Secrets in the Ash
The ruins seemed endless. Stone pillars, blackened and fractured, rose like skeletal fingers from the ground. Every step Caelan took stirred fine ash that whispered through the air, clinging to his boots and clothing. The glow from the scroll pulsed steadily, guiding him deeper into the forgotten city.
He moved cautiously, ears straining for any sound beyond the wind that moaned through shattered archways. Memories continued to flicker behind his eyes—fragments of a city that had been, of lives erased, of magic that had once pulsed through these streets. Each vision left him breathless and unsettled, yet somehow stronger.
A faint movement caught his eye. Shadows shifted unnaturally, bending along the walls. Caelan froze, gripping the scroll tightly. A voice, distant and melodic, echoed softly through the ruins: "You were expected…"
He spun, heart pounding, but saw only the remains of a collapsed tower. Nothing moved. The air itself felt heavy, almost alive. He could sense it: the ruins remembered him, even if he did not yet understand why.
The scroll pulsed again. Lines of light traced intricate patterns along his fingers, spreading up his arms. Images flooded his mind—books, towers, ceremonies, fire, ash, and a throne he had never seen. The blood of the Ashborne, he realized, was awakening something ancient, something powerful.
"Why me?" he whispered to the empty ruins.
The answer came not in words, but in sensation—a weight pressing against his chest, a warmth that seemed to pull him forward. His eyes fell on a stone pedestal ahead, half-buried in rubble. Something glimmered atop it, faint but unmistakable.
Caelan approached, heart racing. On the pedestal lay a small object: a pendant shaped like a phoenix rising from ash. Its surface shimmered as if alive. He reached out, fingers brushing the cold metal. The moment he touched it, a pulse of light shot through him, and a vision slammed into his mind: a battle of fire and steel, a woman's voice crying his name, a city burning, and then silence.
He stumbled back, gasping. The pendant had awakened more than memories—it had awakened a fragment of the Forgotten Realm's power.
A sudden rustle behind him made him spin. From the shadows, a figure watched. Not hooded this time, but hidden in plain sight. She was young, graceful, her hair catching the faint glow from the scroll. Her eyes met his, sharp and calculating, yet something flickered beneath—curiosity, maybe even fear.
Before he could speak, she disappeared into the shadows. Caelan's pulse quickened. Someone had been watching him all along. Someone who knew more about these ruins than he could imagine.
He glanced down at the pendant again. Its warmth seeped into his chest, steadying him, giving him courage he hadn't known he possessed. The Forgotten Realm was alive. Its secrets were here. And he was no longer just a boy in the archives.
He would uncover every secret, survive every danger, and remember everything that the world had tried to erase.
The night deepened, and the ruins whispered their welcome.