The dawn broke over the horizon, casting a dim light over the assembled forces. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and smoke, remnants of past battles. Elior stood at the crest of the hill, his gaze fixed on the distant outline of the stronghold that would soon become the center of their resistance.The warriors gathered in the valley below were a testament to the fractured remnants of a kingdom once whole. There were veterans, scarred and weary, who had fought against Sienna’s conquest from the beginning. There were fresh recruits, young and desperate, willing to risk everything for a chance at freedom. And then there were the nobles, those who had once sat in comfort, now stripped of their luxuries, driven to reclaim what had been lost.Rael stood beside Elior, his face unreadable. The weight of his lineage pressed heavily on his shoulders, but he bore it without complaint. To the soldiers, he was no longer the wandering hunter they had once known, he was their king, the
The air was thick with the scent of smoke and iron. The clash of steel echoed through the valley as Elior and his forces stormed the outer defenses of the stronghold. The once-proud fortress, now a dark citadel under Sienna’s rule, loomed ahead, its spires cutting against the storm-laden sky.Arrows rained down from the battlements, forcing Elior’s warriors to take cover behind broken carts and ruined walls. The enemy soldiers, clad in blackened armor, moved with a ruthless efficiency, their discipline a testament to Sienna’s control. The battle had begun in earnest.Rael stood at Elior’s side, his grip tightening around the hilt of his sword. His presence alone rallied the soldiers around them, their spirits lifted by the rightful heir standing in their midst. With every step he took toward the fortress, his resolve strengthened. This was not just another battle; it was the reckoning of a stolen throne, a final stand against the darkness that had swallowed their kingdom.“Push forwar
The ruins of the stronghold still smoldered, casting long shadows across the battlefield as dawn broke over the horizon. Ash and dust swirled in the wind, mingling with the scent of blood and charred stone. Elior stood amidst the wreckage, his sword still in hand, his breath ragged. The battle was over. Sienna was gone.Or so they thought.Rael’s grip on his sword tightened as he gazed at the collapsed fortress. The weight of what they had done settled upon his shoulders, but something felt… off. He turned to Elior, who stood beside him, watching the horizon where the first hints of morning light crept through the thinning storm clouds.“We need to be sure,” Rael murmured. “Sienna”“She’s dead.” Elior’s voice was firm, but there was hesitation in his eyes. “She has to be.”The silence that followed was uneasy, broken only by the distant cries of retreating enemy forces. Myrra and Bram approached, both weary but still alert. Myrra wiped the blood from her dagger on her torn cloak, her
The city was restless. Word of their return had spread, but the truth of what had transpired on the battlefield remained contained within the war room. Elior stood at the head of the council table, his hands planted firmly on the worn wood, his thoughts racing. Across from him, Rael, Myrra, and Bram waited, their expressions grim. Sienna was alive. That single fact changed everything."She should be dead," Bram muttered, his fingers drumming against the hilt of his axe. "Buried under a mountain of stone. And yet, "She wasn't just prepared," Myrra interrupted. "She planned for this. Whatever magic she used, it was meant to ensure her survival. The Howling Throne is gone, but something else is sustaining her. We need to find out what."Rael crossed his arms, his jaw tight. "And soon. We might not be at war this moment, but she won’t stay idle for long. We have to assume she’s gathering strength."Elior straightened. "Then we do the same. We strengthen our borders, rally our allies, and
The morning sky stretched in hues of pale gold and soft lavender as Elior and his companions set out from the city gates. Their departure was swift, silent. No fanfare accompanied them, only the weight of what lay ahead. They rode with urgency, the shadow of Sienna’s return pressing upon them like an ill omen.Rael led at the front, his gaze locked ahead, jaw clenched in quiet determination. Myrra followed close, her fingers still smudged with ink from nights spent poring over ancient texts. Bram rode with a steady grip on his axe, his ever-present tension making it clear that he expected trouble at every turn. And Elior, he rode at the center, silent, lost in the gravity of what they were about to face. The Howling Throne had been their greatest enemy, or so they had thought. Now they knew better. Sienna was not the true threat. She was merely a vessel."The Celestial Ruins lie beyond the Ashen Valley," Myrra said, her voice breaking the quiet. "The First King wrote of a temple burie
The air inside the temple was thick with dust and the weight of forgotten history. Elior’s fingers traced the ancient carvings along the chamber walls, his mind racing to piece together the truth hidden within the First King’s final words. The dim torchlight flickered against the stone, casting shadows that seemed to dance like specters of the past.“The inscriptions,” Myrra murmured, her brow furrowed as she brushed away centuries of grime, “they speak of something beyond the seal itself.”Rael leaned closer, his eyes narrowing as he deciphered the worn script. “He didn’t do it alone.”Elior turned sharply. “What?”“The First King,” Myrra continued, her voice almost reverent, “he did not seal Erythos by his own hand. A power older than the Howling Throne itself aided him.”Bram exhaled, shifting his weight. “Then we have a chance.”But Elior was not convinced. His gaze drifted back to the carvings. If there had been another force involved, why had it been forgotten? Was it lost, dest
