Mo's journey took three days through forest and marsh, hunted by men and creatures warped by fire. The medallion guided him, its light pulsing when danger neared, and leading him away from the sight of burning trees and smoke-blackened sky.
At last, he came to Lake Endar. The water was unnaturally still, and beneath the surface shimmered outlines of towers and streets lost to time.
He dove.
The medallion burned with sudden heat, dragging him deeper, past thresholds of breath and light. A force caught him—not water, not gravity, but something else.
He emerged into air.
Beneath the lake was a hidden world. Crumbled spires and rune-covered walls whispered of an age older than kingdoms. And in its center: a vault of star-forged silver.
The door opened at his touch.
Inside, the room sang with power. Starlight dripped from the ceiling, and floating in midair was a scroll, bound in blue flame.
As Mo reached out, the shamshir at his side unsheathed itself, slicing through the silence. The scroll burst open, and a voice spoke in the language of creation.
"You who carry the blood of fire and wind. The world ends unless you rise."
Mo fell to his knees, and the light consumed him.