A Gathering Storm

The snow fell heavier as Eryndor and Kaelith pressed north, the distant peaks cloaked in a veil of mist. The relics in Eryndor's pack hummed faintly, their presence growing heavier with each passing day.

Kaelith pulled her cloak tighter, squinting through the swirling snow. "You sure this is the right way? Because it feels like we're walking straight into the jaws of winter."

Eryndor's cursed arm pulsed beneath his sleeve. The faint blue glow stretched along his veins like embers beneath the skin. "The relic's pull hasn't led us wrong yet."

Kaelith grumbled but didn't argue. She trusted Eryndor's instincts—though she wasn't thrilled about trudging through waist-deep snow to chase ancient artifacts.

By midday, they found shelter beneath a craggy overhang, the stone wall shielding them from the worst of the wind. Eryndor knelt by the fire he'd conjured, letting the warmth spread through his hands.

Kaelith sat across from him, rubbing her arms. "So, tell me something."

Eryndor glanced up. "What?"

Kaelith leaned forward, her expression serious. "If we find this last relic and seal the veil, what happens to the curse?"

Eryndor's gaze drifted to the flames. "…I don't know."

Kaelith frowned. "You've been carrying this flame for years, and you don't know what happens when the job's done?"

Eryndor shook his head. "No one's ever finished it before. My father tried. So did his father. But the veil always held… until now."

Kaelith exhaled, leaning back against the stone. "That's comforting."

Silence settled between them, save for the crackling of the fire. Outside, the wind howled through the mountains, carrying with it a low, distant hum—like something stirring beneath the ice.

Kaelith's eyes narrowed. "You hear that?"

Eryndor rose to his feet, hand drifting toward the hilt of his sword. "I hear it."

The sound grew louder, reverberating through the valley. It wasn't natural—it was something else.

Kaelith unsheathed her dagger. "Please tell me that's just the wind."

Eryndor didn't answer. His cursed arm flared suddenly, the blue flames erupting along his wrist.

Out of the snow, they came.

Shadows drifted between the trees, tall and formless, their eyes glowing faintly like embers. Unlike the creatures they'd faced before, these moved with purpose—silent, deliberate.

Kaelith took a step back. "They found us."

Eryndor's grip tightened around his sword. "They've been following us since Emberpeak."

The nearest shadow stepped forward, its form solidifying into a figure clad in black armor. Its helm bore the mark of the scarred eye, and when it spoke, its voice was like frost scraping against stone.

"The veil weakens, Flamebearer. The fire will not save you."

Kaelith glanced at Eryndor. "Do they always talk like that?"

Eryndor raised his blade, the cursed fire burning brighter. "More than I'd like."

The figure extended a hand, shadows curling around its fingers. "Surrender the relics. They are not yours to keep."

Eryndor took a step forward. "Come take them."

The shadows surged.

Kaelith lunged to the side, striking at the nearest figure. Her dagger sparked against the armor, but the creature didn't falter.

Eryndor met the second figure head-on, their blades clashing in a burst of blue fire. Sparks scattered across the snow, but the shadow pressed harder, forcing Eryndor back.

Kaelith swore under her breath, narrowly dodging another strike. "A little help here!"

Eryndor twisted his sword, slashing through the figure's side. Blue flames erupted from the wound, forcing the shadow to stagger. "Hold the line!"

Kaelith parried another blow, breathing heavily. "I am the line!"

The shadows pressed in from all sides. There were too many—each one faster, stronger than the last.

Eryndor's cursed arm burned hotter, the flames roaring to life. His vision blurred at the edges, but he fought through it, driving his blade into the heart of the nearest shadow.

One by one, the creatures fell… but more took their place.

Kaelith ducked beneath a swing, panting. "They're not stopping!"

Eryndor grit his teeth, the fire surging in his veins. "Then neither do we."

The cursed flames around his arm burst outward, engulfing the clearing in blue fire. The shadows recoiled, their forms dissolving into mist.

Kaelith shielded her eyes. "Eryndor—"

The flames consumed everything.

When the light finally dimmed, the clearing was empty. The shadows were gone.

Kaelith coughed, brushing ash from her cloak. "Remind me not to stand so close next time."

Eryndor lowered his sword, breathing heavily. His cursed arm still flickered with faint fire, but the burning sensation was starting to fade.

Kaelith glanced at him. "That… wasn't normal, was it?"

Eryndor shook his head. "No. The fire's getting stronger."

Kaelith frowned. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

Eryndor looked down at his arm, the flames reflecting in his eyes. "I don't know yet."

Kaelith sheathed her dagger, stepping closer. "Well, whatever it is, we deal with it. Together."

Eryndor met her gaze, nodding. "Together."

The wind carried the scent of ash through the valley as they resumed their journey. Somewhere beyond the mountains, the final relic waited.

And with it, the answer to the flame that bound him.