The mountains loomed like broken teeth against the crimson dusk, their jagged edges cutting into the dying light. Winds howled through the high passes, carrying with them whispers of ancient times — and something darker that moved in the cold shadow of twilight.
The journey to the Crescent Shrine had tested them more than the protagonist could have imagined. Lyra still moved stiffly, her side bound in fresh linen from the wound she'd taken during their clash with the Voidspawn. And though Kael traveled a few paces ahead, silent as ever, his presence felt like a smoldering coal — a constant, simmering threat.
The protagonist adjusted the strap of his pack, feeling the weight of the flame pendant thrum against his chest. Emberfang's essence stirred within him, restless.
"The air's getting heavier," Lyra said quietly, pulling her cloak tighter around her.
"It's the mana fields," Kael spoke without turning. His voice was cool, detached. "The Crescent Shrine sits at a fracture point — where the ley lines of Viraelon knot together. The closer we get, the more unstable the flow becomes."
The protagonist exchanged a glance with Lyra. They both knew what that meant. Wild mana surges. Twisted creatures. Unnatural phenomena. And lurking somewhere near the shrine... another Beast of Origin, perhaps. Or something worse.
They pressed on, scaling a narrow, crumbling path that wound around the cliff face. Below them, mist coiled like living things, rising from the forested valleys. As night deepened, faint lights danced in the mist — too rhythmic, too deliberate to be fireflies.
"Wisp spirits," Lyra murmured, eyeing them warily. "They're drawn to strong mana. Let's not linger."
At last, the ground leveled into a wide plateau. There, half-buried in stone and frost, stood the Crescent Shrine.
It was unlike the Throne of Beasts — more delicate in its architecture, curved towers and spires built from moonstone that shimmered faintly under the stars. Yet cracks marred the beauty, and the land around the shrine was warped — trees bent at unnatural angles, stones floating weightlessly in the air.
Kael stopped at the edge of the plateau, arms folded.
"Something's wrong," he said. "The shrine should be dormant unless called. But it's... pulsing."
The protagonist felt it too — a low, resonant heartbeat in the ground. His own flame aura flickered, as if uneasy.
"Let's go," he said.
Together, the trio approached the shrine's entrance — a massive archway of etched stone. As they stepped inside, the world seemed to shift. The air was heavier, time itself distorted. Each footstep echoed unnaturally loud, as if rippling through more than just space.
Inside, the walls were covered in murals — ancient depictions of beasts, men, and titanic battles fought across the heavens and earth. The protagonist ran his fingers over a carving of a massive stag wreathed in mist, battling a serpent of void.
Lyra's eyes lingered on another image — a cloaked figure standing between the beasts, arms outstretched, as if commanding them.
"The Seared One," she whispered.
"Or someone worse," Kael added grimly.
Suddenly, the ground trembled. A deep roar echoed through the corridors, making dust rain from the ceiling. A blast of corrupted mana surged from deeper within the shrine, sending a pulse of nausea through them.
"Void corruption," Kael growled, unsheathing his sword. "They're here."
Out of the gloom, forms materialized — twisted humanoids, their bodies blackened and cracked like burnt wood, eyes glowing with voidlight. Dozens of them.
"Wraithborn," Lyra hissed, drawing her blade.
The protagonist didn't hesitate. He called forth Emberfang's fire, letting it coat his arms in roaring flame. He could feel the heat bending the air around him, his aura sharpening like a drawn blade.
"Let's burn them out," he said.
The Wraithborn surged forward — a tidal wave of rot and madness.
The fight was brutal.
Lyra moved like a ghost, darting between enemies, her sword flashing silver. Kael fought with cold efficiency, each of his strikes precise and devastating, his dark aura flaring with every movement.
The protagonist faced them head-on, flames wreathing his entire body. He slammed his fist into the ground, sending a shockwave of molten fire through the ranks of Wraithborn. They screamed as the flames consumed them, but more kept coming.
One of the larger Wraithborn, nearly twice a man's height, charged him, swinging a cleaver made from fused bone and void crystal. The protagonist ducked the blow and countered with a spear of compressed flame, piercing its core. The creature erupted into cinders.
Still more closed in.
He gritted his teeth, letting Emberfang's voice rise within him:
"You are not prey. You are the fire that devours the darkness."
He roared, unleashing a cyclone of flame that carved a path through the swarm.
But then, a shriek split the air — not from the Wraithborn.
"LYRA!" he shouted.
He turned just in time to see her knocked back, blood spraying from a wound across her thigh. A corrupted knight — larger and clad in broken armor — stood over her, void-tainted blade raised.
Without thinking, he moved.
Fire exploded under his feet, propelling him forward. He tackled the knight mid-swing, driving both of them into a wall. The knight struggled, howling, but the protagonist didn't let up.
"You picked the wrong fight," he growled.
His aura flared — not just fire, but something deeper, wilder. The very air around him shimmered as the flames licked higher.
He pummeled the knight with a barrage of fiery strikes, each blow cracking armor, searing flesh. With a final cry, he drove a burning fist through the creature's chest, incinerating it from the inside out.
The knight collapsed into ash.
He stumbled back to Lyra, who was struggling to rise, blood staining her clothes.
"Stay with me," he said, helping her to her feet.
Her hand gripped his, tightly. Their eyes locked — and for a moment, the world around them blurred.
There was pain, and fear, and exhaustion — but also something else.
A bond. Unspoken. Unbreakable.
"I'm not leaving you," he promised.
Behind them, Kael finished the last of the Wraithborn, his blade dripping void ichor. He glanced at the wounded Lyra, then at the protagonist, his expression unreadable.
"We need to reach the shrine's heart," Kael said. "Before whatever corrupted it breaks free."
The protagonist nodded grimly.
He lifted Lyra gently onto his back, cradling her like she weighed nothing, and together — Kael leading, the protagonist carrying his precious burden — they pushed deeper into the shrine.
Through crumbling halls and past shattered relics, they finally reached a massive inner sanctum.
And there, suspended above a cracked altar, floated a mass of tangled roots and crystal — pulsing with corrupted mana.
"The Heartseed," Kael said softly. "It was supposed to birth a new Beast of Origin. But it's been tainted."
The Heartseed pulsed again — and shadows coalesced.
From the darkness emerged a creature unlike any they had seen. It had no true form — shifting constantly between wolf, serpent, and man — its body stitched from voidstuff and broken memories. It radiated despair.
"You're too late," it rasped. "The First Flame will fall. Viraelon will kneel."
The protagonist felt something cold grip his heart — but he shook it off.
He stood taller, flames roaring to life around him. He set Lyra down gently, placing a hand on her uninjured shoulder.
"Stay back," he said, voice low, burning with resolve.
Lyra nodded, gripping her blade even from the ground.
The protagonist stepped forward, facing the void creature alone. His aura expanded, a blazing inferno that lit the entire chamber.
For a heartbeat, the creature hesitated.
"You think you can defy the inevitable?" it hissed.
"I don't think," the protagonist said, clenching his fists. "I burn."
And then he charged — fire trailing behind him like a comet, ready to carve hope from despair once again.