[Name: Scarlett Hartford]

[Skills:

[Major Mana Control]

[Superior Pyromancy]

[Argent Pyrokinesis]

[Superior Hydromancy]

[Major Hydrokinesis]

[̼̭̬̋̈́̒͜ ̧̘̜́ͣ͛͛ͅ ͚̜̓͜ͅ ̢̰͚̾̏ͅ ̮̿͆̒͠ ̢̾̏ͅ ̢̰̾̏ͅ]]

[Traits:

[Dignified August]

[Supercilious]

[Cavalier]

[Callous]

[Overbearing]

[Conceited]

[Second-rate Mana Veins]]

[Mana: 439/20047]

[Points: 163]

[Skills Menu:

Upgrades

[Major Pyromancy] (50 points)

[Major Hydromancy] (50 points)

[Argent Hydrokinesis] (100 points | Spark of Divinity 0/1)

[Argent Mana Control] (100 points | Spark of Divinity 0/1)

New skills - Echoes

[Echo of the Smouldering Crown] (200 points | Dormant)

[Echo of a Distant Tide] (200 points | Dormant)

[…]]

Scarlett glanced at the floating system windows while holding a warmed metal cup between her palms. The tea wasn’t quite on par with what Garside prepared, but considering it had been brewed inside a half-frozen chamber carved into a solitary peak in the highest mountain range of the empire, it would do.

Barely.

“Thank you, Kat,” Allyssa said softly from nearby, accepting her own cup from the older Shielder.

Kat had a surprising variety of field equipment she’d never revealed when they had adventured before. Scarlett wasn’t sure why that also included a folded kettle and tins of dried leaves, of all things, but maybe it was a habit learned from years as a Shielder. Or maybe she simply got bored otherwise.

They sat in a rough circle on layered blankets and travel cloaks, killing time while Fynn completed his meditation. Shin read in silence. Allyssa sorted through her potions, separating what was salvageable from what had spoiled. Rosa drifted between light, wandering melodies on her klert and quietly watching Olgolzkreh’s heart and the tiny ethereal dragon coiled atop it.

Carnwedain lingered at the edge, not really part of their group, but not truly distancing himself either. He just seemed not to care about involving himself. Meanwhile, Slate and Nol’viz stood behind Fynn, just as they had after the second trial, listening—if that passed for listening—to his final awakening.

There wasn’t any urgency in leaving. Even after what should have been a substantial rest in Olgolzkreh’s lair, this chamber almost encouraged more of it. The space itself pressed a sense of serene hush over one, presumably stemming from Grehalyr’s unmoving form stretched across the raised dais at the chamber’s far end.

Her presence should have drawn the eye. After a while, though, the immense wolf receded into the background like any other fixture of the chamber.

At least for Scarlett. But maybe bracing herself against Olgolzkreh’s colossal existence—easily five times Grehalyr’s size, if not more—had somehow dulled her recent capacity for awe. In any case, the initial reverence she might have felt had ebbed enough for her to focus on more practical matters, such as how to spend the skill points she had just earned.

Upgrade Major Pyromancy and Major Hydromancy for better mana efficiency? Or conserve the points for Argent Mana Control or Argent Hydrokinesis, should she ever acquire another [Spark of Divinity]? Alternatively, she could reserve them for one of the Echoes.

Another Echo would be useful. The Stillwork of Shattered Glass had proven as much. But it was unclear whether the ‘Dormant’ tag indicated more than an insufficient amount of points. It could be that it required a condition she had yet to meet. She almost suspected that was the case.

She was leaning towards just taking the safe route and upgrading her current skills. Maximise efficiency first, so to speak. Then save again and wait for whatever opportunity presented itself next.

But that had made her think.

She turned a page in the red, leather-backed journal placed in her lap while taking another sip of tea and reviewing her old notes.

There was still time before Mistress’ whole gala thing, and before the capital’s celebrations marking the Empyreal Barrier’s completion began. Scarlett had intended to use that window wisely, leveraging the empire’s Kilnstone network to clear as many dungeons as possible during that time. But with how chaotic things had been lately, she’d only managed to book a few trips through official channels.

The original plan, once they finished here, was to return to Freybrook, rest up, complete some more preparations, then head out on those trips until there wasn’t any time left. Now, though, she was thinking it might be better to simply use the Kilnstone here in the Whitdown Mountains and make rapid excursions to other Kilnstones she’d personally registered outside cities—few as they were—and run through all the dungeons she could find that way.

With her current party, plus Carnwedain and Nol’viz, there were almost no sites that would pose any genuine challenge, and it could probably net her somewhere in the range of 100 to 200 skill points.

She picked up a pen and added a couple of notes to a list of viable locations. She was avoiding anything but the most strictly necessary applications of pyrokinesis for now, at least until her mana veins felt less raw.

Just as she was flipping back to double-check an entry, the atmosphere in the chamber shifted.

The others felt it too. Everyone looked at Fynn.

Scarlett had expected the awakening to take several hours. Half a day, even. But it had barely been an hour.

Slate and Nol’viz exchanged a glance and stepped back from Fynn.

