The Silent Kings

The air thickens as I descend, heavy enough to drag at my wings. Dust coils in spirals, clinging to my feathers with every beat. Something in the darkness warps the wind itself; pushing back, resisting me. I cut through it, talons tucked tight, eyes narrowing. Not far now.

The curtain wall rises from the dark, its scorched stone catching the storm in dull, fractured glints. My new heart thrums fast and hard. I cannot linger. He needs me.

Zephyr’s warmth brushes past me one last time, her power rolling over my feathers like a soft embrace; fading, fragile, lifting me on the spiralling wind.

The current draws me into the shattered keep, slipping through a jagged gap in its broken crown. A cold draft snakes through the ruin, whispering of old wounds; burned cloth, broken stone. I glide soundless, wings held close. Then the air shifts.

Inside the fortress, her warmth falls away. I am alone. A heaviness builds beneath my white breast-feathers, a longing for the two of them. Caden, Zephyr… we will all be together again. I promise.

Only the dark remains.

The path is mine to fly.

Caden, I am coming.

I glide into a wide arched hallway, a path carved from the mountain itself; a stone tunnel broad enough for a wagon train to pass through side by side. I strain my sight into the murk, pushing the limits of what little light remains. Shapes rise from the walls: figures hewn from the rock, sailors leaning into waves, ships rearing against carved storms, explorers driving into the unknown.

The carvings sharpen as I sweep closer. What I first took for scattered scenes reveals itself as a single vast design spiralling along the wall; a winding path etched in stone, its curves threading through storms, mountains, and fractured seas. Figures ride its length: explorers carved in flowing lines, leaning into roaring winds as their ships rise against impossible waves. At the spiral’s heart, a great vessel breaches a storm-wall, its prow crowned with the shape of an owl in full flight. Beyond it, the carved sea unfurls into jagged shards; broken islands, scattered like the remnants of some ancient crossing. I follow the spiral with my gaze, but its end disappears into the dark, broken by a splintered crack that splits the stone clean through, as though the story itself was torn apart.

A chill bites through me like an arctic wind, ruffling my feathers and leaving a strange sense of knowing. As if I know this story and its dread, but can’t quite place it in memory.

I reach the far side of the passage. It opens into a vast cavern, giant statues of heroes and kings are carved into the cavern walls, looming over everything below like silent stone gods. At the centre of the cavern, a massive spiralling staircase trails down into the depths.

How deep does this city reach to hide such a structure?

I see the carved story resume its tale in the centre pillar of the stairwell. It spirals down into the dark, telling more of the tale. A part of me wants to follow the path deeper, to find out the ending to this story. Somehow I know it’s important, that both Caden’s fate and mine are tied to its end.

But there is no time. I must find Caden. He needs my help.

I glide around the centre pillar, considering my move. I see broken market stalls crumbled into heaps, wood and old bones litter the floor, breaking away into dust. Broken and rusted swords are scattered across the cavern, echoing the final moments of the people here.

I rise up near the cavern ceiling, coming to perch on the crown of an old forgotten king. From this vantage I can see the scene below clearly; the broken swords and crumbling shields surround the exits. All seem to be facing inward, toward the mountain’s depths.

A small detail catches the edge of my vision, a soft movement like a mouse. I peer deeper into the depths of the stairwell, and I see… two faint yellow eyes peering back at me from the dark. But there’s something else; its body is darker than the surrounding black, bearing the shape of a wolf. Then, as if it sensed my realisation, its faint yellow eyes ignite into molten gold before it vanishes into the depths. Even from here, I feel the thick air shift under its rapid descent.

A moment passes, and the air stills once more. Out of the silence, a howl echoes from below. The eerie noise ripples against my feathers as it moves through the heavy air. A shudder rushes through me, and the urge to take flight radiates through every sense.

Every instinct screams to flee, but I force myself still. I’m high above the cavern; safe for now. I fold my wings tight, trying to steady the tremor in my feathers. Then another howl rises from below, this one more distant. It lingers only for a breath before fading. Yet somehow, deep within, I know those howls were meant for me, like it’s beckoning me to follow.

Does this thing know where Caden is? Or is it simply luring me deeper; closer to its den?

I weigh my choices from the safety of my perch.

One: follow the path downward. Most of the fortress lies below, and Caden is more likely to be there.

Two: climb toward the upper levels; maybe he’s seeking a vantage point from the pinnacle of the tower.

Three: he is lost, wandering in the dark with who knows what. If so, he has no chance of navigating this maze alone.

I mull over my choices, but I realise quickly that my best option is down. That is where the greater fear lies; the Flamepool wouldn’t have it any other way. I shake out my feathers, clearing what dust and grime I can.

I look toward the spiralling staircase and step over the edge.

Downward, then. If the fortress wants to bury its secrets beneath the mountain, that is where I will find him. I do not want to go down, but Caden is somewhere in that blackness, and fear will not keep me from him.

As I begin my descent, I feel it; the certainty that I am no longer alone. Something watches me.