The Hollow Throne was closer now — so close that it seemed to devour the horizon.
Its dark spires rose like the ribs of a long-dead god, etched with veins of crimson light that pulsed in rhythm with the ground beneath their feet.
The air grew thinner as they climbed, filled with the faint taste of metal and something older — something watching.
Eryndor led the way, the crystal key around his neck glowing brighter with every step. The path was steep and fractured, a narrow stairway of stone that twisted upward into mist.
No one spoke for a long while. Words felt dangerous here. Even the sound of their breath seemed to echo too loudly, bouncing off the cliffs as if the mountain itself were listening.
Finally, Zephyr broke the silence. “We’re walking into the heart of something alive,” h