A surge of wind burst outward from him, rolling through the chamber in a rapid rush. A pale sheen flared across Grehalyr’s fur.

Fynn’s eyes snapped open.

The wind thickened, then fractured. From it emerged spectral wolves, edged in the same sheen covering Grehalyr. They threw their heads back in unison, and the howl that followed reverberated through the chamber, shaking the stone.

Fynn’s gaze passed over them. He rose. The wolves fell silent.

He looked at Scarlett and the others, then briefly at Slate and Nol’viz, before turning towards Grehalyr. Crossing the distance to the dais, he stopped before the great wolf, staring up at her. He raised his hand. A bone-white ring marked his palm.

“I’m done,” he declared.

The still air around Grehalyr stirred. A gust combed through her fur.

“Thank you for watching over us all this time,” Fynn continued. “I hope you can finally pass on.”

A final current swept the chamber, descending from the vortex overhead. Grehalyr began to dissolve, her form thinning into drifting light that met the vortex. The spectral wolves followed, their shapes unravelling into the same ascending current. The ring on Fynn’s palm faded with them.

What remained was a lingering, solemn quiet.

Fynn stood motionless for several seconds, then turned back to Scarlett.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“We can leave now.”

She studied him. “You are satisfied with this conclusion?”

He nodded. “Mm.”

“…Very well.”

She closed her journal and cooled the remaining tea, finishing it in one measured swallow before standing. “Kat, you will come with us. The rest of you will wait here. We will not be long.”

Rosa frowned. “Why just Kat?”

“Because I intend to test something.”

“Oh?” The bard eyed her suspiciously. She leaned towards Allyssa. “What do you think her angle is? I’d wager she’s figuring out how to replace us.”

Allyssa scratched her cheek. “I doubt that.”

Rosa looked very disappointed by that answer, but Scarlett didn’t particularly care. She followed Fynn towards the rear of the chamber, Kat falling in beside them. They climbed the dais Grehalyr had occupied, with Kat slowing as they passed the spot where the wolf had lain.

“Did she die?” she asked.

Fynn shook his head. “She wasn’t alive. She was a lingering will. Like the Olgolzkreh we fought.”

“Right. But you’re really fine with her being gone?”

“I am.”

“What about your ancestors?”

Fynn was quiet for a moment. “They’re gone as well.”

“Were they…the wolves that just vanished?”

“Yes.”

Scarlett watched Fynn’s face as he answered Kat’s questions, but she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. There was very little emotion there.

Suddenly, the youth stopped and turned to look straight at her. “Are you angry?”

“Angry?” She studied him more closely. “Why do you ask?”

“The ancestors were hostile towards you,” he said. “Didn’t you want to punish them? Things didn’t go how they planned, but they still got what they wanted in the end.”

“Punish…?” Her brow creased. “I suppose I did. There was certainly a time when I might have preferred to see them answer for what they did. However, I have since given up on that. If I had not, I would not have left the final decision to you.”

Fynn considered that, then nodded to himself. “Alright.”

He continued onward, leading them through a passage carved directly from the mountain. The walls curved in incredibly clean arcs, with wolves running along the stone in etched relief. The craftsmanship was exacting, but that was often the case with Fynn’s people.

The passage opened into a smaller circular chamber where braziers flared to life. At the centre stood a low stone altar veined with thin seams of blue-white light, and several shallow recesses lined the walls, each cradling an artifact.

“According to the ancestors, these are old heirlooms of our clan,” Fynn said quietly. “No one was allowed to touch them.”

“Is there anything you would prefer remained here?” Scarlett asked.

He shrugged. “No. Take whatever you want.”

She surveyed the collection. Much of it would no doubt carry considerable value, but only a couple of pieces truly mattered to her.

The most prominent was a jagged, translucent crystal the size of a clenched fist, shaped like a fractured canine tooth. Faded currents churned endlessly within, threads of light pulsing through its core like a steady heartbeat.

[Heart of the First Gale (Divine)]

{The wind that moved before breath was named still turns within this shard}

A Divine-tier relic that was practically made for Fynn. This alone would significantly buff his strength. Combined with the completed trials, Scarlett was curious how much stronger he was now.

Could he properly face Carnwedain alone?

Her gaze shifted to a smaller item: a circular bone disc etched with concentric runic spirals.

[Chorus Core of Remembrance (Unique)]

{Where fang and sigil failed alone, this heart binds memory into voice}

Scarlett withdrew two objects from her [Pouch of Holding].

[Resonance Sigil of Remembrance (Unique)]

{This etched mark once guided forgotten verses into form; now it hums, waiting for a voice it recognises}

[Fang of Remembrance (Unique)]

{This fang once recalled the verses of old, yet now it sits divided and vacant. It longs to become whole, and to once more sing the songs embedded in it}

A thin bone sigil, cracked along its outer ring, and a silver fang the length of her hand, its base split as though it had been torn from something. Together with the [Chorus Core of Remembrance], they would form something she had been excited to complete.

She brought the three pieces together.

The disc’s runes ignited first. Light spread through the fractures in the sigil, then seeped into the fang’s seams. A low hum tightened into resonance. The disc shattered into motes of colour that sank into the other two. Cracks smoothed into unbroken script. The fang settled cleanly within the sigil’s ring.

