2025-03-08 17:04:39
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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
A Coffin
Drakhtarion’s Hidden TempleThe air grew thicker with every step they took. A weight hung in the atmosphere—not just the musty scent of dust and stone, but something older, something that hummed faintly against the skin like the charge before a lightning strike. The narrow corridor pressed in on them, the walls slick with moss and condensation. Roots snaked from the ceiling like skeletal fingers.The flame in Calen’s palm flickered as if reacting to the dark around them, burning a pale gold that barely pushed back the oppressive shadow.Carmen walked close behind, her other hand gripping the pendant now slung around her neck. It pulsed faintly in response to Calen’s magic, warm against her chest. Her eyes darted along the walls—every crack in the stone felt like it might open its eyes.Behind her, Liora huffed, boots squelching softly in the damp. “I’m going to be real honest, this is exactly the kind of place people die in tragic, ancient poems. You know, ‘and so they wandered into t
Kill Him
Shadowmere — The War CouncilThe great obsidian hall of Shadowmere was filled with the murmurs of power.Blue fire crackled in suspended braziers along the walls, casting dancing shadows over the ancient symbols etched into the black stone. Around the round table of dragonbone, the Elders of Drakhtarion had gathered—hooded figures, old and powerful, some scarred by war, others untouched by time.Aelion Draeven stood at the head of the chamber, his silver eyes sharp with tension. Beside him, Serenya's fingers glowed faintly from a residual tracing spell, her brow furrowed.“We all felt the disturbance,” Aelion began, voice echoing across the stone chamber. “The seal on Tharstan’s prison is fracturing. And Calen Storm… he is the cause.”A murmur rippled through the room.One of the elders—Maevin Thorne, lean and hawk-eyed—spoke first. “Then we must act. If Tharstan still festers in that prison, and Calen carries his blood, it is only a matter of time before the darkness finds him. And u
I Hate Your Ancestors
Pain.That was the first thing Calen felt—a deep, bone-thudding ache across his back and shoulders, as if he’d been trampled by a herd of stampeding warhorses. His head throbbed, his limbs were stiff, and there was a faint ringing in his ears.But he was alive.Groaning, he slowly pushed himself up from the cold, uneven stone beneath him. Shadows loomed above—jagged and ancient, carved into arching walls that disappeared into darkness. The faint glow of the pendant Carmen had used earlier still flickered near his chest, casting long golden pulses into the gloom.He blinked.Carmen and Liora lay crumpled nearby, unconscious, their limbs splayed awkwardly on the stone floor. His breath caught, and he scrambled over, dropping beside them.“Carmen… Liora…”Their chests were rising. Thank the stars.Still, they weren’t waking.Gently, Calen reached out. His hand shimmered with soft arcs of electricity—controlled, delicate. With utmost care, he let the storm energy spark lightly against the
Into The Darkness
The storm of spirits did not relent.They poured from the trees like living smoke—howling, writhing, shrieking with voices like shattering glass. Their forms flickered between shadow and flame, half-shaped by memory and malice. Dozens of them, maybe more, filled the forest behind the riders in a storm of black mist and crimson eyes.Their wails clawed through the night, scraping the mind like cold nails across steel. Branches splintered and leaves turned to ash in their wake. Phantom swords, burning with spectral fire, lashed out at anything they passed. One blade came so close to Calen’s head that he felt the wind sear his cheek.He clenched his jaw, refusing to look back again—he could feel them behind him, their hunger like a knife between his shoulders.His palm surged with power.Crackling arcs of golden lightning danced between his fingers, humming with barely restrained fury. With a cry, he threw his hand back and unleashed a spiraling arc of stormfire that lit up the trees lik
The Shadows That Hunt
The wind in the clearing had died, as if the world were holding its breath. Even the trees stood still, their leaves frozen mid-rustle. Only the flicker of firelight remained, casting long, wavering shadows across the mossy ground and the gnarled trunks surrounding them.Carmen knelt beside Calen, her breath shallow, one hand hovering just above his chest. His skin was clammy, his brows damp with sweat. The golden glow that had blazed from his body minutes ago was gone—faded into the air like mist at sunrise.“Calen…” she whispered, voice trembling.No response.Liora stood a few steps away with her arms crossed, frustration and unease written across her face. She shifted her weight from one boot to the other and glanced at the treeline like it might bite her.“Okay,” she said flatly, “either he’s unconscious or he's really committing to this tragic-hero nap thing. I vote we leave him and bolt before the next magical abomination shows up.”Carmen shot her a glare and gently shook Cale
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