The soul-wraith screamed as Aran's fire struck it, writhing like smoke caught in sunlight. But it didn't vanish — it shifted, dispersing across the stones, clinging to the ruins like a stain that would not wash clean.
Elira moved swiftly, casting runes with her sightstone, weaving protective wards around their son. "It's not a creature," she said breathlessly. "It's a tether — a vessel for something deeper."
Aran nodded grimly. "We go down."
They found the descent near the old well — a spiral tunnel, swallowed in darkness, chiseled with ancient glyphs. The symbols pulsed faintly in Elira's presence, responding to her bloodline — old magic, healer-born.
As they ventured deeper, the whispers grew softer — not from retreat, but from reverence. The silence was no longer empty. It was watching.
At the bottom lay a chamber of blackstone, cracked and humming with power. In its center pulsed a core — not of fire, not of light, but of memory. Trapped within it floated flickering echoes — faces, voices, moments long lost.
"This is a soul-heart," Elira breathed. "But not a natural one. Someone made this."
Aran approached it slowly. "And fed it with pain."
He touched the crystal.
In an instant, visions poured into him — battles from forgotten centuries, lovers torn apart by war, oaths shattered under pressure. All the regrets that birthed this prison. All the promises broken.
And at the core of them all, a name surfaced: Nyareth.
"Elira," he said through clenched teeth. "This wasn't an accident. It's a seed. Someone planted this to grow pain."
Elira's eyes widened. "We've seen this magic before… in the scrolls Vaerin found. It's not from this world."
The soul-heart pulsed violently.
Elira cried out as shadow tendrils lashed out — not to kill, but to merge, to drag them into its grief and make them part of the echo.
But Aran stood firm.
He reached out, not with fire, but with memory — with truth.
"I kept my promise," he said into the heart. "And I will not carry your chains."
The Oathbrand flared to life in his soul, even from afar — a tether forged by love, not suffering.
He unleashed its light into the heart.
A burst of radiant flame erupted, golden and fierce, cutting through centuries of sorrow.
When the light cleared, the soul-heart was cracked and dim.
The whispers had stopped.
Above, Kireth Hollow exhaled its first breeze in years.