key—a shard of obsidian shaped like a crown's point.
He took it and continued north, where the mountains loomed like giants on the horizon.