When the glow faded, a single curved silver fang remained, set within a circular bone frame.

[Canticle of Remembrance (Unique)]

{Verses once scattered now sing in unison}

“Kat,” Scarlett said, turning to the Shielder, who was watching with open curiosity.

“Yeah?”

“Cast a spell.”

“A spell? What spell? Got any specific request?”

“Something simple.”

“Alright.” Kat flicked her hand. A thin flame formed above her fingers. “Is Kindle enough?”

Scarlett glanced down at the Canticle.

“Do it again,” she said, stepping closer.

Kat gave her a brief look but obliged. The flame vanished, then reappeared.

Scarlett focused on the artefact, asking Kat to repeat the action a few times more. Eventually, she managed to isolate the pattern she wanted within the Canticle. There. She fed a measured surge of mana into it.

The runes flared.

A hush of whispers skimmed the air, almost melodic, threading through the chamber like some half-remembered verse. Above the silver fang, a thin flame formed.

Scarlett smiled.

Kat’s eyes widened. “Wait, hold on. Did that thing just copy my spell?”

“It did, yes.”

“How?”

“Magic.”

“You don’t say.”

Scarlett allowed herself a quiet chuckle. “It records a single expression of a spell and preserves it. The bearer may then reproduce it at will, provided they supply the necessary mana. No further requirements.”

Kat stared. “Any spell?”

“Yes.”

In the game, it had been an incredibly useful late-game item. Perfect for casting a single powerful spell from a school you hadn’t mastered. Scarlett had wanted to get her hands on this from day one. It wasn’t as critical to her now, but it was still far from useless.

“That’s…insane,” Kat breathed.

“More insane than appropriating the heart of an ancient dragon for personal use?” Scarlett asked.

Kat paused, then grinned. “No. That one’s hard to beat. You’re insane, you know that, Scarlett?”

“People do voice similar assessments at times.”

“Yeah, well, you’re the type who’ll have ballads written about her in a couple of generations.”

Scarlett exhaled softly. “Provided those ballads are not composed by Rosa, I have resigned myself to enduring the prospect.”

That drew a sharp laugh from Kat. “You two are so weird about each other.”

Scarlett stiffened, narrowing her eyes. Kat immediately lifted her hands in surrender. “Never mind. Didn’t say anything. What was that, Fynn? You spot something that needs my years of arcane semi-expertise?”

Fynn, who had stepped up to the [Heart of the First Gale (Divine)], turned his head. “I didn’t.”

“That’s fine. I’ll offer it anyway.”

Kat sauntered over, initially affecting exaggerated scrutiny. The pretence dissolved quickly, however, when she truly registered how powerful the relic was and released a startled gasp.

Scarlett shook her head and moved on, examining the remaining artefacts. There were several Legendary-tier pieces that would undoubtedly prove useful, but the [Heart of the First Gale (Divine)] and [Canticle of Remembrance (Unique)] were the true prizes.

Once they’d finished inspecting everything, they gathered it all and returned to the others. Soon after, they left Grehalyr’s underground halls entirely and began the ascent to the surface, Carnwedain bearing Olgolzkreh’s heart without complaint.

Night still ruled the mountainside when they emerged. Despite the darkness, they started their descent at once, using magic lanterns to guide their path. Scarlett had been worried that the cold would be difficult to handle without her pyrokinesis, but Fynn simply stilled all wind around them. Without the biting gusts, a few extra layers of clothing were enough to make do.

The descent proved slower than their climb. Without Rosa’s charms to fully blunt the edge of fatigue, and with only lantern light to guide them, they had to be extra careful with the terrain. Even so, they reached the Kilnstone as dawn broke, sunlight spilling over the snowbound peaks.

From there, Fynn led them—for the first time—to the site of his old village.

There was little left of it.

A quiet current of wind rolled outward from him, clearing the drifts of snow and revealing the remnants below. Broken stone. Collapsed frames. The faint outline of streets and what had been.

He guided them to a clearing where several dozen low mounds of stone rested in loose rows. The early light washed the scene in pale gold. Fynn stood before them, head bowed.

Something shifted.

A gale surged.

Wind carved into stone.

One by one, each mound received its mark: the face of a wolf etched deep into the surface, accompanied by distinct characters cut beside it. No two were identical.

When the wind stilled, the graves stood redefined.

For most, the sight would have carried only grief. With Fynn, it felt steadier than that. More resolved.

Before they departed, he turned to Carnwedain and Nol’viz.

“Were you involved?” he asked.

Nol’viz tilted her head. “Involved?”

“In the Cabal’s plan eight years ago. The one that drove Olgolzkreh mad.”

She shook her head. “No.”

Fynn held her gaze for several long seconds, something sharper than before settling behind his eyes. Then he looked to Carnwedain.

The knight met his stare without flinching.

“And you?”

There was a pause.

“No,” Carnwedain finally said.

Fynn studied him a moment longer, then gave a single nod. “Okay.”

He turned and walked away.

The rest of them exchanged looks, then followed.