In the small village of Ashwood, nestled in the rolling hills of the countryside, a young boy named Arcturus grew up with a passion for soccer. He spent his days playing in the village square, his feet moving swiftly as he chased after the ball. The villagers saw potential in the boy and encouraged him to hone his skills.As Arcturus entered his teenage years, his ambition grew. He dreamed of becoming a great soccer player, of bringing glory and pride to his village. However, the harsh realities of life soon set in. The village was poor, and opportunities were scarce. Arcturus felt trapped, forced to watch as others with more privilege and wealth surpassed him.A growing sense of resentment and jealousy consumed Arcturus. He became fixated on the idea of power and control. He began to make deals with shady figures, trading favours, and integrity for a chance to rise above his station.One fateful night, while exploring the nearby woods, Arcturus stumbled upon a dark and ancient ritual

The group stood in stunned silence, the aftermath of the battle still resonating in the air. Eryndor's eyes scanned the horizon, searching for any sign of Arcturus or the darkness.Lyra broke the silence, her voice soft. "What just happened? Did Arcturus...did he get consumed by the darkness?"Eryndor's expression was grim. "I don't know. But we need to be prepared. If the darkness has him, we'll have to face it again."The group nodded in agreement, their faces set with determination. They knew the road ahead wouldn't be easy, but they were ready to face whatever challenges lay in store.As they began to tend to their wounds and regroup, Zephyr spoke up. "We should get back to the city. We need to warn them about the darkness and prepare for what's coming."The group nodded, and they began their journey back to the city. Along the way, they couldn't shake off the feeling that they were being watched. Kael's presence lingered in the shadows, observing them with an intensity that made

Eryndor's eyes locked onto Arcturus, his mind racing with questions. "What do you mean I'm not who I think I am?" he demanded, his voice firm.Arcturus chuckled, the sound echoing through the Black Spire. "You're a creation, Eryndor. A creation of the ancient ones. Your memories, your powers, everything about you is a carefully crafted illusion."The words hit Eryndor like a tidal wave, his mind reeling with the implications. He thought back to his past, his memories, his relationships. Was it all a lie?"What about my friends?" Eryndor asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Are they part of the illusion, too?"Arcturus's smile grew wider. "Ah, your friends. They're real, Eryndor. But they don't know the truth about you. And soon, neither will you."Eryndor's eyes narrowed, determination burning within him. "I'll never join you, Arcturus. I'll always fight against you."Arcturus laughed, the sound sending shivers down Eryndor's spine. "We'll see about that, Eryndor. We'll see about

The sanctuary was quiet. Too quiet.A faint mist rolled through the valley as dawn crept over the horizon, painting the treetops in silver. The stream whispered softly through the rocks, yet even the sound of flowing water couldn’t ease the tension that hung in the air.Eryndor sat apart from the group, his back against an ancient stone covered in moss and runes. His reflection wavered in the stream, eyes shadowed, haunted, uncertain. He no longer knew if the face staring back at him was truly his own.Lirien stood a few paces away, tracing symbols in the air, testing the sanctuary’s wards. “The magic here is old,” she murmured. “Older than anything I’ve ever felt. It’s like the forest itself remembers what was lost.”Thorne grunted as he sharpened his sword. “Then let it remember fast. We need a plan, not poetry.”Zephyr leaned against a tree, his arms folded, eyes half-closed as if listening to the wind’s secrets. “Plans require understanding, Thorne. And right now, none of us under

Chapter 20: The Heart of the SpireRain fell in sheets against the shattered marble, hissing as it met the heat of the ancient stones. The storm had fully broken over the Forgotten City, lightning crackling like veins of white fire across the dark sky.The group stood before the entrance to the spire — a massive archway carved with runes that pulsed faintly in the rain. The air shimmered, thick with energy that made their skin prickle.Eryndor stepped forward, his eyes reflecting the silver glow of the symbols. “This is where it all began,” he said quietly.Lyra’s hand brushed the hilt of her sword. “And maybe where it ends,” she murmured.Zephyr frowned, his cloak whipping in the wind. “If this place is what you think it is, walking in blind might be suicide.”Lirien lifted her staff, its blue flame steady despite the storm. “There’s no other way. Whatever truth lies inside — it’s calling him. It always was.”Aria placed a hand on the ancient stone, her voice soft. “This structure is