The chamber still echoed with Lyra's scream.
The metallic scent of blood hung thick in the air, Kael's warmth already fading from her fingertips. Around her, the stone altar was cracked and scorched from the magic backlash of the cult's retreat. Black flames flickered from the shattered braziers, casting wild shadows on the walls.
Lyra didn't move. She just knelt there, shaking, Kael's blood dripping from her hands to the floor like a broken hourglass.
Luna stepped forward cautiously, voice soft. "Lyra…"
"Don't." Her voice came out low, trembling with power. The air around her shimmered with heat.
Valdran sheathed his sword, face grim. "We were too late."
"No," Lyra whispered, her violet aura starting to burn through her armor. "We were seconds away. Seconds!"
Eclipse knelt beside her. "He's still alive. We felt it. He resisted them."
"I know." Lyra stood slowly, blood on her hands and fire in her eyes. "And I'll burn every corner of this cursed world until I get him back."
Back in Dreadhold…
The Twelve Guardians reconvened. For the first time in weeks, all twelve were present—though weary and wounded.
The Thorns sat around the war table. Maps were spread out, cult activity circled in crimson ink, scrying stones pulsed faintly.
Valdran slammed his fist on the table. "They're not just trying to control Kael. They're trying to break him—and use him."
"The Eye is responding," Luna said. "It's growing more active. Whatever they're doing to him… it's working."
Eclipse crossed his arms. "Then we can't wait. We hit them before it fully awakens."
"I agree," said the defected Hero—Seren, the strategist from Velharys. "But charging blindly won't save him. They used a spatial seal I've only seen in one place: the Forgotten City beneath the Rift."
Lyra's eyes widened. "That's a death trap. Even Kael said not to go near it."
Seren nodded grimly. "Which is exactly why they took him there." Deep in the Cult's Fortress
Chains laced with cursed sigils bound his wrists and ankles. The room was silent, cold, carved from obsidian. Dark magic pulsed in the air like a heartbeat.
Kael's head hung low, blood trickling from his mouth. His breath came in shudders.
A voice echoed.
"You are no longer the boy I bought," said the Mad Sorcerer, stepping into view. His eyes glowed like twin coals. "You are the vessel of something ancient. And you will serve me."
Kael lifted his head slowly, eyes dim but still defiant. "You'll… never control me."
The sorcerer smiled. "You misunderstand. I don't want control. I want to release you."
He waved a hand—and a wave of searing pain surged through Kael's body. The Cursed Eye flared to life, lines of black and gold cracking across his face like molten lightning.
Still, Kael laughed weakly. "You think… this is enough to break me?"
"You'll beg to be broken before I'm done."Back in Dreadhold
Night had fallen.
Lyra stood on the balcony of Kael's tower, Kael's cloak draped over her shoulders, his bloodied sigil clutched in her hand.
Behind her, the Guardians prepared for war. Below, the people of Dreadhold lit lanterns in silent vigil.
Her hair blew in the wind. Tears glinted in her eyes—but her jaw was set like steel.
"We're coming for you, Kael," she whispered.
"And this time… nothing will stop us."