The night was thick with tension as Elior and his group pressed forward, the echoes of their battle with the Forgotten Hand still fresh in their minds. The coordinates Myrra had deciphered led them deeper into the Celestial Ruins, an expanse of shattered spires and silent tombs bathed in the ghostly glow of the twin moons.Their mounts kicked up clouds of dust as they rode, their urgency spurred by the growing unease settling over the land. The Final Seal was weakening, and with each passing moment, the balance of power shifted ever closer to catastrophe.Myrra, poring over the ancient texts even as they rode, spoke without looking up. “The First King was never meant to wield the power alone. The inscriptions suggest that something or someone helped him bind Erythos. But if that being still exists, why has it remained silent for so long?”Rael scanned the jagged skyline ahead, his grip tightening on the reins. “Maybe it was bound, just like Erythos. Or maybe… it didn’t want to be foun
The journey to the hidden sanctum was grueling, the path winding through jagged ravines and ancient ruins that reeked of forgotten power. Elior and his companions moved swiftly, each step heavy with the knowledge that time was slipping away. The Final Seal was crumbling, and if Sienna completed her ritual before they found the force that once stood against Erythos, all would be lost.Myrra clutched the ancient text to her chest as they reached the base of a desolate mountain, its peak obscured by swirling storm clouds. “The sanctum should be just beyond this ridge,” she said breathlessly. “But something’s…wrong.”Elior didn’t need to ask what. The air here felt thick, unnatural, as if reality itself resisted their presence. Even their mounts, battle-hardened and unshaken by war, pawed at the ground uneasily.Rael unsheathed his dagger. “We’re not alone.”They ascended cautiously, weapons at the ready. As they crested the ridge, the hidden sanctum came into view and with it, despair gr
The morning was quiet.For the first time in centuries, the world stood untouched by magic. No whispers of power hummed in the air, no lingering remnants of the forces that had once shaped destiny. The battle had ended, but the silence it left behind felt heavier than war.Elior stood at the heart of the ruins, his sword planted in the shattered ground. The bodies of those who had fought and fallen lay scattered around him, the echoes of their final moments still fresh in his mind.Myrra, who had been with him since the beginning. Bram, whose laughter had once made the darkest nights bearable. Freya, who had returned only to be taken once more.And Sienna.The wind moved through the ruins, stirring the dust. It carried no magic, no voice of the gods—only the weight of what had been lost.A faint groan pulled Elior from his thoughts. He turned to find Velora slumped against a broken pillar, her face pale, her body barely holding on.He knelt beside her. "Velora."She opened her eyes, s
The sky above the ruins bled shadow and light, twisting in a chaos that defied reality. Where the veil had once held firm, now only a gaping wound remained, spilling its horrors into the world.Elior stood at the edge of the abyss, his sword trembling in his grasp, his breath ragged. Across from him, Sienna hovered above the cracked earth, her form wreathed in shifting darkness. Her golden eyes, once fierce with ambition, now pulsed with something else, something vast and unknowable.She had become its vessel.The force that had slumbered beyond the veil now coiled within her, filling the hollow spaces left by her lost magic, binding itself to her very soul. The entity did not speak in words, nor did it rage like the gods of old. It did not need to. It simply was, and it would remake the world in its image.A consuming will. An endless hunger.And Sienna had let it in."Elior," she said, her voice layered, as though more than one presence spoke through her. "You don’t have to fight me
The moment Sienna’s fingers brushed against the unseen force, the world trembled. It was not a simple shift in the earth, not the groan of stone settling after centuries of silence—this was something else. A deep, resonating shudder rippled outward from the ruins, traveling through the bones of the world itself.Elior felt it as a pulse beneath his feet, a vibration in his chest that made his breath hitch. The air thickened, weighted with something ancient and wrong. The torches lining the ruined temple flickered violently, their flames bending toward Sienna as if drawn by an unseen tide."Sienna, stop!" Elior lunged forward, seizing her wrist and yanking her back. Her breath came in sharp, shallow gasps, her golden eyes wide with shock."I… I didn’t mean to.." she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.The stone beneath them cracked. A fissure split through the floor, black mist hissing out like breath from a slumbering beast. The world itself seemed to recoil, and then—A shoc
