The palace of Hearthmere loomed ahead, a structure carved more for endurance than for grandeur.
From the outside, it looked deceptively simple—weathered stone walls reinforced with driftwood beams, spiral spirit-glyphs etched deep into the pillars, their edges smoothed by centuries of hands and ritual fires.
The air around it seemed heavier, charged with something unseen.
Brenner led the way up the wide stone steps.
Caelumn followed cautiously, boots echoing softly against the worn stone.
His eyes scanned the palace in awe—the great Spirit Stone at the center of the hall towered over everything, its pale surface veined with faint, pulsing light, like lightning frozen in stone.
He felt it before he even noticed the people inside: the faint hum in the air, subtle but insistent, a vibration that tugged at his chest.
The high ceilings were supported by massive stone pillars, each carved with spiraling runes and symbols he didn't recognize.
Light filtered through narrow windows, casting fractured patterns across the polished stone floor.
Even the shadows seemed deliberate, moving slowly across the hall as if respecting the power that lived here.
Every step Caelumn took made him more aware of how small he felt, how fragile.
The air seemed to thicken with every breath, carrying the scent of incense, aged stone, and a faint metallic tang that made his skin prickle.
Brenner walked steadily, undeterred by the aura that made the boy's knees tighten.
"Keep your wits," he murmured, though his voice was barely audible.
Caelumn nodded, though his throat was dry. He had never felt anything like this before—not in the village, not even when first-grade summoners demonstrated their spirits.
The pressure here was different. Immense. Absolute.
As they crossed the hall toward the throne area, he realized that this was more than a palace.
It was a living thing, humming quietly, ready to judge anyone who stepped inside.