They left the cave before dawn. No one spoke much. The wind was sharp and dry as they crossed the cracked hills. Loose stones shifted underfoot. It felt like the land itself wanted them gone.
Elian kept ahead, the blue emerald tucked inside his coat. It no longer glowed bright — only a dull flicker remained, as though it were struggling to stay awake. He hadn't told the others, but he could feel it draining faster than it should.
Rye walked in silence. The Shade's words had not left her mind.
We have your brother with us.
A brother? She had never known family beyond her father. And her father had never spoken of anyone else. Yet the Shade had sounded certain. Not like a threat — more like a fact. Cold and final.
Behind her, Eris and Jor whispered as they moved. Maeron brought up the rear, quiet as always. He scanned the ridgelines constantly, his sword loose in hand.
By midday, they reached the edge of a dry riverbed. The cliffs rose on either side — jagged and sun-bleached.
"We need rest," Jor said, breathing hard. "And water."
"No," Elian replied. "Not here."
Rye stopped. "What's wrong?"
He looked around. "Too exposed. And something's not right with the emerald. It's leaking energy."
Rye's eyes narrowed. "Leaking?"
He nodded. "Like something's pulling from it. Feeding."
Maeron stiffened at that. His hand reached up to rub his shoulder — then stopped.
"What is it?" Eris asked.
Maeron said nothing. Then he slowly pulled his shirt collar down.
There, just below the bone of his collar, a faint mark glowed — barely visible under the skin. A thin circle etched with runes. It pulsed with the same rhythm as the emerald.
"By the gods," Elian said. "He's marked."
Jor stepped back. "Tracked?"
"Yes," Elian said. "Concord brand. They must have tagged him in the base. It's connected to the emerald's signature."
Maeron's jaw clenched. "I didn't feel anything."
"You wouldn't," Elian said. "It's a silent glyph. Triggers when you hit daylight."
Rye looked around. "Then they're already on us."
Eris reached for her knives. "We need to move. Now."
"No," Elian said sharply. "Not like this. They'll follow us no matter where we go."
Jor glanced at Maeron. "So what, we leave him?"
"No one's leaving anyone," Rye said. "We cut the glyph."
"That's dangerous," Elian said. "It's tied into his nerves. One wrong move and—"
"Just do it," Maeron said. "Before they get here."
They found shelter behind a fallen slab of rock. Elian knelt beside Maeron, whispering the counter-chant. His fingers glowed faint blue as he traced the glyph.
Rye kept watch. Her sword remained quiet — no glow, no pulse — but she felt something shifting in the air.
Above them, a shadow moved along the cliff's edge.
She looked up.
A figure stood there. Not a Veyruun. This one wore armor laced with dark gold, and a helm shaped like a bird's skull. No face was visible, but it watched them without moving.
"Elian," Rye said.
He looked up. "What is that?"
The figure raised one arm. A long staff unfolded from its back, glowing at the tip with crackling black light.
"Move!" Rye shouted.
The ground shattered.
A bolt of force struck where they stood, throwing them apart. Dust and stone exploded in every direction. Maeron screamed — half-cut and half-burned. The glyph still glowed on his skin, pulsing violently.
Two more figures dropped from the cliff above, landing without a sound. These were faster, smaller, armed with double blades curved like hooks.
The group scattered.
Eris met the first attacker with a flurry of steel. Jor charged the second with a roar, slamming into him with a heavy swing.
Rye moved toward Maeron. He was shaking, the mark now glowing bright red.
"Elian!" she shouted.
"I need ten seconds!" he called back, hands still glowing.
The figure on the cliff raised its staff again.
This time, Rye acted.
She ran toward it, sword drawn. The red neon glow flared across the blade. The heat pulsed up her arm, and the edge extended slightly — alive again, but still unfamiliar.
She reached the cliff wall and climbed, using cracks in the stone to pull herself up. The figure watched her calmly, unmoving.
At the top, she lunged.
Her sword met the staff. The strike rang out like thunder, and for a moment, red and black light fought in the air between them.
Then the figure stepped back and vanished not in smoke, but like a blink. Gone.
Below, the others were regrouping. The two attackers retreated as quickly as they had come, fading into the hills.
Elian finished the glyph removal just in time. The glow died, and Maeron collapsed into unconsciousness.
"They know where we are now," Elian said, breathless.
"They knew before," Rye said. "Now they know we'll fight back."
She looked down at the sword in her hand. The glow was fading again, but not completely.
She didn't understand it yet — the weapon, the Shade's words, or the truth about her so-called brother. But the path forward was no longer about hiding.
