The Star of Ire

The waterskin had run dry. If he didn’t find the entrance soon, the secret would be lost forever alongside him. If he died here, in this desolate wasteland, the last hope of Aseri would perish with him.

Two nights ago, he had passed the Pillars of Sama, leaving the final treeline behind. This marked the beginning of the Desert of Bones. Legends claimed the white sand was ground from the bones of fools who had attempted to cross it. Kritos, however, did not consider himself a fool. He was special.

He was suffocating beneath his heavy cloak. The blinding light disoriented him, making his head spin. This journey was his first—and quite possibly his last.

He opened the map once more. The leather was still supple, carrying the strange scent of the preservation oils he had used. He was no tanner; it had taken a great toll on him to keep it intact.

“The sun at my back, straight to Falcon’s Peak. Uncle... I will prove worthy! The gods will not take me yet, like they took your son...”

He gazed at the steep, stony peak rising before him. Somewhere among the massive boulders at its base, he would seek the entrance leading to the weapon he so desperately needed.

Folding the leather carefully, he tucked it away. It was the only thing left of his late uncle. Just before taking his final breath, the old man had entrusted him with the secret:

“Kritos... I am the Guardian of the Star of Ire. You must... you must carry the burden now. You must fulfill the family’s duty... The star... the map... is here,” he had stammered, pointing a trembling finger at his own skull.

Upon hearing the revelation, Kritos had been stunned. Terrified, even. But ultimately, he was ecstatic. An insignificant man like him was to become the guardian of Aseri’s greatest legend: the Star, which awoke from its slumber to aid the world whenever the realm was in peril.

And now, he stood only meters away from it. What form would it take? Would it be an almighty sword that forced enemies to their knees? But Kritos had never wielded a blade. Would it be a magical scepter unleashing righteous power? He knew nothing of magic, either.

The Star will grant me the knowledge, he reasoned. Whatever is required, it will help me.

After a long search, he found the symbol. A ten-pointed star was carved deep into the rock—identical to the medallion resting against his chest.

“Uncle... I did it!”

The map spoke of the serpent’s lever. He dug his bare hands deep into the sand at the base of the rock face. Salty, scorching sweat dripped from his forehead. He tossed aside the cloak that hindered his movements, and soon, his fingers brushed against cold stone. A lever, carved in the shape of a snake’s head, emerged from the shifting sands.

He gripped it with both hands. Clenching his teeth and groaning with exertion, he began to lift. When the lever finally locked into place, he stepped back, waiting in agonizing suspense.

Suddenly, mechanical rattles and hisses echoed through the canyon. A hidden mechanism ground to life, shaking the earth beneath his feet. Kritos looked to his right and watched in awe as two giant stone slabs slowly parted.

Within the dark maw, stone steps led down into the bowels of Falcon’s Peak. He clenched his fists. No matter how terrifying it seemed, he had to be strong. Drawing a deep breath, he began his descent.

As total darkness enveloped him, he pulled a piece of flint from his satchel, grabbed a torch, and struck a spark. Each step he took was either one pace closer to death, or one pace closer to salvation.

“For Aseri. To free ourselves from King Viros...” he whispered into the gloom.