The ember's glow pulsed like a heartbeat, steady and unrelenting. Mandle's eyes fixed on the altar at the far end of the chamber, half‑buried beneath rubble and shadow. It seemed to breathe with the same rhythm as the ember, as though the two were bound together.
He took a step forward. The sound of his boot against fractured stone echoed unnaturally, carried back to him by the whispers that lingered in the air.
"Closer…" the voices urged, weaving through the silence.
Mandle pressed on. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if unseen hands sought to hold him back. The shadows bent and stretched, bowing low as he passed, their movements unnatural yet reverent.
The altar loomed larger with every pace. Its cracked surface glimmered faintly, carved with symbols that seemed to shift when he tried to focus on them.
Far beyond the chamber, in the forest that surrounded the ruins, a wolf hurled itself against the barrier. Its body slammed with thunderous force, claws raking, breath steaming in the cold night air. Again and again it struck, each impact reverberating like thunder, shaking the trees and scattering the silence.
The barrier groaned beneath the assault. The forest seemed to cry out with each impact, as though the land itself resisted the beast's fury.
Finally, with a sound like shattering glass, the barrier broke. Fragments of unseen force scattered into the night, dissolving into nothing.
The wolf threw back its head and howled — a cry filled with grief, rage, and something older than the forest itself. It was no ordinary howl. It was a lament, a promise, a declaration that the hunt had begun. The sound tore through the ruins, echoing into the chamber where Mandle climbed.
As he ascended the altar's steps, power stirred within him. His veins burned with a dark fire, shadows coiling around his arms like living chains. Each step upward seemed to draw strength from the ember's glow, feeding something hidden deep inside him.
Then it came — laughter.
Not from the whispers, not from the wolf, but from within. A demonic laughter, raw and unrestrained, spilled into the chamber. It echoed against the stone, reverberated through the shadows, and made the very air tremble.
Mandle's lips curled into a grim smile. He did not silence the laughter. He let it rise, let it claim the chamber, let it announce that he was no longer merely a seeker — he was becoming something more.
At the summit of the altar, he placed his hand upon the cold stone. The altar trembled beneath his touch.
And then, with a voice that cut through the silence, he commanded:
"Come out."
The chamber shuddered. The ember blazed, shadows recoiled, and something ancient stirred — answering Mandle's call, even as the wolf's howl carried closer, its fury pressing against the edges of the chamber.