### Chapter 3: The Fall of Aethelgard
The force of Erwin's final spell slammed into Victor like a hammer, blasting him out of the alcove and onto cold stone. Pain flared in his ribs, sharp and immediate, but there was no time to register it. His ears rang. His thoughts raced.
**Move.**
He scrambled upright, the silver ring clutched tight in his fist. It pulsed faintly against his palm—warm, alive. Sara's soul was inside. That single, impossible truth anchored him. Not dead. Not yet.
Boots thundered behind him. The invaders. They were close.
Victor didn't look back. He turned and ran.
Smoke and ash curled in the narrow passage, the air thick with the taste of burning stone and old magic. His legs ached. His lungs screamed. But he didn't slow.
**No time to break. No room to bleed. Keep moving.**
He reached the grand stairwell—and froze.
The castle had become a warzone.
Flames poured from the ceiling like liquid fire. The once-opulent halls were reduced to ruin—walls cracked, columns split, chandeliers shattered across the floor. Bodies littered the path below. Guards, nobles, servants… All torn apart by the masked invaders.
Victor's jaw clenched. His hand burned with shadow.
He descended fast, magic unfurling like wings. Threads of darkness curled around him, shielding him from the debris. A falling beam shattered on his barrier with a violent crack. He kept running.
A scream tore through the smoke.
Victor twisted, shadows lashing outward.
An invader emerged from the fire, blade already swinging.
Victor parried with a burst of force, throwing the enemy off-balance. He didn't wait. A shadow spike erupted from the floor beneath the figure, punching through the dark armor. The invader jerked once—then stilled.
Still no sound. No pain. Just… stillness.
Victor backed away, chest rising and falling. His vision blurred around the edges. He didn't even know if the thing was dead.
More shadows moved in the smoke. Too many.
He bolted down another passage. The weight of the ring in his hand never left his awareness.
**She's in there. She's waiting. I can't fall here. Not now.**
He burst into the main hall—and nearly faltered.
The gates were gone. Just splinters and twisted iron.
Beyond them, Aethelgard burned.
Once a city of white spires and silver domes, it was now a ruin wreathed in fire and smoke. The plaza below was chaos. Citizens fled in droves, screaming, scattering like frightened birds. And amidst them… the invaders.
Dozens of them. Maybe more.
Victor stood at the top of the stairs, frozen.
They moved like phantoms—cutting down anyone in their path. No hesitation. No mercy. Civilians. Guards. Children. It didn't matter. The streets were painted in blood.
One woman—Victor thought he recognized her from the market—tried to shield a child. A blade tore through her back, and they both crumpled before she even made a sound.
His fists trembled.
**You can't save them.**
The thought hit like a punch. Cold. Final.
He *wanted* to jump down. To fight. To tear through them until his magic burned out.
But he wouldn't even make it halfway. Not like this. Not alone.
**Think. Live. That's how you protect them. That's how you save her.**
His grip tightened on the ring.
Then he ran.
Through the shattered archways. Past the dead and dying. Down winding alleys and blood-slick corridors. His Shadow Element coiled close to his body, forming partial shields, absorbing glancing blows of debris and stray spells. A scream erupted behind him—cut short. He didn't look.
He fled the gates, ducked into a ruined alley, and didn't stop running until the sounds of slaughter began to fade behind him. His chest heaved. His muscles burned.
But he was alive.
The city stretched before him, broken and aflame. Aethelgard's skyline—its pride, its heart—was fractured. Spires cracked. Bridges broken. Fires clawed at the sky. The great Library Tower had collapsed in on itself.
It looked like the end of the world.
Victor pressed his back against a wall and slid to the ground, the ring still clutched in his hand. His head fell back, eyes closed.
His mind was quiet. Not empty—*quiet*.
**Father's gone. Mother, too. Erwin's dead. Sara…**
He looked at the ring again.
**Not gone. Not yet.**
He opened his hand and stared at the unassuming band of silver. The light within it was faint now. But it pulsed. A slow rhythm.
It was real.
And if she was still inside—then he had a reason to keep moving.
A reason to fight.
His shadow flickered at his feet, restless.
He stood.
Pain flared in his ribs again, but he ignored it. The city was still burning. The invaders still hunted. But he was out now—away from the palace, away from their immediate grasp. There would be others. Survivors. Resistance.
Somewhere in the rubble, in the old records, maybe even deep in the forbidden archives—there had to be an answer. A ritual to restore her. A way to finish what Erwin started.
He didn't know what it would cost.
But he'd find it.
He'd find the spell. Finish the ritual. Bring her back.
And then…?
Then he'd make sure Aethelgard wasn't forgotten.
He took one last look at the burning capital, eyes hard.
Then he turned and walked into the dark.