As Lucas and his party neared the center of the coven's campsite, the wind howled through the woods, its sad cry echoing far away. Traveling across the hostile terrain quickly, they had gone through the night, driven ahead with a single aim in mind: to attack before the remains of Viktor's army could unite their might.
Lucas's pulse thumping in his ears, his heart's consistent pace matched by his footfall. The Shroud felt like an always hovering shadow at the margins of his consciousness, moving within him. Though Lucas knew it was only a matter of time before they started again, testing his will and power, the murmurs had quieted for now.
"We're close," Roland murmured, his voice quiet and deliberate as he strolled next to Lucas and cast a horizon-scanning glance. "The center of the coven is just outside these forests. If we slow down, we have less chances.
Lucas nodded, his eyes turning fierce. Then we start moving rig
Burning ruins' smoke permeated the air, the traces of war strewn over the area like lost memories. Lucas was among the rubble as the sun rose, giving the battlefield a terrible glare. His body hurt, every motion laboured with tiredness. Though it was controlled, the Shroud stayed within of him like an unhealed scar. Every beat of his heart pumped weakly, a continual reminder of the price their success paid. Success. It did not feel like triumph. Lucas had battled for it—with everything he had—but the aftermath was always harder than the fight itself. The weight of the force within him had changed to become something more challenging. The Shroud seemed to have found a fresh place in his psyche, one that would never be absolutely vacant. Now he could sense the tug of the gloom. Though still waiting and observing, it was calmer than it had been. For now it had been pushed aside. Lucas, nevertheless, knew it was not gone. Ne
The days following their triumph went with an odd silence. The weight of the Shroud bearing down on him seemed to vanish as the camp's warriors took time to reorganize. There was always conflict. Stillness, though, was misleading for Lucas. Every moment of serenity felt like a breath before a storm, and he knew the next fight would start very soon. The once-vibrant camp environment now held an undercurrent of discomfort. Now wary, the fighters who had fought so valiantly watched the horizon with hands never far from their guns. Though they had confronted the remnants of Viktor's army, they all understood that something far more powerful loomed over them—a force that, in spite of all their best efforts, had not been eliminated. Too, Seraphine seems changed in the wake of everything. She carried herself with some tiredness even if her outward serenity stayed. Their sacrifices and the power they had summoned were beginning to pay for the
The man before Lucas shimmered like a shadow, a garment of blackness that seemed to whirl and pulse with an unnatural intensity. Just its existence would cause him to get a chilly shiver down his spine, as the air surrounding them grew tense. The ground under his boots seemed to throb, alive with the power of something old and lethal. The figure continued, its voice deep and echoing, bearing a weight that threatened to crush the very air they breathed. You should not have come. It was a mandate, a pronouncement, not a warning. Lucas also realized at that instant that this was no typical enemy. This was something far older, something that had existed long before the Shroud had ever murmured in his ear. Lucas moved forward, the steel cold in his hand tightly encircling the hilt of his blade. Though his heart hammered in his chest, his will grew tougher. Though it was inside him, the Shroud did not rule him. not anymore. "W
Standing at the brink of the forest, the man seemed to be a living shadow, his shape tall and commanding, almost discernible against the blackened trees. The weight of the occasion pressed upon Lucas like the very air itself was thick with the Shroud's enchantment; his heart hammered in his chest. Every instinct screamed at him to move, but he froze unable to look away from the figure. The man was calling to him, straying on the very threads of his being. His relationship to the Shroud ignited once more, a faint pulse deep within him only he could sense. He could sense the magic waking in the air, the very ground underfoot vibrating with an old force impossible to deny. "What is that?," ask The tension was broken by Roland's low but doubtful voice. Quietly watching, Alaric moved forward and rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. "I have seen species like this before," he said. Not unlike this, though. This is not only
The quiet following the conflict was intolerable. Under Lucas's attack, the figure—whatever it had been—had broken and left only the most faint traces of its existence in the air. But the tranquilly that followed was ephemeral. It felt more like the still before another storm, as though the earth itself were breathing. Lucas stood at the middle of the clearing, his sword still in grasp and its blade flickering with residual force. Inside him, he could sense the Shroud, still there, still wriggling but suddenly something had changed. There was silence for a split second. But Lucas knew better than one could imagine it would last. Seraphine's voice sliced through his ideas, gentle but tinged with an urgency. "It is still ongoing. You are aware it is not. Lucas turned to check on her. She was standing a few feet behind him, her hands still up as though getting ready for a threat that hadn't yet clearly surface
The ground split as the evil power that had previously been bound poured forth in a furious explosion of light and shadow. The ruins fell with a loud boom. Lucas felt the shockwave before he heard it—a great force sending him whirling, his body flung backward as the ground rocked fiercely. His surroundings whirled, his ideas a muddle of uncertainty and anxiety. He hardly had time to register the yells of his friends, their voices drowned in the din of magic and ruin. The Shroud was no more contained. It had unleashed itself. Lucas pushed himself upward from the ground as the dust settled; the blast had left his muscles hurting. Though his blade was still in his palm, the dim glimmer left behind from the broken altar had darkened. The enchantment of the Shroud stayed in the air, dense and suffocating, like weight on his chest. "Lucas!?" Seraphine's words sliced through the anarchy, her body rising from the dust and trash
