The bridge had collapsed long before Kaelis arrived.

  Stone pillars jutted from the ravine like broken teeth, the remains of what once connected two major routes. Wind rushed through the gap below, carrying with it the faint scent of damp earth and something older—residual energy that hadn’t fully faded.

  Kaelis crouched near the edge, studying the ruins. This wasn’t natural decay. The stone bore marks of force, compressed and fractured in ways that suggested conflict. Not a battle between armies, but between powers that didn’t belong in the same place.

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  He chose his path carefully, using Shadow Step in short bursts to cross unstable ground. Each movement was deliberate. The sigil responded smoothly, its pulse steady rather than urgent.

  Halfway across, the air shifted.

  Kaelis froze.

  Something lingered here. Not alive, not dead—an echo. A remnant of power pressed into the land itself. When he moved again, it reacted, the ground trembling faintly beneath his feet.

  He didn’t fight it. He adapted.

  By the time he reached the other side, Kaelis understood a quiet truth: places remembered power long after people forgot it. And this world had a long memory.