Dawn crept slowly through the Wyrdwood, its pale light stretching long shadows across the forest floor. Kaelis and Selara moved cautiously, their bodies weary from the night's battle. Every snapped twig and rustling branch made them tense, expecting the shadows to return.
The shard still pulsed faintly, guiding them east. Its glow grew brighter as they reached the edge of the forest, where the trees gave way to a valley of broken stone and vine-covered ruins.
Selara paused, scanning the crumbling towers and shattered archways. "This place… it feels older than Elyndra."
Kaelis nodded. "Older, and abandoned for a reason."
But the ruins were not empty.
From the shadows of a fallen arch, a figure emerged. Cloaked in dark green, hood drawn low, they carried a staff carved with symbols neither Kaelis nor Selara recognized. The stranger moved with quiet purpose, their steps deliberate, as if they had been expecting them.
"Travelers," the figure said, voice smooth, neither young nor old, neither male nor female. "You've made noise in the Wyrdwood. The forest does not forget such things."
Kaelis's hand tightened on his dagger. "And who are you to be watching us?"
The stranger chuckled softly. "One who has survived where others have not. Call me Nyros. If you value your lives, you will put away your blade. You will need it for worse foes than me."
Selara studied Nyros closely. "You're not… touched by the curse?"
"No," Nyros said, pulling back their hood. Their face was lined but strong, eyes sharp and glinting like tempered steel. "But I know it better than most. I've spent years hunting its spawn, learning its patterns. And I know of Maelor."
At the sound of that name, Kaelis stiffened. "Then you know he's not a story."
Nyros's gaze hardened. "He is no story. He is the wound at the heart of this world. And if he stirs again, the Wyrdlands will drown in shadow."
The stranger's eyes lingered on Selara, studying her with unsettling intensity. "And yet… you carry his stain."
Selara flinched, her voice sharp. "I carry a curse I never asked for."
Nyros tilted their head. "Perhaps. But curses do not cling to the weak. If you resist him, then maybe you are what the Wyrdlands has been waiting for."
Kaelis stepped closer to her side, protective. "If you know so much, then tell us—how do we break it?"
Nyros tapped the staff against the ground, and a faint hum echoed through the ruins. "The curse cannot be shattered by force alone. It is bound by choice, by sacrifice. To face it, you will need to pass the Trials of Ashara, the ancient wardens of this land. Survive them, and you may gain the strength to stand against Maelor. Fail…"
The ruins seemed to darken around them as Nyros's words trailed off.
Selara swallowed, her fingers tightening around the shard. "Then lead us to these Trials."
Nyros gave a thin smile. "I thought you would say that."
For the first time, Kaelis saw something flicker in the stranger's eyes—not malice, but a deep, unshakable grief.
"The Trials will demand more than you know," Nyros said softly. "Pray your bond is strong enough to endure."
As the sun broke fully over the horizon, the ruins glowed with golden light, and Kaelis realized something: their journey was no longer just survival. It was a descent into secrets buried long before their time.
And Nyros, ally or deceiver, now held the key.