Chapter 29: The Silent Echoes of the Past

The torches flickered against the damp stone walls, casting eerie shadows as Tharion stepped forward. His boots echoed through the empty hall, a rhythmic reminder of the isolation he had endured for so long. The air smelled of old parchment and dust, a scent that carried memories he wished to forget but could not.

"You shouldn't be here," a voice whispered from the darkness. It was calm yet held an underlying tension, as if the speaker was struggling to contain something far more dangerous than mere words.

Tharion turned sharply, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his sword. Emerging from the shadows was a figure draped in a dark cloak, the hood pulled low enough to obscure their face. Yet, the presence was unmistakable.

"Eryndor," Tharion muttered, his tone laced with both recognition and resentment.

"The world thinks you're dead," Eryndor said, stepping closer. "I had hoped it was true."

A smirk played on Tharion's lips. "Disappointed to see me alive?"

Eryndor exhaled sharply. "You don't belong here anymore, Tharion. The past should stay buried."

"Then why do I keep finding pieces of it scattered across my path?" Tharion shot back. "The truth refuses to stay hidden, no matter how deep you try to bury it."

Silence fell between them, heavy with unspoken words. Then, Eryndor sighed and lowered his hood, revealing a face hardened by time and regret. "You're walking into something far worse than betrayal."

Tharion narrowed his eyes. "Then tell me what I need to know."

Eryndor hesitated, his jaw tightening. "You won't like the answer."

"I stopped expecting good answers a long time ago."

A shadow passed over Eryndor's expression before he finally relented. "The Council didn't just exile you, Tharion. They feared you. And now, they fear what might happen if you return."

Tharion's grip on his sword tightened. "Then they should be afraid."