The sky was stained with the hues of early dawn, violet clouds streaking the horizon as birds began their morning calls. The forest around them pulsed with quiet life, the rhythmic hum of insects and the soft rustle of branches creating a natural ambiance. But despite the beauty, there was a tension hanging in the air—thick, heavy, and unshakable.
Lyra moved through the underbrush in silence, her footsteps calculated and soft. Behind her, the protagonist followed, his hand occasionally brushing the hilt of his blade, eyes scanning every shadow.
Neither of them had spoken since the incident at the shrine. The awakening of Emberfang had done something to him—changed him in ways he hadn't fully understood yet. And Lyra… she looked at him differently now. Not with fear or suspicion, but with a guarded reverence, like someone walking beside a flame that might warm or burn.
"So," he finally said, breaking the silence, "this bond between me and Emberfang—how permanent is it?"
Lyra paused beside a fallen tree, studying him carefully before answering. "As permanent as blood in your veins. Emberfang didn't just lend you power. He chose you. That's a contract older than most kings."
He let the weight of that settle on him, exhaling slowly. "Great. So I'm walking around with a flame god in my chest."
"Not a god," Lyra corrected, hopping over the log. "A Beast of Origin. There's a difference. Beasts like Emberfang are primal, not divine. They don't care for prayers. They care for instinct, survival… power."
He caught up, brushing aside a low-hanging branch. "And now I'm a target."
"Now," she said, "you're a flame in the dark. And in Viraelon, fire attracts everything—good and bad."
They trekked through the dense woodland for hours, moving deeper into a region known as the Weeping Hollow. The trees here were older, thicker, and hung with moss like the beards of ancient giants. A haze clung to the ground, and the further they walked, the more unnatural everything began to feel.
The forest grew quiet.
Too quiet.
Lyra's hand went to the hilt of her blade, and he felt the flicker of warning from Emberfang's presence, like a heat spike in the back of his mind.
"Something's watching us," she whispered.
Before he could respond, the earth beneath them shook—just slightly at first, then violently. Cracks spread like spiderwebs, and from those cracks, shadows rose. Twisted, corrupted beasts, their bodies composed of animal and rot. Their eyes glowed with red light.
"Chimeras," Lyra hissed. "But… wrong. These things aren't just beasts. They're infected."
"Infected with what?" he asked, already channeling mana into his palm.
"Corruption from the Void," she said, unsheathing her blade. "These things were twisted by it. Whatever did this… it's close."
One of the creatures lunged, jaws wide and tendrils writhing from its back. The protagonist reacted on instinct, flinging a lance of flame that pierced its chest. The creature shrieked, limbs flailing, but didn't die.
"It's not enough!" he shouted, backing up.
"Hit the core!" Lyra called out.
"What core?!"
She leapt into the air, her blade glinting as she brought it down with a cry. A glowing orb embedded in the creature's spine shattered under the blow, and it fell limp.
"There!" she said. "They're fused with Void crystals! Target them!"
He nodded, adjusting his stance. Two more chimeras were already upon him, claws swinging. He dodged left, rolled beneath one, and unleashed a wide arc of fire. The blast revealed a pulsing crystal in the chest of the second beast. He hurled a concentrated orb of mana straight at it. It exploded, sending shards of black crystal flying as the creature let out one last shriek and fell.
The fight raged for what felt like hours. He and Lyra moved in tandem—fluid, efficient, like they'd been fighting together for years. But by the time the last chimera fell, both were breathing hard, bodies coated in sweat and grime.
The forest slowly began to return to its natural rhythm, but the feeling of wrongness lingered.
"This shouldn't be happening," Lyra muttered, kneeling beside one of the broken bodies. "Void corruption this deep… it's spreading faster than it used to. We're weeks from the frontier. This is too close."
He walked up beside her. "Could it be related to the shrine?"
She shook her head. "Possibly. Or… someone could be drawing it here. On purpose."
He frowned. "To what end?"
"War. Chaos. Or worse—dominion." She stood, brushing her hands off. "We need to get to the Throne of Beasts. There's information there, and maybe—maybe—a way to track the other shrines."
They made camp that night by a quiet stream. The stars overhead were bright, but Lyra was unusually distant. She sat with her knees pulled to her chest, eyes reflecting the firelight.
"You okay?" he asked.
She gave a small shrug. "I was born in this forest, you know. My village was deeper west, near the roots of the Old Tree. My people… they used to be wardens of the land. Guardians."
"What happened?"
"The Void happened," she said softly. "And we failed to stop it. My village was swallowed in a single night. I was the only one who made it out."
He sat beside her, the fire crackling between them. "That's why you're doing this. Why you helped me."
She nodded. "I thought I was alone in this. But when I saw Emberfang's fire inside you, I knew… maybe the Beasts are waking again because the world is ready to fight back."
Silence stretched for a while before he spoke again. "You're not alone anymore, Lyra."
A small smile tugged at her lips. "I know."
That night, as sleep claimed him, he dreamed.
He stood on a mountain of ash, with fire spreading in every direction. In the sky above him, a great burning wolf—Emberfang—howled, its cry shaking the heavens. Shadows moved in the fire, shapes like beasts and people. One stepped forward—a man cloaked in crimson, eyes like molten lava.
"You've only just begun," the man said. "The truth of Viraelon runs deeper than you know. And the fire… the fire is only the key."
He awoke with a start, gasping. The fire had gone out. Lyra was already awake, watching the forest.
"You felt it too, didn't you?" she asked.
He nodded. "A man in the flames. Crimson cloak. He said the fire was only the key."
Lyra's face darkened. "The Seared One."
"Who?"
She stood. "A myth. A warning. They say he was the first mortal to try and harness all the Beast Shrines. They say he failed—and in doing so, became something else."
"And now he's speaking to me in dreams."
"That's… not good."
They packed up camp and pressed onward, the path becoming steeper, the trees giving way to rock and mist. By midday, they reached a cliff overlooking a sprawling ruin below—ancient towers, overgrown paths, and a colossal statue of a beast crouching on all fours.
"The Throne of Beasts," Lyra whispered.
The ruins shimmered faintly with residual mana. It felt old—older than the forest, older than even the shrine. The stones pulsed with buried power, and at the center of it all was a sealed altar, surrounded by broken weapons and bones long since bleached by time.
They moved cautiously, aware of the silence. It was too quiet.
When they reached the altar, symbols flared beneath their feet, reacting to the protagonist's presence. The air grew heavy. Words echoed through the stone, a language not spoken but felt.
"Bearer of Flame. Tamer of Emberfang. The path ahead lies in ruins and rebirth."
A stone tablet rose from the altar, etched with symbols and diagrams—maps of the world, locations of the shrines, and something else: a constellation shaped like a wolf's head, with five stars glowing red.
Lyra traced the lines. "These are the Shrines of the Origin Beasts. All of them. But this… this shows something else."
"What?"
She looked up. "It's a warning. Someone is trying to merge the shrines. Combine their power."
"Like the Seared One."
She nodded. "And if they succeed, Viraelon won't survive it."