The Sunken Dominion was not what Theron had expected.
He had imagined ruins, perhaps, or a city carved into the mountains, or something like the cave they had called home for three years. But the Dominion was none of these things. It was a fortress, or had been, once—a sprawling complex of stone and iron that had been built into the side of a mountain, its walls scarred by war, its towers broken, its gates hanging open like the mouth of a dead thing.
And yet, there were lights in the windows. There was smoke rising from chimneys. There were people here, or something like people, living in the shadow of a war that had ended long before they were born.
His father led them through the broken gates, his hand on his blade, his eyes scanning the shadows. Theron stayed close behind him, his own hand on his knife, his heart pounding in his chest.
They were not alone. He could feel it, the same way he had felt the presence of the Hounds in the wastes. Something was watching them. Something was waiting.
"Kaelen."
The voice came from the shadows, soft and low, and Theron saw his father freeze.
"I was wondering when you would come back."
A figure stepped out of the darkness. He was old, older than any man Theron had ever seen, his face a map of wrinkles and scars, his eyes the colour of the sea on a stormy day. He was dressed in robes that had once been fine, now stained and torn, and he leaned on a staff that was carved with symbols that seemed to move when Theron looked at them.
"Galen," his father said. "I thought you were dead."
The old man smiled, and there was something in that smile that made Theron's skin crawl.
"Death and I have an understanding," he said. "He comes for me, and I tell him I'm not ready, and he goes away. It's worked so far."
He looked at Theron, and his smile widened.
"And who is this? The son, I presume. The one you were always talking about, in the old days. The one you were fighting for."
"This is Theron," his father said. "My son."
"Yes." Galen studied him for a long moment, his eyes moving over Theron's face, his hands, the knife at his belt. "I can see the resemblance. The eyes are his, but the rest... you have your mother's face, don't you? Lyra, was it? The strategist. The one who saw the truth before anyone else."
Theron's throat tightened. "You knew my mother?"
"I knew of her. We all knew of her. She was the only one who could match your father, you know. In strategy, in cunning, in the things that mattered. If she had lived, things might have been different."
The old man turned back to Kaelen, his eyes sharp, his smile fading.
"But she didn't live. And you're here, after five years of silence, because you need something. What is it?"
His father reached into his tunic and pulled out the coin, the one with the symbol of the Echo, and held it out.
"I need to find the other pieces," he said. "I need to find the Echo."
Galen looked at the coin, and for a moment, something flickered in his eyes. Something that might have been fear.
"You're going to kill them," he said. "The Skylords. You're going to kill them all."
"Yes."
The old man laughed, and there was no humor in it. "You think that will fix things? You think killing them will bring back the dead, heal the wounds, make everything right?"
"I think it will stop them from hurting anyone else."
"And then what? The Skylords are gone, the Aethyr is unbound, the world falls apart. Do you know what happens when the gods die, Kaelen? Do you know what happens to the things they hold together?"
"I know what happens when they live."
Galen was silent for a long moment. Then he took the coin, turning it over in his hands, his fingers tracing the worn symbol on its face.
"There are three pieces," he said finally. "You have the first. The second is in the Sunken Dominion, in a place that no one has been for a thousand years. The third is in the Hollow Forge, in the keeping of a thing that was once a man."
He looked up, and his eyes were old, older than anything Theron had ever seen.
"The Echo can kill gods, yes. But it can also do something else. It can bind them. Chain them. Make them into something new. Something that might be better than what they are."
His father's face was stone. "I don't care about making them better."
"You should. Because if you kill them, the Aethyr dies. And if the Aethyr dies, the world dies with it. The Skylords aren't just parasites, Kaelen. They're the walls that hold back the darkness. Take them away, and the darkness comes. All of it. Everything that was, everything that is, everything that might be."
Theron looked at his father, saw the conflict in his eyes, the war between the rage that had driven him for five years and something else. Something that might have been hope.
"I'll find a way," his father said. "I always find a way."
Galen laughed again, softer this time. "That's what I've always admired about you. The certainty. The belief that you can fix anything, if you just hit it hard enough."
He handed the coin back, and his face was serious again.
"The second piece is in the heart of the Dominion. There's a door, sealed since the fall of the old world. The key is a blood price. A sacrifice. Something you have to give up that you can never get back."
His father's hand tightened on the coin. "What kind of sacrifice?"
"That's for you to find out. The door will show you. It will ask you what you're willing to lose. And you have to be honest, because the door knows. It always knows."
He stepped back into the shadows, his form fading, his voice echoing in the darkness.
"Welcome to the Sunken Dominion, Kaelen. I hope you find what you're looking for. I hope it doesn't kill you."
And then he was gone.