At dinner, Smag showed his hand.
Three weeks ago," he started, "something was taken from the vault of the royal treasury. A knife that is said to have belonged to the First King himself. The thieves took flight into the Old Ruins—a place forbidden, where even knights fear to go. My daughter's caravan was ambushed because the thieves wanted leverage. These Derans were not lost beasts—they were ordered.
The room went quiet. Monsters, ordered? That implied corruption deeper than Kael had ever witnessed.
Smag's expression grew taut. "I am not able to act freely. Politics hold me back. But you… foreigners… you can. Retrieve the relic, and I will pay you in a way that far exceeds your wildest dreams. Fail, and this kingdom could bleed."
Kael's fist clenched. "We'll get it. For the kingdom—and for us."
Two days passed, and the party stood at the outskirts of the Old Ruins.
Stonework pillars crumbled like shattered teeth, vines choking statues of long-forgotten kings. The air reeked with rot and the slight whisper of echoes on the breeze.
"Smells like death," Rina grumbled, nocking an arrow.
They advanced in wary formation. Traps covered the halls—falling floors, poisoned darts, swinging blades. Kael proceeded cautiously, probing each step, while Thargrim's shield bore what they could not dodge. Lyrielle translated runes carved into the walls, disabling magical wards, while Azrak infiltrated ahead into shadows, watching for movement.
The deeper they descended, the more suffocating was the air. Elira's healing magic radiated a soft, fragile light only to keep disease from their lungs.
And then they saw it: a room that burned with black fire, in its midst a tainted knight holding a sword that shone with shadows—the pilfered relic.
The knight did not say a word, merely bellowed with a voice both man and beast.
Kael attacked first, his sword ringing against the artifact. Shadows and sparks erupted out, driving him back. "This thing… it's draining him!"
"Cut the strings, then!" Lyrielle screamed, unleashing a blast of flame against the knight.
The knight stumbled but regained his footing, cutting through flames as easily as paper. He struck so quickly, Thargrim was barely able to keep blocking blow after blow.
"Not much longer—my shield's cracking!" the dwarf growled.
Azrak materialized behind the knight, flashing daggers. Shadows battled shadows, their powers neutralizing. "I have him—attack now!"
Kael bellowed, imitating Azrak's Shadow Step, disappearing and reappearing overhead. His sword descended in a blinding swipe, cutting off the knight's arm and sending the relic tumbling to the ground.
The knight fell, finally dead.
But the blade still thrummed, whispering whispers of power.
Kael stared at it, trembling. For a moment, he felt it calling his name.
Only Elira's hand on his shoulder pulled him back. "Don't. Some blades only echo with death."
With effort, Kael sheathed his sword and turned away. Together, they sealed the relic inside a rune-wrapped chest.
When they returned to West City, Smag accepted the chest with grave eyes. "You've done more than knights could. You've proven yourselves."
His eyes lingered on Kael. "But be careful. Relics have their own wills. Do not think for a moment that you can control every blade in your hand."
Kael nodded in silence, his thoughts running over the whispers he had heard.
That evening, while the city rejoiced, the six friends lingered together beneath the night sky. For the first time, they were not mere survivors or travelers. They were a group, tied together by something more than happenstance.
And in the darkness, hidden, a shadowy echo moved.