Steel clashed against spectral steel. The force of the spirit's strike sent Lyrius skidding backward, boots grinding against the stone. The ghostly warrior—Vorthan's first fragment—moved with speed and precision honed over centuries. It was like fighting memory itself.
But Lyrius didn't hesitate. He ducked the next blow and slid under the spirit's guard, striking upward with his palm.
Thrum.
A pulse of force burst from his Arc Veil, catching the spirit off guard and dispersing its form into mist.
Before he could breathe, the second spirit—Vorthan the Archer—stepped forward. It knocked an arrow of pure energy and let it fly.
Lyrius barely rolled aside.
"Damn," he muttered, narrowing his eyes. "Each version fights like it remembers being alive."
He sprinted across the chamber, zigzagging between pillars. The ghost fired again—missed. Lyrius leapt from a broken statue base and hurled a crescent of Arc energy midair. The spectral arrow shattered as it struck the ghost's chest, dissipating it into glowing ash.
That left the last.
Vorthan the Mage floated forward, robes flowing like liquid mist. It raised its staff—and the chamber bent.
Time slowed.
Lyrius staggered. His vision warped, and the air thickened. The ghost wasn't attacking his body. It was attacking his mind.
"You seek truth…" the spirit's voice echoed in his skull. "…but can you face your own?"
Suddenly, Lyrius was elsewhere.
Standing in a ruin from his past.
A dark field, soaked in blood. Bodies lay strewn in every direction. His own voice called out from behind him.
"You said you'd protect them…"
He turned.
A younger version of himself stood there—eyes hollow, face streaked with tears and ash.
"You lied."
"No." Lyrius's fists clenched. "I made a choice. A painful one."
"Then why does it still burn?"
The illusion tightened like a vice.
But Lyrius drew in a deep breath, letting the Arc Veil surge through him. The warmth of it pushed against the cold regret, illuminating his thoughts.
He looked his past self in the eyes.
"I'll carry the pain," he said quietly. "Because I have to. Because they mattered."
The illusion shattered.
Lyrius dropped to one knee in the chamber, gasping.
The final spirit of Vorthan stood before him—no longer threatening, but proud.
"Then you are ready."
Chains unbound. Elira and Kael fell to the ground, coughing but unharmed.
Vorthan stepped forward and placed a ghostly hand on Lyrius's shoulder.
"You are the bridge between the lost and the living. Velmora will test you again—but remember this…"
The ghost leaned close.
"…truth is heavier than any blade. Wield it well."
With a final shimmer, Vorthan faded.
Silence returned.
Kael stood slowly, rubbing his wrists. "So… what now?"
Elira pointed to a stone pedestal at the center of the chamber. Resting on it was a gauntlet—ornate, ancient, glowing faintly with the same energy as Lyrius's Arc Veil.
Lyrius approached and placed his hand on it.
It shifted and fused to his arm like it had been waiting for him for centuries.
A message inscribed on the pedestal glowed to life:
"The First Seal is broken."