The echo of Eryx's voice hadn't faded. It lingered in the broken air, like smoke that refused to clear.
Elira opened her eyes slowly. Her body ached, not from impact but from something deeper—like her magic had been ripped from her and scattered in pieces across the stone.
The crystal was gone. The glyphs were gone. Only faint sparks of dying light hovered like fireflies above the cracked pedestal. The sacred spell, meant to guard against the Undying King's return, was shattered.
And he had used her blood to do it.
Kael's hands were already on her, pulling her upright with a tight grip that said more than words ever could.
"Elira," he said. "Talk to me. Please."
She stared past him, her breath coming too fast. Her palm still bled from the cut, the skin around it warm with residual magic. But it wasn't the injury that left her shaking.
"He didn't just take it," she murmured. "He knew exactly what to do with it."
Kael's jaw clenched. "Then it's done. We find Thorne. We kill him."
She caught his wrist. "No."
"Elira—"
"No," she said again, firmer this time. "Not yet. He's still connected. I felt it. He's like a thread—tug on him the right way, and we can trace it back to Eryx. I need him alive."
Kael's expression darkened, torn between fury and reason.
But he stepped back. He trusted her—even now.
Mira and Jareth arrived moments later, swords drawn, their faces full of questions they didn't need to ask.
"Elira…" Mira's eyes swept the room. "What the hell happened?"
"Thorne," Kael said. "He shattered the crystal. And he wasn't alone."
Outside, Sienna's voice echoed down the corridor, sharp with urgency. "The mist—it's moving again!"
Elira turned to Kael, her voice clear despite the tremor in her limbs. "The temple's exposed now. The wards are gone. I can feel the breach widening."
"What do you need?" he asked immediately.
She met his eyes. "Time. And no one near me when I cast it."
His fingers curled into fists. "What kind of spell are you casting?"
Her answer was quiet.
"The kind that shouldn't exist."
Thirty Minutes Later
Elira stood alone in the center of the chamber. The others had retreated, even Kael, though she knew he hadn't gone far. She could feel him—like a warmth at the edge of her awareness, pacing just beyond the door.
She knelt on the cold stone. The remnants of the broken spell glowed faintly around her like dying embers. Her heartbeat slowed. Her hands trembled. And then—she let go.
She didn't use a blade.
She used herself.
Her magic opened her skin, not violently, but with precision—like a key sliding into a lock. Her blood rose into the air, curling upward in delicate ribbons of light. It pulsed, shimmered, and began to form symbols—ones older than history, pulled from her soul.
Her voice barely rose above a whisper:
"By memory's flame…By blood once bound…I tie this place to me, and myself to its stone..."
The walls groaned. The ceiling cracked. Ancient glyphs surged to life, leaping from wall to wall like wildfire. Kael felt it from the hallway—a pulse of power that shook the mountain's bones.
Every door slammed shut. Every false path vanished.
Vael'Harth came alive.
And then Elira collapsed.
Kael was already there, catching her before she hit the ground.
She came to in a haze of candlelight and pressure behind her eyes. Her whole body buzzed like someone had pressed lightning into her bones.
Kael sat beside her, his expression unreadable.
"You absolute idiot," he whispered, brushing her damp hair off her forehead. "You could've died."
A weak smile tugged at her lips. "You keep saying that."
"Because it keeps being true."
She forced herself to sit up. "The temple?"
"Locked tighter than the old gods' secrets," he muttered. "The soldiers are pissed. They can't get to the same chamber twice in a row. Even Mira got lost."
"Perfect," she said. "It's working."
He hesitated. "But Thorne… he's not the same."
Elira stiffened. "He's alive?"
"Yes. But something's wrong."
They descended into the lower levels together. The air down there was thick with wards and static. Kael led her to the containment cell—a glowing cube of magic that shimmered faintly blue.
Inside sat Thorne.
Silent.
Still.
Murmuring.
Elira pressed a hand to the barrier.
And felt it.
He wasn't possessed anymore. Not fully. But something had been left behind. A mark.
"He's tethered," she said, barely above a whisper. "Like a splinter under the skin. Eryx used him to break the spell—but also to… watch me."
Kael's eyes narrowed. "You mean—"
"He's still here. Even if it's just a shadow."
Thorne kept murmuring her name like a broken prayer.
"Elira. Elira. Elira…"
She backed away, chest tight.
Hours Later
The night outside never came.
The sky had gone black—completely, unnaturally. No stars. No moon. Just a wall of living shadow stretching across the horizon.
Mira burst through the doors to the war chamber.
"He's here."
Elira and Kael ran to the cliffside wall.
There—at the edge of the crumbling ledge—stood Eryx.
Not hidden behind mist. Not cloaked in riddles.
But whole.
Golden eyes. A smile like a knife.
"Cousin," he called, voice smooth and echoing. "It's been too long."
Kael stepped forward, his face like stone. "What are you?"
Eryx tilted his head. "Still me. Still him. Something better. Something free."
His gaze shifted to Elira.
"You've grown, Princess. I remember when you used to flinch."
"You're not Eryx anymore," she said coldly.
"On the contrary—I'm all the best parts." His smile sharpened. "And all the worst."
Behind him, the fog boiled and shifted—revealing twisted silhouettes. Dozens. Maybe hundreds.
Former men, now things. Shadows. Creatures stitched from bone and grief.
The King's Disciples.
Eryx extended his hand.
The sky behind him cracked.
And he whispered:
"Come out, Elira. Come out and dance."