It was about surviving the next hour.
•••
Far from the broken lands of Kaelthar and Aeloria, beyond the breach and its chaos, there stood a fortress unlike any seen by mortal eyes. It hovered in a void of shimmering dark, anchored not by stone but by ancient enchantments, layers of runes wrapped around its structure like living roots.
This was Nytherion, the deep stronghold of the magical world, hidden between folds of time.
Inside, it was silent.
No footsteps echoed in its halls. Magic carried all motion. Doors opened without touch. Scrolls rewrote themselves in the air. Light bent unnaturally, glowing in threads across arched ceilings like starlight trapped in glass.
And in its heart, deep beneath the main vaults, there lay a chamber known only to a few: The Podarium.
There were twelve pods in that chamber, each suspended in a slow orbit around a central crystal obelisk. The pods were smooth, translucent, and humming with layered containment spells. Faint silhouettes could be seen inside, each frozen mid-motion, like dreams trapped in glass.
Some were scholars. Some were warriors. One was neither.
A woman in silver robes floated down into the chamber. She did not walk. Her name was Astrelle, Keeper of the Vaulted Sleep.
She passed by the first nine pods without glancing. Her destination was clear.
Pod 10.
Unlike the others, Pod Ten's containment light was flickering. Small veins of energy had begun to crack across its surface, not enough to breach, but enough to draw attention.
Astrelle raised a hand. The pod steadied. The flickering slowed.
Inside was a man, tall, cloaked, and still. His hands were bound by arcane threads. A brand, once golden, now red — was etched above his heart.
He had been there for 100 years.
When the last war between the worlds ended and has been captured. Suspended. Silent. Forgotten by most, but not by all.
Behind her, soft footsteps approached.
Another figure entered, this one younger, robed in dark violet, his face sharp with caution. His name was Calyx, a gifted conjurer who had only recently been allowed access to this level.
"Why is he stirring?" Calyx asked.
"He is not," Astrelle replied. "The world is."
Calyx frowned. "Thebreach?"
Astrelle nodded. "And the emerald. Its energy once belonged to him."
Calyx looked at the man in the pod. "You think he senses it?"
"Not senses," she said. "Responds."
They both watched as a slow pulse of red traveled across the man's bindings, as though his heartbeat had found its way into the spell.
Calyx stepped closer. "What's his name?"
Astrelle did not answer at once.
Then, quietly, she said, "Varyn."
Calyx's eyes widened. "TheDevourer?"
Astrelle looked at the pod. "The world once called him that. We called him something else. Protector, once. Brother, for a time."
"But he betrayed you."
Astrelle's face did not change. "He changed. Or perhaps the world did."
Silence fell between them.
Then the obelisk at the center of the room pulsed once, deep and low.
It was a warning. A signal that something across the veil had shifted.
Astrelle turned to leave. "Strengthen the runes. Double the seals. If the emerald remains in play, his bindings will not hold for long."
"And if he wakes?"
She stopped. "Then another war begins."
As she vanished into the shadows, Calyx stood before Pod Ten alone. He stared at the man's face through the glass — peaceful, almost noble, with the faintest mark of sorrow etched into his brow.
The bindings pulsed again.
This time, he blinked.
Just once.
Then everything went still.
DETAIL WORLD BUILDING
Nytherion: The Fortress Between Worlds
Location:
Suspended within a dimensional fold known as the Veil Layer, which exists between reality and raw magic. It doesn't appear on any map, because it doesn't sit on solid ground. It is anchored by ancient magic in a non-linear space where time flows differently.
Access:
Only the most powerful mages of the Magical World can reach Nytherion. It requires a multi-lock convergence spell, combining ancient symbols from all three worlds. The gateways appear briefly and are heavily warded.
Purpose:
Acts as a containment and stasis facility for unstable magical entities.
Stores forbidden artifacts, including magical fragments that could destabilize entire regions.
Hosts secret councils that operate above the main magical factions.
Design:
Shaped like a floating star-tower, with roots of magic anchoring it in the Veil.
Each wing or level of Nytherion serves a different purpose with the Podarium being the deepest.
Light there doesn't come from lamps, but from threads of raw spellcraft suspended in the air.
In-World Logic:
Most in the mortal realms believe Nytherion is a myth, a tale to scare rogue mages. Only the Shade, the High Conjurers, and a few trusted Keepers know it exists and is still active.
Varyn, the reincarnated sleeper in Pod Ten, is one of its oldest and most dangerous occupants, reincarnation of the last imprisoned not just to stop him, but to keep the balance of magic itself intact.