Around them the cavern shook, the very air heavy with the pulse of dark force. Lucas could see the ground under his feet moving, the atmosphere pulsing with a power so old and erratic it seemed to seep into his own bones. Now the stone altar in the middle of the hall shone more brilliantly, the marks throbbing like a pulse, each thrum resonating across the walls in Lucas's head. You are unable to stop it. Deep and old, the voice exploded from the altar. "This power was never supposed to be confined. You missed too late. Lucas was hit by the words like a physical blow. The Shroud swirled inside him, a constant tug causing his pulse to rush. He could feel the gloom whirling in his chest, pushing him to welcome it and accept what he was. To yield to the authority existing inside him. Lucas, though, turned away from listening. He tightened his hold on his blade, gritted his teeth. Not now, not now was he about to give in.
Silence, a thick, oppressive hush that seemed to be pressing in on Lucas from every side, enveloped the trip back to the camp. The exact magic that had formerly kept the Shroud at distance now destroyed its influence, so rendering it no more within him. That did not, however, mean the world had returned to normal. Though the war—Lucas knew—was far from finished, the battle was won. The woodland around them was absolutely motionless, as if the energies they had unleashed had scarred the ground itself. Once vibrantly alive, the trees now seemed twisted, their brittle branches black. Once carrying the sound of birds and rustling foliage, the wind now sounded deep and sorrowful, as though the ground itself were in grief. The worst thing Lucas could not get rid of, though, was the sense that something worse, something deeper still awaited. "We did it," Seraphine's voice sliced through his ideas. She had been strolling alongside him, her sl
The creature lay silent, its huge shape stretched over the ground of the woodland, its odd radiance fading into oblivion. The ground surrounding it had split, its black force vanishing into the air like vapor. Every breath heavy, every movement measured, the tension in the clearing was obvious. Lucas could feel the weight of the struggle they had just gone through in his bones as the woodland started to calm once more. It had only been one fight, but it had been one against something far more ancient and far more terrible than anything they had ever battled. Breath shallow as Seraphine got to her feet, her face pale but resolute; she wiped blood from her lip. She had been drained by the barrier, and fighting against the guardian had taxed her. She was alive, though, and that was something Lucas appreciated. They were all just as. Still at the brink of the clearing, Roland kept his eyes fixed on the fallen beast while clutching his swo
Once the figure vanished into the darkness, the woodland seemed to pulse with an unnatural silence. The weight of the words Lucas had said permeated the air, resonating in his head like a rhythm and each pulse reminded him of the approaching danger they still had. The Shroud wasn't the end. Only the beginning. The dismal hush echoed Seraphine's comments from just now. "There is no control over The Shroud." It cannot be taken down. It starts rather than finishes. Lucas's blood ran cold as he considered how far this plot ran; the power of the unknown was too great. Lucas could feel it now, but, the figure's warning was not without cause. A creeping terror crept into his chest as the dark power in the air settled about them like a shroud. This was about something much worse than merely conquering an opponent. The Shroud has always been a remnant of something ancient, a component of a far more sinister power. But if the Shroud marked merel
Silence, a thick, oppressive hush that seemed to be pressing in on Lucas from every side, enveloped the trip back to the camp. The exact magic that had formerly kept the Shroud at distance now destroyed its influence, so rendering it no more within him. That did not, however, mean the world had returned to normal. Though the war—Lucas knew—was far from finished, the battle was won. The woodland around them was absolutely motionless, as if the energies they had unleashed had scarred the ground itself. Once vibrantly alive, the trees now seemed twisted, their brittle branches black. Once carrying the sound of birds and rustling foliage, the wind now sounded deep and sorrowful, as though the ground itself were in grief. The worst thing Lucas could not get rid of, though, was the sense that something worse, something deeper still awaited. "We did it," Seraphine's voice sliced through his ideas. She had been strolling alongside him, her sl
Around them the cavern shook, the very air heavy with the pulse of dark force. Lucas could see the ground under his feet moving, the atmosphere pulsing with a power so old and erratic it seemed to seep into his own bones. Now the stone altar in the middle of the hall shone more brilliantly, the marks throbbing like a pulse, each thrum resonating across the walls in Lucas's head. You are unable to stop it. Deep and old, the voice exploded from the altar. "This power was never supposed to be confined. You missed too late. Lucas was hit by the words like a physical blow. The Shroud swirled inside him, a constant tug causing his pulse to rush. He could feel the gloom whirling in his chest, pushing him to welcome it and accept what he was. To yield to the authority existing inside him. Lucas, though, turned away from listening. He tightened his hold on his blade, gritted his teeth. Not now, not now was he about to give in.
