I left Larkfen Hollow before the sun had even touched the treetops. The air was still damp with night, and the road south felt like a thread unraveling beneath my boots. I didn’t look back. Not because I wasn’t afraid—but because I knew if I did, I might never leave.
The tomb of Thaleen Vire is said to lie a day’s journey from the Hollow, tucked into the wooded hills where the road forgets itself. I followed it until the path grew uncertain, then stepped off into the quiet. The trees here are tall and close, and the birds—though present—refuse to sing. It’s not silence. It’s something more deliberate.
I practiced Emberlash once or twice as I walked, just to keep the spell warm in my hands. The flame flickers like memory—bright, but fleeting. I still don’t know why the tome called to me, or why the fire obeys. But it does.
Twilight found me standing before a stone structure half-swallowed by ivy and dusk. A mausoleum, maybe. The door is strange—marked with blocks that don’t seem to belong. I’ve heard whispers that the tomb won’t open without a puzzle solved. I’m too tired to try tonight.
I’ve made camp a few paces from the entrance. The ground is soft, and the wind carries the scent of moss and old stone. I’ll rest. Tomorrow, I’ll see what secrets the tomb is willing to share.
—E