The Eternal Hunt

The path to the shrine

Chapter 2: The Path to the Shrine

The ruins of Hollowmark loomed like forgotten bones, their jagged edges swallowed by the crimson mist. Vaelen moved through the shattered remnants, his every step echoing in the dead silence. Time held no meaning here. Only the moon watched.

The Seer’s warning still lingered. *The shadows watch, and the moon is always hungry.*

Vaelen’s fingers brushed the scar on his neck. The bite had long since healed, but the curse it left behind never faded. He could feel it pulsing — a dark echo beneath his skin. Each heartbeat drew him closer to the hunger. Closer to the voice.

> *"Why fight it? The blood is power."*

He ignored it.

Beyond the ruins, the forest withered. Trees bent unnaturally, their bark twisted and blackened as though scorched by an unseen fire. And there, hidden beneath the tangled roots, the path began — an ancient trail leading deeper into the cursed lands.

The shrine was said to lie within the **Vale of Silence**, a hollow untouched by the cursed. It was a place of old power. If the stories were true, it held the knowledge Vaelen needed to break the Eternal Hunt.

But the shadows stirred.

A low growl rumbled through the mist. Eyes gleamed in the darkness, reflecting the crimson light. Not the hollow eyes of the cursed — these were something else. Something older.

The ground shifted as the creature emerged. A hulking beast, its body covered in matted fur and twisted scars. Its fangs dripped with blackened saliva, and its eyes burned with unnatural rage. A **Bloodfang Wight** — one of Malrik’s creations.

Vaelen steadied his breath. The silver sword gleamed in his grasp, its edge stained with the blood of the fallen. The beast lunged, its massive claws tearing through the air.

But Vaelen was faster.

He ducked beneath the swipe, his blade flashing. The strike cut deep, but the Wight did not fall. The creature twisted, slamming its weight into Vaelen, sending him crashing to the ground.

Pain flared, but the voice whispered.

> *"The blood could end this. Embrace it."*

"No," Vaelen growled, forcing himself to his feet.

The Wight charged again, its roar shaking the ground. But this time, Vaelen met it head-on. The silver blade sang through the air, severing the beast’s jaw in a spray of dark ichor. With a final thrust, the sword plunged deep into its heart.

The Wight collapsed. Silence returned.

Vaelen stumbled, his breath ragged. The whispers were louder now. The hunger gnawed at him. But he could not stop.

The shrine awaited.

And so, with bloodstained hands and a burdened soul, Vaelen pressed on.