The ground split as the evil power that had previously been bound poured forth in a furious explosion of light and shadow. The ruins fell with a loud boom. Lucas felt the shockwave before he heard it—a great force sending him whirling, his body flung backward as the ground rocked fiercely. His surroundings whirled, his ideas a muddle of uncertainty and anxiety. He hardly had time to register the yells of his friends, their voices drowned in the din of magic and ruin. The Shroud was no more contained. It had unleashed itself. Lucas pushed himself upward from the ground as the dust settled; the blast had left his muscles hurting. Though his blade was still in his palm, the dim glimmer left behind from the broken altar had darkened. The enchantment of the Shroud stayed in the air, dense and suffocating, like weight on his chest. "Lucas!?" Seraphine's words sliced through the anarchy, her body rising from the dust and trash
The quiet following the conflict was intolerable. Under Lucas's attack, the figure—whatever it had been—had broken and left only the most faint traces of its existence in the air. But the tranquilly that followed was ephemeral. It felt more like the still before another storm, as though the earth itself were breathing. Lucas stood at the middle of the clearing, his sword still in grasp and its blade flickering with residual force. Inside him, he could sense the Shroud, still there, still wriggling but suddenly something had changed. There was silence for a split second. But Lucas knew better than one could imagine it would last. Seraphine's voice sliced through his ideas, gentle but tinged with an urgency. "It is still ongoing. You are aware it is not. Lucas turned to check on her. She was standing a few feet behind him, her hands still up as though getting ready for a threat that hadn't yet clearly surface
Standing at the brink of the forest, the man seemed to be a living shadow, his shape tall and commanding, almost discernible against the blackened trees. The weight of the occasion pressed upon Lucas like the very air itself was thick with the Shroud's enchantment; his heart hammered in his chest. Every instinct screamed at him to move, but he froze unable to look away from the figure. The man was calling to him, straying on the very threads of his being. His relationship to the Shroud ignited once more, a faint pulse deep within him only he could sense. He could sense the magic waking in the air, the very ground underfoot vibrating with an old force impossible to deny. "What is that?," ask The tension was broken by Roland's low but doubtful voice. Quietly watching, Alaric moved forward and rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. "I have seen species like this before," he said. Not unlike this, though. This is not only
The man before Lucas shimmered like a shadow, a garment of blackness that seemed to whirl and pulse with an unnatural intensity. Just its existence would cause him to get a chilly shiver down his spine, as the air surrounding them grew tense. The ground under his boots seemed to throb, alive with the power of something old and lethal. The figure continued, its voice deep and echoing, bearing a weight that threatened to crush the very air they breathed. You should not have come. It was a mandate, a pronouncement, not a warning. Lucas also realized at that instant that this was no typical enemy. This was something far older, something that had existed long before the Shroud had ever murmured in his ear. Lucas moved forward, the steel cold in his hand tightly encircling the hilt of his blade. Though his heart hammered in his chest, his will grew tougher. Though it was inside him, the Shroud did not rule him. not anymore. "W
The days following their triumph went with an odd silence. The weight of the Shroud bearing down on him seemed to vanish as the camp's warriors took time to reorganize. There was always conflict. Stillness, though, was misleading for Lucas. Every moment of serenity felt like a breath before a storm, and he knew the next fight would start very soon. The once-vibrant camp environment now held an undercurrent of discomfort. Now wary, the fighters who had fought so valiantly watched the horizon with hands never far from their guns. Though they had confronted the remnants of Viktor's army, they all understood that something far more powerful loomed over them—a force that, in spite of all their best efforts, had not been eliminated. Too, Seraphine seems changed in the wake of everything. She carried herself with some tiredness even if her outward serenity stayed. Their sacrifices and the power they had summoned were beginning to pay for the