The shattered palace lay behind them, yet its echoes followed Lyra and Kael like ghosts. Outside, the city of Eryndor had changed—its streets fractured, buildings scorched, and the air thick with the metallic scent of blood and fear. The Blood of the Forgotten was no longer a rumor whispered in shadowed corners; it had begun to bleed into the living world.
Kael's steps were deliberate, each footfall measured. "The throne… it's not just a symbol," he muttered, eyes scanning the empty streets. "It's a key. And they've made it clear we're the lock they want to pick."
Lyra nodded. Her mind raced, replaying the visions and memories that the Veil had granted her—the night of betrayal, the alleyway of whispers, the moment she had felt the city's heartbeat falter. Everything had led to this unmaking hour, the time when the veil between the living and the forgotten thinned, and every secret long buried could surface.
They moved through a narrow alley, where shadows clung to walls like living creatures. A sudden flicker of movement caught Lyra's attention. She drew her sword, instincts sharpened by countless battles. From the darkness emerged figures, not entirely human, not entirely shadow—whispers of the Forgotten who had come to remind the living of the debts owed.
"They're testing us," Kael said, voice tight. "Measuring our strength, our resolve."
Lyra's hand tightened around her blade. "Then we'll give them a lesson they'll remember. Every step they take toward us is a step toward their own undoing."
The air shifted, thickening with magic that tasted of iron and smoke. Lyra's vision blurred as the Veil wrapped around her, revealing fleeting glimpses of the Forgotten—how they had once walked among the living, how betrayal had erased their names, and how vengeance now drove them to reclaim what had been stolen.
From above, a figure descended, cloaked in black and crimson, moving with unnatural grace. Lyra recognized the stance immediately: a master of both blade and shadow, a harbinger of the chaos that had begun to consume Eryndor.
Kael hissed, drawing his own weapon. "They've sent someone skilled… someone dangerous."
The figure stopped, hovering just above the cobblestones. "You think the city belongs to the living," the voice intoned, calm yet laced with malice. "But it belongs to those who remember, to those who have been erased. And now… it will be unmade."
Lyra stepped forward, feeling the Veil pulse through her veins like molten fire. "We will not allow the Forgotten to erase what remains. Every name, every life, every memory is worth defending."
The figure laughed, a chilling sound that echoed through the alleyways. Shadows stretched and twisted, forming shapes that mirrored Lyra's deepest fears. Yet she stood firm. Kael's presence at her side was steady, grounding her amidst the surge of dark energy.
"You are bold," the figure said, descending fully to the ground. "But boldness alone cannot prevent the unmaking. The hour approaches, and with it… everything will change."
A sudden wave of energy erupted from the figure's hands, forcing Lyra and Kael to brace themselves. The Veil responded, wrapping around Lyra like a protective shroud, her sword glowing faintly as if drawn by the memories of those who had fought and fallen before her.
They fought through the wave, moving with precision. Every strike of her blade, every swing of Kael's sword, carved a path through the shadows. The alleyway became a battlefield, each shadow a potential threat, each step a test of their resolve.
Lyra's mind raced with possibilities. The Unmaking Hour was not merely a moment; it was a convergence. Every secret, every betrayal, every unresolved vengeance in Eryndor was drawn to this point. If they failed, the city itself could unravel.
From the corner of her vision, Lyra saw movement—other figures emerging from hidden passageways