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The ride back to Emberhold was silent, save for the steady clop of hooves against cracked earth. Jonah’s mind raced with fragments of fear and understanding—Draven might be gone, but his influence lingered like poison in the Dominion’s veins.
Kael rode beside him, her eyes scanning the horizon. The wind carried faint whispers, threads of sound that dissipated before they could form coherent words.
“What do we do now?” Kael asked, her voice barely audible over the wind.
Jonah tightened his grip on the reins. “We prepare. Whatever’s stirring out here—it’s connected to Draven. And if we don’t stop it now, it’ll spread.”
By nightfall, Emberhold’s flickering lanterns appeared in the distance. The gates creaked open as Jonah and Kael rode in, their arrival met with wary eyes and hushed murmurs.
The settlement was restless, as though the air itself carried the weight of an impending storm.
In the dim light of Emberhold’s main hall, Kael spread a map across a rough wooden table. Jonah leaned over it, tracing the faded lines with his finger.
“The Dominion’s forces are still scattered, but they’ll regroup,” Kael said. “We need to be ready when they do.”
Jonah shook his head. “It’s not just soldiers we need to worry about. The shadows, the whispers—they’re still out there. Whatever Draven was trying to summon, it left a mark on this place.”
Kael frowned. “If you’re right, then we’re not just fighting soldiers—we’re fighting something we can’t see. Something we don’t understand.”
Jonah met her eyes. “Then we need answers. Before it’s too late.”
Kael nodded. “There’s an old chapel just beyond the eastern ridge. It was abandoned long before the Dominion rose to power. Some say it holds relics—knowledge—forgotten by time. If there’s anything left there, it might help us understand what we’re up against.”
Jonah hesitated, the weight of his exhaustion pressing down on him. But there was no other choice.
“I’ll go,” he said.
Kael’s brow furrowed. “You’re not going alone. I’ll send Rian with you. He knows the eastern ridge better than anyone.”
Rian was a wiry man with sharp eyes and a nervous energy that never seemed to settle. He adjusted the straps on his pack as he stood by the settlement gates.
“You’re Jonah, right?” Rian said, his voice quick and clipped. “Kael says you’re the one who brought down Draven. Is that true?”
Jonah hesitated. “It’s... complicated.”
Rian snorted. “Complicated or not, you’ve got guts. Let’s move before dawn catches us.”
They set out under the faint glow of starlight, their path winding through narrow canyons and over crumbling ridges. The air was colder here, sharper, and the wind carried faint whispers—ghostly and persistent.
Rian glanced at Jonah as they walked. “You hear that?”
Jonah nodded. “The whispers. They’ve been following me since the fortress.”
Rian’s expression darkened. “They’re getting louder the closer we get to the ridge.”
The chapel appeared just before sunrise, nestled in a shallow valley between two jagged hills. Its stone walls were cracked and weathered, the steeple leaning slightly to one side. Vines choked its facade, and the stained-glass windows had long since shattered.
Jonah felt an immediate weight settle on his chest.
“This place feels wrong,” Rian whispered.
Jonah nodded. “Stay close.”
They stepped through the rotting wooden doors into the chapel’s hollow interior. Dust hung heavy in the air, and faint light filtered through gaps in the ceiling.
At the far end of the chapel, beneath the remnants of an altar, lay an ancient stone slab carved with symbols Jonah recognized immediately.
“They’re the same,” he murmured, tracing the symbols with his fingertips. “The same as in Draven’s fortress.”
Rian knelt beside him. “What does it mean?”
Jonah shook his head. “I don’t know. But these symbols—they’re tied to whatever Draven was trying to awaken.”
A faint sound echoed through the chapel—a whisper, louder than before.
Jonah froze.
“Rian... do you hear that?”
Rian’s face was pale as he pointed to the shadows behind the altar. A figure stood there, barely visible in the gloom.
It was tall, impossibly thin, its face obscured by a hood. Its hollow eyes glowed faintly in the darkness.
“You shouldn’t have come here,” the figure rasped.
Rian stumbled backward, nearly dropping his lantern.
“What are you?” Jonah demanded.
The figure tilted its head, its voice a chorus of layered whispers. “The gate was closed, but the key still lingers. The Dominion was only the beginning.”
Jonah’s stomach tightened. “Draven is gone. Whatever he started—it’s over.”
The figure’s hollow eyes flared with faint light. “You are wrong, Jonah Hart. Shadows do not die—they wait.”
Without warning, the figure lunged forward. Jonah shoved Rian aside, drawing a rusted dagger from his belt. The figure moved with inhuman speed, its form flickering like smoke.
Jonah slashed wildly, the blade cutting through empty air as the figure melted back into the shadows.
The whispers intensified, filling the chapel with a suffocating chorus.
“Run!” Jonah shouted.
He and Rian bolted for the chapel doors, their footsteps echoing through the hollow space. The whispers followed them, clinging to the edges of their minds like oil.
They burst into the open air, the cold wind sharp against their faces.
The chapel behind them seemed to shudder, its stones groaning as if alive.
Rian doubled over, gasping for breath. “What... what was that?”
Jonah stared back at the ruined chapel, his knuckles white around the hilt of his dagger.
“It’s not over, Rian. Whatever Draven started—it’s still spreading.”
They turned back toward Emberhold, the faint glow of lanterns barely visible in the distance.
But Jonah knew one thing for certain:
The shadows were not done with him yet.