By the third nightfall, the forest gave way to a vast, unnatural stillness.
Before them yawned a desolate crater — a wound in the world, miles wide, its stone rim scorched black as if kissed by an ancient flame. The wind here was dry and thin, and it carried no birdsong, no rustle of leaves. Only silence.
Elara stood at the edge, eyes wide.
"The Ruined Star," Lysar said quietly. "This is where the Gate rests — beneath all that shattered earth."
She stepped forward slowly. Down in the basin, strange symbols pulsed faintly in the stone — ancient runes curved like rivers, forming a spiral that led… downward.
Seris handed Elara a hooded cloak. "Put this on. The Hollow Star will feel your presence the moment you step down there."
"And if I don't go?" Elara asked, her voice hushed.
Kael spoke softly. "They'll come up here."
So she did. Wrapped in shadows and firelight, Elara descended into the crater with her companions.
Each step buzzed with energy — magic woven into the stone itself. A place of power, old as the sky. Elara's mark glowed faintly beneath her glove, resonating with the land.
"The Gate must be near," Lysar murmured. "But be wary — this is no temple. It's a prison."
They reached a platform of obsidian, half-swallowed by earth and time. At its center stood the Gate — tall, arched, carved from starmetal and etched in flame-script. Veins of silver pulsed faintly across it like a heartbeat.
Elara stepped forward — and it responded. The flame at her wrist surged. The gate shimmered, runes igniting like stars.
Then—
A blast of wind struck from behind.
Kael drew his sword just as a cloaked figure landed on the platform.
"You're too late," the stranger sneered, throwing back his hood.
He was young, his face sharp with hatred and cruel ambition. His eyes — twin mirrors of Elara's fire-mark — burned red with corrupted light.
"Elara Wynne," he said. "I am Malric, chosen of the Hollow Star. And you, flame-blood, will not awaken what should stay dead."
He raised his hand — and a pillar of shadow burst from the ground, knocking Lysar aside.
Kael charged.
Steel met shadow. Sparks flew.
Seris flanked right, her daggers slicing through magical wards. But Malric was strong — stronger than any of them expected. He hurled Kael across the platform, then turned his eyes to Elara.
"You don't even know what you are," he hissed. "The key. The fire. The unsealer."
Elara stepped forward, trembling — but standing.
"I may not know yet," she said, her voice firm, "but I will. And I will not let you take this from me."
Flame burst from her palm — wild, golden, furious. It struck the platform, scattering the shadows. Malric screamed, retreating into the dark with a hiss.
The crater rumbled.
The Gate responded to her fire — not with opening…
But with a whisper.
"Elara…"
A voice. Female. Distant and echoing. Familiar.
"Mother?"
The Gate pulsed again — then fell silent.
Elara turned to the others, breathless.
"She's still here. Or something of her is."