The barrier of Dravenloch stood like a wall of pulsating blue light, beating
slowly like the heart of a giant. Each ripple sent a chill through the air. A
line of refugees staggered forward—pale faces, some clutching worn sacks,
others with nothing but empty hands. Among them, Arthur and six mages from the
Tower of Magic walked disguised beneath veils of illusion.
Torches flickered above the walls, casting the shadows of Ethereal soldiers
across the trembling light. Harsh voices barked down.
"Move along! Don't stop at the barrier!"
Arthur stepped forward. The moment his body touched the light, a freezing
sensation stabbed into his chest, as though something tried to pry the soul
from within. He held his breath, refusing to resist.
Lyra Moonveil clutched his arm, lips trembling.
"Gods… it feels like needles piercing my heart."
Arthur lowered his voice to a whisper. "Let it pass. If you resist, the pull
only grows stronger. Just follow the current."
They made it through. On the other side, the air felt drained of oxygen, as
though the city itself could no longer breathe. The streets of Dravenloch were
cloaked in darkness, broken only by the occasional dim torchlight glinting off
hollow houses. There was no laughter of children, no shouts of a market. Only a
suffocating silence pressing against the ears.
Seliora Windcrest's eyes welled with tears as she looked around.
"This city… it's no longer a city. It's a grave still standing."
Arthur bowed his head, jaw tightening. Malphas Duskbane… you turned your
own people into fuel. You built a hell and called it protection.
From an open window, he caught sight of a child sitting curled up, knees
hugged tight. The child's eyes were vacant, empty of light. Seliora moved as if
to step forward, but Alaric's hand gripped her arm firmly.
"Don't. They're only shells. Their souls are already bound to the rune."
Arthur closed his eyes, channeling the Heavenly Valoria Technique. Qi flowed
from his feet into the stones of the street, rippling outward like water
seeking a path.
"The source lies underground," he said. "There's a conduit pulling all
energy to the city's heart."
Darius Thornhelm grunted. "If there's truly an altar down there, we'll see a
nightmare."
Far to the west, war raged beneath a sky burning red with fire. Boulders
hurled by Solaris siege engines slammed against the walls of Brightwall, shards
slicing into soldiers who stood too close. Lightning magic cracked and
thundered, shaking the earth.
Kael Solaris stood atop a siege tower, his sharp eyes sweeping over the
battlefield.
"Tear down that wall! Solaris does not know the meaning of retreat!"
His army surged like a black tide. Sunstones soldiers on the ramparts
shouted back, loosing arrows and pouring boiling oil, but the relentless waves
of Solaris troops pressed ever forward.
Barthol Van Stones, king of Sunstones, stood tall upon the battlements, his
voice booming.
"Hold the line! This is the heart of Sunstones! If Brightwall falls, our entire
nation crumbles!"
In the distance, the banners of Riverbend and Veritas rippled in the wind,
their reinforcements breaking through the night. Riverbend's ships moored at
the harbor, while Veritas legions in white armor raised glowing shields to
bolster the walls.
Kael Solaris watched them with a cold smile. The more foes that gathered,
the grander the stage for Solaris glory. And when he triumphed, the world would
know who the true heir of Etheria was.
Beneath Dravenloch, damp tunnels reeked of mold and dried blood. Arthur led
the way, following the pulse of energy thrumming through the ground. Each step
grew heavier, as though unseen hands pressed down on his shoulders.
At the tunnel's end, a cavern opened, bathed in pale light. A massive rune
spread across the floor, branching like roots that pierced into human bodies.
Hundreds were bound to the ground—eyes wide, lips moving soundlessly, their
souls being siphoned into the rune.
Lyra gasped, clamping both hands over her mouth.
"They… they're still alive!"
Seliora knelt beside a frail old woman, her body little more than skin and
bone. Tears splashed onto the stone.
"Dear gods, they've been made into fuel."
Alaric turned to Arthur, his voice heavy.
"If we destroy the core rune, the barrier will fall. But every soul here will
be shattered with it."
Arthur stood silent. If he struck now, thousands of lives would be lost. If
he hesitated, the war would never end.
For a fleeting moment, the faces of Laras—his wife—and their children, Alya
and Andi, flickered in his mind. The Oculus on his wrist trembled, projecting
an old photo from the Dimensional Watch—a fragile memory of the world he once
called home.
Arthur clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white. No. I will
not become a tyrant like Mordred. I will not become a demon like Malphas
Duskbane.
He rose, eyes blazing. The Heavenly Valoria Technique surged, casting a
faint glow across his frame.
"We'll find another way. We'll bring down this barrier without sacrificing
them. No matter what it takes."
Alaric bowed his head. "If that is my king's decision, then that is the path
we follow."
The great rune shuddered, its light flaring brighter. From the bound bodies
came faint whispers—desperate prayers mingling with the screams of tethered
souls.
Arthur stared forward, his resolve like tempered steel.
"Malphas Duskbane," he murmured, his voice low yet sharp, "I will tear down the
hell you have created."