The air in the neutral lands was heavier, filled with a stillness that carried the whispers of old betrayals. The forest seemed darker here, the trees towering like silent sentinels guarding secrets better left undisturbed. Sienna walked ahead, her movements confident but cautious, her silver hair catching faint traces of moonlight.
I followed, the ache in my shoulder a dull reminder of how close I’d come to death. The salve Sienna had applied had worked its magic, numbing the worst of the pain, but the tension between us was another matter entirely.
“This place feels... wrong,” I muttered, breaking the silence as we approached the edges of the ruined council chambers.
“It should,” she replied curtly, scanning the path ahead. “The Archives are steeped in blood. The council thought they were untouchable—until the day they weren’t.”
I could hear the bitterness in her tone, but I didn’t press. Sienna had lived through more battles and betrayals than most. If anyone knew the weight of these paths, it was her.
We stopped at the edge of a crumbled stone archway, its weathered surface engraved with faded runes. The entrance to the Archives loomed before us, a gaping maw descending into darkness.
“Stay close,” Sienna said, unsheathing her blade.
I nodded, gripping the hilt of my own weapon. Together, we stepped into the ruins, our footsteps echoing off the damp stone walls.
The air inside was suffocating, thick with the scent of mildew and decay. Strange markings adorned the walls, remnants of a time when the packs were united under a single banner. Now, they were little more than ghosts of a forgotten era.
“This way,” Sienna whispered, leading me down a narrow corridor.
The deeper we went, the colder it became. My breath fogged in front of me, and the faint sound of dripping water echoed through the halls.
We reached a large chamber, its ceiling partially collapsed. Ancient shelves lined the walls, filled with crumbling scrolls and broken artifacts. In the center of the room stood a stone pedestal, its surface etched with intricate carvings.
Sienna approached the pedestal, her fingers tracing the runes. “These symbols... they’re from the Old Tongue. They speak of something sealed—something powerful.”
“The Crown?” I asked, stepping closer.
“Maybe,” she said, her voice tinged with uncertainty. “But this inscription mentions a key. Whatever’s hidden here, we won’t find it without that.”
Before I could respond, a faint growl echoed from the shadows.
We both froze.
The sound grew louder, followed by the scrape of claws against stone. My grip on my blade tightened as two pairs of glowing eyes emerged from the darkness. Rogues. Their mangy fur and emaciated frames marked them as exiles—wolves with nothing to lose.
“You take the left,” Sienna said, her voice steady as she drew her dagger.
I nodded, stepping into position. The first rogue lunged at me, its claws swiping through the air. I dodged, slashing my blade across its side. It howled in pain but didn’t falter, circling me with renewed fury.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sienna dispatch her opponent with ruthless efficiency, her movements a deadly dance of precision.
The second rogue lunged again, and this time I was ready. I sidestepped, driving my blade into its chest. The wolf collapsed, its growls fading into silence.
“Are you hurt?” Sienna asked, wiping blood from her blade.
“I’m fine,” I said, though my shoulder throbbed from the exertion.
She nodded, turning back to the pedestal. “We don’t have much time. If there are rogues here, others won’t be far behind.”
She began searching the shelves, her sharp eyes scanning the ancient texts. I followed her lead, rifling through the crumbling scrolls in search of anything that might point us to the Crown.
After what felt like an eternity, Sienna let out a soft gasp. “Here,” she said, holding up a brittle piece of parchment.
The text was faded, but the symbols were unmistakable. A map, partially torn but clear enough to make out its destination—a place deep within the northern mountains.
“The Frostfang Spire,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
I frowned. “What’s there?”
Sienna hesitated, her expression troubled. “If the Crown exists, that’s where it will be. But the Spire is more than a place—it’s a graveyard. No one who’s gone there has ever returned.”
The weight of her words settled over me, but I didn’t falter. The Crown was the key to ending this chaos, to stopping the bloodshed before it consumed us all.
“We’ll figure it out,” I said, folding the map and tucking it into my coat.
Sienna didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she looked at me, her eyes filled with something I couldn’t quite place—fear, resolve, and maybe even doubt.
“Elior,” she said softly. “If we find the Crown... promise me you won’t let it consume you.”
Her words hung in the air, a warning as clear as the bite of the cold wind outside.
“I promise,” I said, though a part of me wondered if such a promise could ever be kept.
As we left the Archives, the forest seemed darker than before, the shadows deeper and more menacing. The path ahead was uncertain, but one thing was clear.
The hunt for the Crown had truly begun, and with it, the battle for the soul of every pack.
