Chapter9:TheWhispers ofthepass
407 Words
The mountain pass was narrow, a jagged wound in the earth that climbed higher and higher into the clouds. Kael and Elara moved in silence, the only sound being the rhythmic crunch of their boots on the frost-covered stone. Behind them, the ruins of the sanctuary were hidden by a thick shroud of dust and magical residue, but Kael knew the Black Sun wouldn't be delayed for long.
"How far is the Altar of Dawn?" Elara asked, her voice echoing strangely against the high rock walls. She was pale, the strain of using the relic and the statue taking its toll on her strength.
Kael looked up at the twin peaks that loomed ahead like the horns of a Great Beast. "Two days, if the weather holds. But the pass is haunted by more than just memories. This is where the last King of Aethelgard fell. They say his spirit still guards the high road, waiting for someone to carry the silver blood back to the light.
"As if in response to his words, a cold wind began to whistle through the crevices, a sound that resembled a low, mournful chant. The silver light in Kael’s veins hummed, vibrating in sync with the mountain itself. He felt a presence—a heavy, ancient weight that seemed to watch their every move from the shadows of the cliffs.
"I feel it too," Elara whispered, clutching the relic. "It’s not like the woods. It doesn't feel evil. It feels... judged.
"Suddenly, the path ahead was blocked by a shimmer in the air. A ghostly figure, translucent and clad in armor that seemed made of moonlight, materialized before them. He held a massive shield embossed with the sun, and his eyes were hollow pits of starlight.
"None shall pass who carry the stain of the valley," the spirit’s voice boomed, vibrating in Kael’s very bones.
Kael stepped forward, drawing his sword. He didn't raise it to strike, but held it flat across his palms in a gesture of old military respect. "I am Kael of the Iron-Blood. I carry the relic of the sun and the blood of the ancestors. We do not bring the stain; we bring the cure.
"The spirit tilted its head, its hollow gaze falling on Kael’s glowing forearm. The silence that followed was deafening, as if the mountain itself was holding its breath.
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