The heavy scent of ozone and burnt feathers hung thickly inside the damp cavern. Azeal stood near the cave's mouth, his chest heaving as the brilliant starlight on the Star Fire Sword slowly receded into the ancient steel. Outside, the night was eerily quiet again, save for the distant, fading wail of the single Harpy that had escaped, flapping its broken wing back toward the dark kingdom of Zhalver.
Azeal turned back into the darkness of the cave, sheathing the ancestral blade. The sheer effort of channeling his father's cosmic fire sent a sharp wave of exhaustion through his veins, making his knees buckle slightly.
Vaelora rushed to his side, catching him before he could fall against the cold stone floor. "Azeal! The sword... it drains too much of your strength. You are already injured from the Mordaen titan."
"I am fine," Azeal managed a weak, reassuring smile, resting his hand over hers. "The Star Fire Sword protects its master, Vaelora. But we cannot stay in this cave any longer. That creature will carry the news of its failure straight to Draeven Zareth. He knows we have survived the mountain pass, and he knows exactly what weapon I carry."
Clutching the Book of Origins tightly to her chest, Vaelora looked out at the treacherous mountain ledge. "The book is pulsing again. It's guiding us down into the valley. There is an ancient forest at the base of these peaks. We have to move before Draeven sends something worse."
With Azeal leaning slightly on Vaelora for support, the two lovers carefully slipped out of the bloody cave and began their rapid descent under the cover of the fading starlight.
Hours passed as they navigated the steep, rocky slopes, the freezing mountain air gradually giving way to a dense, suffocating fog. By the time the false dawn broke, the jagged rocks had disappeared, replaced by the towering, twisted silhouettes of primordial trees. They had entered the Shrouded Woods—a place forgotten by the Seven Kingdoms, where the fog was so thick that the sky was completely hidden.
Suddenly, the Star Fire Sword gave a low, warm hum against Azeal's hip. It wasn't the violent, aggressive pulse it gave when the Harpies appeared; this was a soft, steady vibration.
At the same time, the mist in front of them began to part, revealing a massive, ancient oak tree. Standing beneath its roots was a towering figure that made Azeal instinctively reach for his hilt.
But this was no monster of Draeven Zareth.
Emerging from the fog was a creature of pure myth—a Centaur. From the waist down, he possessed the powerful, muscular body of a midnight-black stallion, but his upper torso was that of a stern, weathered warrior with long silver hair and eyes that shone like old gold. He carried a massive oaken bow slung across his back, but his hands were resting peacefully at his sides.
"Lower your steel, Son of Aetheron," the Centaur's deep, baritone voice echoed through the trees, rich with ancient authority. "The Shrouded Woods do not bow to Draeven's corruption. We have been waiting for the True Flame, and the blade that conquered the Abyss."