The Ashbound Homecoming

The iron door loomed before you, its warning sigils glowing faintly in the dusk like embers about to die. The village square was empty—too empty—though you could feel eyes behind shuttered windows, tracking your return like wolves circling a wounded deer.

You pressed your palm to the cold metal. It hummed, low and hungry, a vibration that traveled up your arm and settled in your teeth.

"You shouldn't be here."

The voice came from behind you, sharp as a blade. You turned to face Warden Kael, your child, grown into a stranger. Their hand rested on the hilt of a dagger, eyes hard and unreadable in the fading light.

"The message said—"

"I know what the message said." Kael stepped closer, close enough that you could see the lines grief had carved around their mouth. "The ghost of your father has been whispering to half the village for a week. Telling them secrets. Promising salvation." A bitter laugh. "And now you've come to collect on old debts."

The door groaned behind you, a sound like stone grinding against stone. Kael's face went pale.

"Get away from it," they said, but it was too late. The sigils flared white, and the air turned cold as a grave.