The road to the Shadowlands was fraught with dangers. Every step closer felt like diving deeper into the unknown, where the air grew heavier and the shadows seemed to stretch endlessly. Sienna and I moved swiftly, keeping our pace brisk but cautious. The map was our lifeline now, the cryptic markings our only guide to the Crown. We had barely covered half the distance when the faint scent of smoke reached my nose. I halted, holding up a hand to stop Sienna. “You smell that?” I asked. She nodded, her senses as sharp as mine. “Someone’s nearby.” We crept forward, staying low and hidden within the thick brush. As we rounded a bend, the source of the smoke became clear—a small campfire flickering amidst the trees. Two figures sat near the fire, their voices low but distinct. One was a burly man with a thick beard and a scar running down the side of his face. The other was a lean woman with fiery red hair and a mischievous glint in her eyes. ---Sienna nudged me, her voice bare
The journey through the Shadowlands had only begun, yet it already felt like an eternity. The air hung thick with an unnatural stillness, broken only by the distant howls of creatures unseen. Every step forward seemed to drag, the darkness pressing against us like a living thing, whispering in voices just beyond comprehension.Freya moved with the sure-footed grace of someone accustomed to walking dangerous paths. Bram, ever the silent guardian, kept his massive sword unsheathed, eyes scanning the surrounding gloom. Sienna walked beside me, her shoulders tense, every fiber of her being on high alert.“We should keep moving,” she murmured. “Standing still makes us prey.”She was right. The Shadowlands were not a place for hesitation.We continued through the thick undergrowth, our senses sharp. Strange, twisted trees loomed around us, their gnarled branches resembling skeletal fingers reaching toward the sky. The deeper we ventured, the more it felt as though we were being watched.The
The silence after our escape was almost worse than the whispers.We sat in the cold dirt, catching our breath. The Phantoms hadn’t pursued us past the tree line, but their presence still clung to the air like a curse. My pulse was still erratic, my mind replaying the vision over and over. My mother. Her silver eyes. The sorrow in her voice.It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.Freya let out a dry laugh, breaking the silence. “Well, that was horrifying.”Bram grunted, running a hand through his sweat-drenched hair. “You don’t say.” He wiped his sword against the ground. “If those things wanted us dead, they could’ve done it already.”Sienna was still watching me. “What did you see, Elior?”I met her gaze but didn’t answer immediately. How could I? Admitting it out loud felt dangerous, like acknowledging it would make it real. But Sienna’s stare was unwavering. She already knew it was something that had shaken me.“My mother.” My voice came out rougher than I intended. “She spoke to me.”Fre
The silence didn’t last. It shattered like glass as the agony in my veins turned into something else—something alive. My body trembled as waves of cold fire rippled beneath my skin, every nerve burning with raw energy. I gasped, but no sound escaped. I wasn’t in the ruins anymore. Not really.Darkness swallowed the world around me. No walls. No ceiling. Just an endless void, stretching into infinity. And at its center stood a figure.It wasn’t my mother this time.It was me.Or something wearing my form.The other Elior watched me with eyes like frozen embers, his lips curled into something between a smirk and a snarl. When he spoke, his voice was mine—but richer, deeper, carrying the weight of something ancient.“Finally awake, are we?” he murmured. “Took you long enough.”I staggered forward, my limbs sluggish as if I were moving through water. “What is this?”He tilted his head. “A beginning.”Before I could speak, the void shuddered, and I was falling. The darkness rushed past me,
The silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken fears. My breath came in uneven gasps as my body struggled to recover from the surge of raw energy that had ripped through me inside the ruins. It wasn’t just exhaustion—I felt different, like something deep within me had shifted, altered.Sienna was the first to break the silence. “Elior?” Her voice was sharp, wary.I lifted my gaze to meet hers, but before I could speak, another sensation gripped me. A pulse—no, a heartbeat—throbbed against my skull. My vision blurred, distorting the world around me. One moment I stood in the moonlit clearing outside the ruins; the next, I was somewhere else.A barren wasteland. The sky bled with an eerie red hue, and in the distance, an obsidian throne loomed. Shadows flickered like living creatures, whispering in a language I didn’t understand but felt in my bones.Then, the pain came.My body convulsed as fire licked through my veins, cold and searing at once. I tried to move, to resist, but t
The night pressed in around us, thick with tension. The mysterious woman’s words still lingered in my head, echoing like a curse."The Crown has chosen its next vessel. But you are unprepared."The others felt it too. No one spoke as we moved through the forest, putting as much distance as we could between us and the ruins.Freya finally broke the silence. “So, are we just going to pretend that didn’t happen?”“No,” Bram muttered. “But I’d love to.”Sienna, walking beside me, shot me a glance. “We need to talk about what’s happening to you.”I exhaled sharply. “Later.”“Later might be too late.”I knew she was right. But I wasn’t ready to face it yet. Not with the weight of something unknown still coiling beneath my skin, waiting for a moment of weakness.“We need to focus on survival first,” I said, scanning the area. “The Bloodfangs won’t just let us walk away.”Bram cursed. “Damn right, they won’t.”Even as he spoke, we heard it—distant howls cutting through the stillness of the fo
The forest stretched endlessly before us, a maze of shadows and whispering leaves. Rael moved ahead without hesitation, weaving through the trees like someone who had walked these paths a thousand times before. The rest of us followed, our breaths uneven, our muscles tense. The weight of the Reaper’s attack still clung to the air, thick and unshakable.“What exactly are you?” Bram asked, keeping his hand close to his sword as he eyed Rael suspiciously.“A hunter,” Rael answered without looking back. “And the only reason you’re still breathing.”Freya scoffed. “That doesn’t really answer the question.”Sienna, walking beside me, lowered her voice. “Elior, you felt it, didn’t you?”I knew what she meant. The moment the Reaper had spoken, something inside me had stirred, dark and ancient. A whisper beneath my skin, clawing to be heard.“The Crown has chosen its next vessel.”I swallowed the unease creeping up my throat. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”Rael suddenly stopped, and we
Dawn arrived shrouded in mist, the sky painted in muted grays. The outpost stirred to life as hunters moved with silent efficiency, preparing for the day ahead. I stood at the edge of the training grounds, my muscles taut with unease. Today, I would begin to understand what the Crown had done to me.Rael approached, their silver eyes unreadable. "We don’t have time for slow progress, Elior. If you’re going to survive, we need to push you to your limits."Bram crossed his arms. "Great. Just what we need—more ways for him to get himself killed."Rael ignored him and gestured for me to step forward. "The Crown’s power doesn’t just linger—it consumes. The more you use it, the more it will demand. You need to learn restraint."I swallowed hard. "And if I can’t?"Rael’s expression darkened. "Then it will consume you."No pressure.The training began immediately. Rael pushed me relentlessly, forcing me to summon the shadows that had begun to coil within me. It wasn’t just about wielding them
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