The moon had slipped behind the jagged rooftops of the ruined palace, and an unnatural dawn glimmered on the horizon. Eira stepped onto the courtyard, her leather boots silent on the cracked obsidian tiles. Lucien fell into step at her side, his sword drawn and eyes scanning the darkness. Between them lay the threshold of battle—the first true test of her claim as the key.
Behind a row of broken pillars, the awakened guardian waited. Its armor, forged of living bone and glowing ember, was carved with the same runic patterns that marked the depths of the Hollow Heart. Two red eyes flared in its helm as it shifted, the ground trembling beneath its weight. The wards surrounding the courtyard—once unbroken—flickered, struggling against the sentinel's presence.
Eira's heart thundered in her chest, but in her palm the sigil burned warm and steady. The brand left by the Hollow Heart pulsed like a heartbeat, a promise and a warning. She squared her shoulders. Lucien looked at her, his own blade whispering against its scabbard.
"Remember," he murmured, "stand your ground."
She nodded once, breathing in the cold air. "Together."
With that, the sentinel strode forward. Each step cracked stone; each crack spilled tendrils of shadow. Eira raised her hand, palm outward. A pale silver glow erupted from the sigil, sweeping forward in a wave that met the guardian in its path. The bones of its armor sizzled, releasing embers that drifted upward like dying stars.
The guardian roared—a deafening, hollow sound—and swung its great blade. Lucien darted forward, catching the blow on his sword, sparks raining between them. Eira felt the shockwave pulse through her, but the sigil flared to life beneath her palm, steadying her.
Lucien ground his teeth. He parried blow after blow, each strike sending deep echoes through the courtyard. Beside him, Eira summoned a ring of pale moonlight at her feet, its circumference illuminated by arcane runes. The guardian crashed into it, each plate of its armor leaving scorch marks on the ground.
"Now, Eira!" Lucien called, spinning away just as the guardian's blade crashed into the circle's edge. The runes glowed brighter.
Eira stretched both hands forward. "By the first Flame and the last king—unbind!"
A torrent of silvery fire leapt from her sigil, swirling around the sentinel's legs and chest. Its roar turned frantic as the flames bit deeper, melting bone and ember alike. Yet for every inch scorched away, the guardian reformed—bone knitting back, armor reforging itself in a sick parody of resurrection.
Eira's breath caught. The sentinel's magic was older than any she had faced, more primal, more determined. She lowered her voice, chanting a phrase she barely understood, her words weaving across the courtyard like threads of light.
Lucien pressed his blade against the sentinel's thigh, halting its advance. "You can't burn it out!" he shouted. "It's part of the city!"
Eira's voice cracked, but she held firm. "Then I must change its nature!"
With a cry, she thrust both hands through the wall of flickering moonfire, channeling the power of the Hollow Heart itself. The courtyard quaked. The sentinel froze, bone armor rattling, its blazing eyes fixed on her.
Lucien leapt aside as Eira's silver flame coalesced into a lance of pure light, striking the sentinel's core—the heart-shaped crystal embedded in its chest. The guardian's roar shattered, echoing through the palace walls. Shards of bone scattered, and for the first time, the sentinel wavered, kneeling on one knee.
Eira's hand glowed, the lance of light burning bright enough to dazzle. The sigil on her palm felt like it would burst. But before she could finish the spell, Lucien's hand clamped on her shoulder.
"Eira, no!" he cried.
The moment her connection broke, the sentinel's armor reknit itself in a rushing storm of bone and flame. The lance of moonlight collapsed, and Eira staggered backward, gasping for breath.
Lucien swept in, blade arcing for the sentinel's exposed flank. For a moment, it seemed the battle would shift. But the sentinel twisted its spine, sweeping its broken blade in a deadly circle. Lucien barely raised his sword—instead, the sentinel's weapon caught him in the ribs, sending him crashing into a fallen statue. Lucien groaned, blood seeping through his tunic.
"No!" Eira screamed. She surged forward, adrenaline scorching through her veins.
The sentinel pivoted, ready to strike her next. Eira raised her brandished dagger—the one crafted from the silver wing of Noctharrow—channeling her fear, her anger, her purpose. She lunged.
In that moment, time slowed.
She saw Lucien's eyes—pained but resolute—as he stood, battered but unbowed. She saw the sentinel's helm glinting in the half-light. She felt her own heart hammering.
Then she struck.
The dagger bit deep into the sentinel's waist joint, beneath an overlapping plate of bone. Darkness spilled from the wound, a cascade of shadow and ember, and the sentinel howled. The blow severed its link to the city's magic: the root of its binding cracked, and the guardian teetered.
Eira twisted the blade, driving it deeper. The sentinel's next swing whistled through empty air, its blade cutting only darkness. Lucien charged, sword swinging in wide arcs. Together, they hammered at the sentinel's core until the bone plates fractured, and the heart-crystal—once glowing, now dull—shattered with a final, echoing crack.
The courtyard went silent.
Even the air seemed to inhale slowly.
Then, with one last groan, the sentinel collapsed. Its bones crumbled into ash, its embers extinguished.
Lucien rushed to Eira's side, sweeping her into his arms. "Are you hurt?"
She shook her head, voice trembling. "No… I think it's over."
He set her down gently, wiping sweat from her brow. "You did it."
Eira touched the space where her dagger had struck. The sigil on her palm flared once in acknowledgment, then softened.
Lucien looked up at the palace walls. "That should hold it… for now."
"I only delayed it," Eira said, brushing ash from her coat. "The seal beneath is still weakening."
He slid his arm around her waist. "Then we keep moving. We learn what must be done to restore it."
Eira nodded. Despite the tremor in her limbs, she felt strength in her core—the power of her choice, the fierceness of her conviction. The sentinel's defeat was a victory, but also a warning: the city would send more guardians, more trials, until the key chose her final path.
Valtherion's voice echoed in her memory: "The Voidborn will stir."
Eira looked at Lucien. "Are you with me?"
His grin was tired but unwavering. "Always."
Together, they turned toward the palace gates. Behind them lay the ashes of an ancient sentinel. Before them lay a deeper descent—further into the heart of secrets, where the true battle for the world would be decided.
And Eira, branded by fate and choice, marched forward as the key to all that was—and all that might yet be.