The ruins were breathing.Elior could not see it, but he could feel it, the slow, rhythmic pulse of something ancient beneath the stone. It was not the heartbeat of a slumbering god, nor the distant echo of Erythos' severed power. It was older. Deeper. A presence that did not simply exist but had always been.The whispers were everywhere now, slithering between the cracks in the walls, curling through the air like smoke. They were not words in any language Elior knew, but he understood them nonetheless.This was not a place of worship. It was a tomb.And the dead were stirring.Sienna stood at the edge of the ruins, staring into the yawning darkness beyond the shattered archway. The pull was stronger here, an invisible tether wrapping around her ribs, drawing her forward.She should have been afraid.She wasn't.Far behind them, the capital was unraveling.Rael sat in the royal chambers, hands clenched around the arms of his chair as voices clashed around him. The council was in chaos
The wind howled through the fractured streets of the capital, carrying with it the scent of ash and the echoes of whispered fears. Elior stood at the palace balcony, watching the uneasy city below. Torches burned like scattered stars in the night, illuminating gathering crowds, desperate, restless, searching.They had fought for this world, yet standing here now, he wondered if they had merely unchained something far worse.Behind him, the council chamber erupted into another round of arguments.“We need action,” a noble snapped, his voice edged with panic. “If magic is failing, we must restore it—by any means necessary.”“And how do you propose we do that?” another countered. “Rituals? Blood sacrifices? We do not even know what is causing the unraveling.”Rael stood at the center of the storm, jaw clenched as he faced the gathered lords and scholars. “I understand your fear,” he said, voice steady despite the chaos. “But we will not turn to desperation. We need answers, not reckless
The first signs of unraveling came in silence.Not the quiet of peace, but an unnatural stillness, a void where the hum of magic should have been.Elior felt it first as they rode through the city, making their way back to the palace. The air itself seemed thinner, as if the breath of the world had been stolen. He glanced toward Myrra, who clutched the remnants of the First King’s records in her hands, her expression tense.The streets were shifting. The capital, usually filled with merchants, performers, and spellcasters weaving their craft, had grown eerily subdued. Those who once relied on magic to shape their daily lives, the street magicians conjuring flames, the scribes who penned glowing runes, now stood idle, their gifts failing them.And then there was the whispering.It came in the wind, barely discernible, like voices speaking in forgotten tongues. Elior stiffened as a cold breath swept past his ear, the words twisting in ways his mind could not fully grasp."It is waking…"
The capital was unraveling.Elior had known it from the moment they passed through the gates.The sky hung heavy and gray, as if the heavens themselves hesitated to move forward into a new day. The streets, once bustling with life, were thick with uneasy silence, broken only by hurried whispers and the occasional sharp cry of panic. Mages clustered in groups, their robes in disarray, their hands twitching as they attempted and failed to summon even the simplest of spells. Merchants and nobles alike watched with growing dread, their power, both political and literal, slipping through their fingers like sand.Magic was fading. And the world did not know how to survive without it.Rael strode ahead of the group, his expression unreadable, but Elior could see the tension in his shoulders. He was returning not as a warrior, not as a wandering hunter, but as the late king’s son, one who would have to answer for the chaos left in their wake.The palace loomed before them, its towers once gle
The battle was over.But dawn did not break with celebration.A pale light stretched across the sky, hesitant and thin, casting its glow over a ruined battlefield that still reeked of celestial fire and scorched stone. The remnants of divine fury clung to the air, unseen but heavy, pressing down on the weary figures that stood amidst the wreckage.Elior ran a hand over his face, his fingers coming away stained with blood, his or someone else’s, he wasn’t sure. His sword, the weapon that had struck the final blow, felt heavier than ever at his side. The world should have felt lighter, freer, but something was wrong. The victory felt hollow, the silence too deep.Myrra knelt among the shattered remnants of the ancient tome, her fingers tracing the fading ink of the First King’s records. The final words were barely legible now, as though the knowledge itself had begun to wither.She exhaled sharply, gripping the pages. “The seal worked.” A tremor ran through her voice. “But something....
Silence.Not the peaceful kind that follows a battle well won, nor the stillness of an early dawn. This was the silence of something broken, something vast and incomprehensible that had been ripped away, leaving only a hollow absence behind.The battlefield was unrecognizable. The ruins, once ancient and imposing, were reduced to charred fragments, their sacred stones blackened by the celestial fire that had consumed Erythos. The air was thick with the scent of ash and the lingering echoes of divine fury. Even the sky, once torn open by the god’s awakening, hung heavy with dark, unmoving clouds, as if the heavens themselves had yet to understand what had just transpired.Elior stood in the center of it all, his sword still clenched in his shaking hand. His body was battered, his limbs aching from wounds he had no memory of receiving. The weight of exhaustion settled over him like a crushing tide, but he could not move, not yet.Erythos was gone. Severed. Banished from the world foreve