Chapter 2: Shadows of the Past

The fireless camp felt colder after the wraith attack. The group sat in tense silence, their breaths visible in the frigid night air. The Azure Vein's waters rushed softly nearby, but its song did little to soothe their nerves.

Rheon knelt beside the scattered remains of the wraith, his fingers grazing the scorched earth where it had fallen. Though its body had vanished, the air still held an unnatural chill.

"They shouldn't be this far west," Dain muttered, gripping the hilt of his sword. "Wraithborn are drawn to places where the cycle is weakest. Why here?"

Lorien, ever the cynic, leaned against a fallen tree, idly spinning a dagger in his hand. "Maybe we're the weak ones," he mused. "Something about us drew it in." His sharp eyes flicked to Rheon. "Or someone."

Rheon ignored the comment. He hadn't told them what he had seen—the flicker of another life, another version of himself caught in a battle long past. He wasn't even sure what it meant yet.

Hadric, still clutching his prayer beads, sighed. "If the wraith was drawn to us, then Zareth's reach is already here." He looked at Rheon. "We must move at first light."

"No." Rheon stood, brushing the dirt from his hands. "We move now."

Dain frowned. "We've barely rested. We'll lose our strength."

"We'll lose more if we wait," Rheon said. He turned to Elara. "You've fought these creatures before. That wasn't a random attack, was it?"

Elara hesitated, then shook her head. "No. It was hunting something. Or someone."

Her meaning was clear.

Rheon exhaled slowly. He had spent his life as a soldier, a knight, a protector of Vandros. But now, it felt as if something was watching him, waiting for him to take the next step.

Lorien sheathed his dagger with a smirk. "Well, no point in waiting around to die. Let's get moving."

They packed quickly, saddling their horses and leaving the cursed clearing behind.

The Ruins of Old Vandros

By dawn, they reached the outskirts of Old Vandros, a place long abandoned. The ruined city stood in eerie silence, its stone towers crumbled, its streets buried beneath ivy and time. This had been the original capital before the last Epoch Reset, when the system had wiped out entire cities and rewritten history.

The group dismounted, leading their horses carefully over broken cobblestones. The air was thick with dust and ghosts.

"This place gives me the creeps," Lorien muttered, scanning the empty buildings. "No birds, no animals. It's like the land itself is dead."

Hadric crossed himself, whispering a quiet blessing. "The last cycle ended here."

Rheon had never stepped foot in Old Vandros, but as he walked through its streets, a strange feeling settled in his chest. Familiarity. As if he had been here before.

As they reached the ruins of what must have once been a grand hall, Elara suddenly stiffened. "Wait."

Rheon turned to her. "What is it?"

She knelt, brushing away the dirt from a crumbling stone pillar. Ancient runes covered its surface—symbols of the Epoch System.

Hadric gasped. "This… this speaks of the first king of Vandros." His fingers traced the words. "It says… he tried to defy the system. He tried to break the cycle."

Rheon's blood ran cold.

Elara looked up at him, her expression unreadable. "Rheon… I think this is about you."

The wind howled through the ruins. And for the first time, Rheon truly wondered—was he fighting to change fate? Or was he simply living it again?

Echoes of Fate

The ruins of Old Vandros stood silent, their crumbling stones bathed in the pale light of dawn. Rheon stared at the ancient runes beneath his feet, his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

"He tried to break the cycle."

Hadric traced the inscription with trembling fingers. "This is a warning."

Elara, still crouched beside the pillar, shook her head. "Or it's a message. Someone left this here, hoping it would be found." She turned her gaze to Rheon. "You've felt it, haven't you? The sense that this has all happened before."

Rheon exhaled sharply. He hadn't spoken of the vision during the wraith attack, but now… he had no choice.

"I saw something," he admitted. "When I struck the wraith. A battle. A version of myself, fighting, dying… It felt real."

A heavy silence settled over the group.

Dain crossed his arms. "So what? Reincarnation? That's just old myths. The System doesn't work that way."

Hadric looked uneasy. "Perhaps it does, and we simply don't understand it."

Lorien let out a low whistle. "So if this prophecy is true, what's the play? Are we trying to break the cycle or just survive it?"

Rheon didn't answer. Because he didn't know.

The Forgotten Vault

Elara ran her fingers across the rune markings. "These symbols… they're directing us somewhere."

Following the inscription's pattern, she led them deeper into the ruins. After an hour of searching, they reached a collapsed temple, its entrance barely visible beneath vines and fallen stone. A circular emblem rested at the center of the doorway—the same sigil engraved on Rheon's family sword.

His breath caught. "This is it."

With effort, they pushed aside debris, revealing a narrow stairway leading downward. A stale, ancient air drifted from within, carrying the scent of dust and time.

Torches flickered as they descended, their footsteps echoing off stone walls. The deeper they went, the colder the air became.

At last, they emerged into a vast chamber. At its center, atop a raised dais, lay an obsidian pedestal, glowing faintly with an otherworldly light.

"The Vault," Elara whispered.

Hadric stepped forward cautiously. "I have only read of these in scripture. A place where remnants of past cycles are stored." His fingers hovered over the pedestal's surface. "Whatever is here… it does not belong to this time."

Rheon felt his pulse quicken. This was the closest they had come to answers. He stepped toward the pedestal—

And the chamber shook violently.

The ground split open, and from the darkness, something stirred.

A deep, guttural growl echoed through the room.

Dain unsheathed his sword. "We're not alone."

From the shadows emerged a figure draped in blackened armor, its form wreathed in mist, its face obscured by a helmet engraved with runes identical to those on the pedestal.

Elara's voice was barely a whisper. "A Guardian."

Rheon tightened his grip on his blade.

If this was truly a relic of the past, then whatever stood before them was a remnant of a forgotten age.

And it wasn't about to let them leave alive.