The undercroft always smelled like old paper and cold stone. Serenya led the way down the narrow spiral stairs, the torchlight stretching shadows across the walls. Kael trailed close, one hand on the hilt of the practice sword he still carried everywhere. His steps echoed louder than hers, though she moved in full plate and he only in leather.
"Why's it always so dark down here?" Kael muttered. "Feels like we're walking into a tomb."
Serenya didn't slow. "Because it's not meant to be welcoming. The king's maps are treasures. You don't display them in gardens."
Kael scrunched his nose. "Could still hang a lantern or two."
They reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped into a wide chamber. It stretched farther than Kael expected, with rows of shelves stacked to the ceiling. Scrolls, rolled charts, star-measuring tools, and piles of parchment filled every inch. Candles burned low, their smoke curling into the stale air.
At the center sat a man at a desk, hunched over a spread of maps. His long beard brushed the parchment as he leaned in, magnifying glass perched on the bridge of his nose. He didn't look up when they entered.
Serenya stepped forward. "Master Harlowe."
The man paused, quill hovering above his work. Slowly, he raised his head. His eyes, enlarged behind the glass, studied her, then flicked to Kael.
"I was told you would come," Harlowe rasped. His voice was dry, like parchment scraping. "The king rarely asks, but when he does, it's always for something dangerous."
Kael fidgeted. "So you already know why we're here?"
"Of course I do," Harlowe said. He waved the quill vaguely, leaving a smear of ink across the corner of his map. "The king's voice may fail him, but his commands still travel faster than most armies."
Serenya removed her gauntlet and rested her hand on the edge of his desk. "Then you know he has tasked me with finding the Dragon's Apple."
At that, Harlowe finally sat back. His lenses caught the candlelight, flashing. He studied her for a long moment before nodding.
"Yes. The Apple. Always the Apple."
Kael blinked. "Always?"
Harlowe ignored him and began shifting the clutter on his desk. Scrolls toppled, compasses rolled, and ink pots clinked against each other until he pulled free a massive roll of vellum. With slow care, he spread it out across the desk. It covered nearly the entire surface.
Kael leaned forward immediately. "By the gods… that's Emberholme?"
"The kingdom and more," Harlowe said. His finger pressed down near the map's heart. "Here lies the capital. From here, the road north leads to your first trial."
His finger slid upward, stopping at a dark green blotch that seemed to sprawl like a stain.
"The Weeping Woods."
Kael frowned. "Why do they call it that? Trees don't cry."
"They don't need to," Harlowe said flatly. "The woods do it for them. Those who enter hear voices—sometimes their own, sometimes those of the dead. Illusions bend the path. Some knights walk in circles until their minds snap. Others see loved ones, begging, screaming, bleeding… until they can't tell what's real. Many don't come back at all. Those who do are never whole."
Kael swallowed hard. His knuckles tightened on his belt.
Serenya's face didn't move. "How do you pass through?"
"You don't. You endure. You keep your eyes forward and trust steel over sight."
He traced the map again, his finger moving beyond the woods.
"Next comes the River of Glass."
The waterway shimmered faintly, the ink catching the candlelight in strange ways.
"Fast, sharp, and merciless," Harlowe said. "The current can tear a boat apart in minutes. The riverbed is lined with shards of crystal, and the creatures below wear skins of the same. Serpents with scales that slice, fish that can cut through flesh like silk. Men who fall in come out in pieces, if at all."
Kael's mouth opened, then closed. Finally, he said, "So we're… swimming?"
"Not unless you wish to be filleted," Harlowe said with a thin smile. "You'll need a boat strong enough to take the current, or a guide mad enough to ferry you across."
Kael shifted uneasily. Serenya's eyes stayed on the map.
"After the river," Harlowe continued, "the Ashspire Peaks. High, frozen, and cruel. Avalanches bury whole valleys. The wind tears roofs from stone. Snow falls in spears, and storms never end. You'll find no rest there."
He tapped a cluster of jagged peaks inked like broken teeth.
"Worse still are the ones who call the peaks home—the Scaled Brotherhood. They worship dragons as gods. They believe the Apple is sacred. Outsiders are sacrifices. If they catch you, they won't simply kill you. They'll burn you alive as an offering."
Kael went pale. "That's… comforting."
Harlowe didn't flinch. "Comfort is not part of this road."
He dragged his finger one last time, to the farthest edge of the map. A valley shaped faintly like a flame, the ink blurred and faded.
"And here," he whispered, "the Orchard of Fire. If the Apple exists, if it grows still, it will be here."
The room seemed to quiet around his words. The candles flickered.
Kael leaned forward. "What's it like?"
Harlowe's eyes narrowed. "Do you think anyone who saw it came back to describe it?"
Kael flushed. "I just thought—"
"The tales say trees with trunks like molten iron. Branches that burn but do not fall. Fruit glowing like coals. And the Apple itself—bright as flame, heavy as stone."
He leaned closer, voice dropping. "They say it burns the unworthy. Flesh chars, bone crumbles. Even if you find it, even if you hold it in your hands, it may consume you before you take a step."
Silence stretched across the chamber. Kael stared at the blurred ink of the Orchard. Serenya kept her hand steady on the desk.
Finally, she asked, "How do we reach it?"
Harlowe studied her. "You shouldn't."
"That's not an answer."
"The Apple is not for mortals. Not for steel. Not for knights or squires or even kings. The stars themselves avoid this path. Every soul who has chased it has been swallowed by the dark."
Serenya's eyes stayed fixed on his. "And yet I will go. The king's command leaves me no other choice."
Harlowe exhaled slowly, as though trying to push out years of weight. Then he rolled the map, tied it with cord, and pressed it into her hands.
"Knight or no, remember what I've said. What lies beyond Emberholme is not for us. Even the stars fear to mark those roads."
Serenya closed her fingers around the map. The parchment felt heavier than her sword.
"Then I'll carve my own road," she said.
Her words echoed through the chamber. Kael straightened, drawing courage from them. Harlowe looked at her for a long time, then sat back heavily, as though already mourning.
"Then may whatever gods remain go with you," he muttered.
Serenya turned toward the stairs. Kael followed quickly, still glancing back at the shelves of maps and the old man hunched in his candlelight.
When the stairway swallowed them in shadow, Harlowe finally lowered his head back to the map spread across his desk. His quill scratched slowly, tracing the peaks again, but his hand trembled.
Above, Emberholme waited in silence. And beyond, the road no one returned from stretched into darkness.