2025-02-27 23:24:08
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He Must Be Eliminated!
The war room of Aerondale lay cloaked in shadow, a hush so thick it seemed to absorb even the flicker of flame. Only the enchanted braziers, pulsing faintly with bluish fire, offered light—casting ghostly silhouettes on the towering stone walls and across the mosaic floor, where ancient runes had been carved and long forgotten. Figures in hooded robes stood in reverent silence, their cloaks pooling like spilled ink over the marble. Priests who read omens in ash, alchemists who bent metal to the will of time, and seers whose dreams whispered of fates yet to come—all gathered before the throne.At the head of the room, beneath the towering banners of House Ashford, sat King Theron, draped in silence and wrapped in tightly reined fury. His hands, scarred from old wars, were steepled beneath his chin. His eyes—cold, cutting, and unreadable—scanned the assembly like a drawn blade seeking its mark. At his side lay Ashrend, the legendary sword forged from the scale of Tharstan, the last Drag
The Connection
They sat in the grass, lungs still burning, silence stretching between them as the dust from the temple’s collapse settled into the air. The clearing was hushed—eerily still, as if even the forest held its breath. Smoke rose in lazy spirals from the sealed chasm behind them, curling like whispers from a forgotten mouth. It felt like the ancient place had finally exhaled its last breath, taking centuries of secrets with it.Carmen clutched the pendant tightly in her hand. Its radiant blaze had faded, but it hadn’t gone dark. It still pulsed faintly—steady, rhythmic, like a heartbeat under glass. Alive. Waiting.She turned to Calen, her voice low but steady despite the exhaustion lining her features. “I saw something. Back there, when I collapsed.”Calen leaned toward her, worry tightening the lines around his eyes. Liora, crouched nearby and still catching her breath, tilted her head, half-curious but not interrupting.Carmen’s gaze shifted between them. “It wasn’t a dream. It felt too
The Fire Before the Fall
Darkness cradled her.Carmen drifted through layers of silence, heavier than sleep, deeper than dreams. And then—light. Faint at first, then blazing like memory returned.A vision bloomed before her.She stood not as herself, but within someone else—eyes she did not own, heart pounding to a rhythm not hers.A grand hall shimmered beneath her feet, draped in silver banners and carved obsidian pillars. Torches flickered with blue fire. The air was warm, filled with the scent of myrrh and ember-scorched silk. And on the dais ahead, a woman stood tall—regal, proud, yet with sorrow carved into the lines of her brow.The Queen.No name came to Carmen’s lips, but she knew. She felt it. This was the flameborne sovereign of old—ruler of Drakhtarion during its golden age. Her crimson gown billowed like fire itself, and in her arms she cradled a newborn, wrapped in scalesilk and light.A child.The Queen pressed her lips to the infant’s brow, her voice a tremor in the quiet. “You were born from
The Archives
Shadowmere – The Observatory TowerThe air was thick with dust and candle wax. Ancient tomes lined the circular chamber of the High Archives—some so old their bindings had fused with the shelves. It had been years since anyone had stepped this far into the forbidden tier of Drakhtarion records.But Serenya Draeven moved with purpose.In her hand was a scroll of ancient items of the royals. And one word had haunted her since:Pendant. Calen talked about it before he left Shadowmere. He mentioned about the vision, about a girl named Carmen, about Aldric Storm. What is it?Serenya’s fingers brushed along the rows of weathered spines until she found what she was looking for: “Relics of Flame: The Oathbound Artifacts of Drakhtarion.”She opened it with care.The pages crackled. And there, inked in faded crimson and gold, was the sketch of a sigil—a stylized flame wrapped in a spiral of light, embedded into a teardrop-shaped pendant.Her heart skipped.“The Heartfire Sigil: a relic forged d
The Whispers Beneath
The mist thickened with every step.What had once drifted in harmless tendrils now writhed like living things—coiling up the walls, creeping along the floor, slick and sentient. Carmen’s boots splashed into a shallow puddle. She froze.“There wasn’t water here before…” she whispered.Calen crouched, touching the ground. A smear of dark, viscous liquid clung to his fingertips.“Shadow ichor,” he said grimly. “Residual essence from old magic. The seal is bleeding.”“Wonderful,” Liora muttered. “So now the temple’s leaking ancient demon juice. Perfect.”Then the air shifted. Not visibly—but Carmen felt it. A tug in her chest. The corridor didn’t twist, and yet… something was off. The stone felt farther. The air, heavier. Time slowed.Calen stopped. “Wait.”“What now?” Liora said, low and sharp.His eyes narrowed. “The corridor—it’s longer. Too long.”They turned. The archway behind them had vanished into shadow. And the exit ahead... gone.“We’re not in the same space anymore, are we?” C
The Echo and the Warning
The corridor behind the containment chamber grew colder with every step. The walls no longer merely loomed—they pressed, as if the ancient stone itself wished to push them back, to choke out the trespassers that dared awaken what lay beneath. The air felt dense and old, steeped in centuries of silence and dust.Each footfall echoed unnaturally, as though the sound traveled further than it should, returning distorted, like memories with too many teeth.Calen’s palm shimmered faintly with stormlight, the golden crackle casting trembling shadows across the damp stone. It barely held the darkness at bay.Carmen walked close behind him, her breath clouding faintly now. “This place feels… wrong,” she whispered, her voice soft but tense. Her hand brushed along the wall, fingertips finding grooves that felt like claw marks.“It felt wrong three hallways ago,” Liora muttered behind them, her fingers resting on the hilt of her dagger, eyes scanning every corner. “Now it feels cursed. Like the w
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