Arden lingered, his gaze fixed on the grimy crystal resting in his palm. The shard seemed to whisper secrets meant only for him, a faint pulse of energy threading through the silence around them. At last, his voice broke the quiet—low and weighted with unease.
"I fear this is worse than I imagined," he murmured, a chill of foreboding clinging to every word.
He lifted the crystal higher so Elias could see it fully. The shard caught the thin light, glimmering with an uncanny, almost breathing hue.
"Look closely. This is no trinket. It's a fragment—torn from something far greater." His voice quivered, worry creeping into the edges.
A shadow moved across his features, his tone darkening.
"In the hands of someone versed in forbidden arts, it could act as a key… one capable of calling something from beyond. And with a will strong enough…" He paused, narrowing his eyes. "…it might even be controlled." His words tightened, as if pulled through fear.
Elias's breath hitched. His eyes widened, worry spreading across his face.
"Controlled? By who?" he asked, voice trembling.
Arden kept silent for a moment, letting the question linger until he finally spoke again.
"I cannot say. But I can feel its purpose. This relic is a key. If we unravel it, perhaps we can shift this war—perhaps even hold our ground." His words carried a fragile strand of hope, wrapped in worry.
The group stilled, all eyes fixed on the shard. A faint pulse shimmered within it, unsettling and alive. A cold ripple swept across them.
"There is power inside it—enough to matter. I'll take it with me. Study it. Learn its strength. If I succeed, it may aid us in the battles ahead. We still don't know who commands this invasion… but the shard may reveal the hand behind it." His tone mixed determination with an undercurrent of fear.
He raised his staff. Shadows curled at its base. With a sharp gesture, glowing sigils spiraled into the air, ancient words rolling from his lips, tugging at the edges of reality.
The air shuddered. Light flared—first a spark, then a roaring spiral. The ground vibrated. A portal took shape.
The soldiers held their breath as the radiance widened, tall enough for one man to pass through.
"I will return by nightfall," he said, voice firm and resolute.
He stepped forward. The portal drew him in, collapsing behind him with a distant, rumbling echo.
"I'll never get used to that," Elias whispered, tension knotting his voice.
Beside him, the captain's jaw tightened.
"Nor I, Commander… nor I," he murmured.
"Well then—fortifications won't raise themselves. Set the traps. Prepare the lines. Move!" Elias barked, urgency whipping through every syllable.
Then it came—a sound enormous enough to rattle the ground beneath their boots. A roar, faint yet dreadful, snaking cold through their spines.
Far away, cloaked figures stood in drifting mist. Hooded. Silent. Eyes glinting beneath their veils.
The tallest among them raised a hand.
"It seems the shard we entrusted to Dragongo has fallen into enemy hands." His voice carried a slow, heavy menace.
Beside him, a wiry figure let out a soft, unsettling chuckle. The air around him vibrated with creeping dread, as if recoiling from him.
"Then perhaps allow me a few minutes, and I shall retrieve it," he said, amusement dripping like dark oil.
Another figure, cloaked in quiet authority, lifted a hand.
"No. We've lingered long enough. The shard may be lost for now, but we will reclaim it… when the time aligns." His words sliced through the haze, each syllable colder than the last.
He lifted his hand, and from the air itself, a black staff coalesced. He murmured forbidden words, bending the air until it tore open into a swirling void—hungry, writhing.
One by one, the hooded figures approached and vanished into the waiting darkness.
All but one.
A woman remained. She paused at the threshold, drawing a long breath, savoring the cold. A thin smile curved over her lips, touched with a quiet thrill. Just as she slipped into the void, she whispered.
"It will grow interesting here soon. A pity we will not remain to watch."
And with that, she too disappeared. The void collapsed, leaving only silence.
Elsewhere, the sky stretched endless and blue. Mist rolled over white stone, flowing like a mirrored ocean under the sun. Towers rose from it, spires reaching high into the bright chasm of sky.
The wind howled through them, carrying echoes from long ago.
Then—lightning. A violet roar split the air. A portal burst open.
Arden stepped through, cloak snapping in the gale, staff firm, eyes lit with old resolve. He closed them, drawing in a slow breath.
"How long since I last stood here? An age? Maybe more? …And yet nothing has changed. The gate, the halls… even the stones remember me." Awe and caution braided through his tone.
Below him stretched a citadel above the clouds. Endless white rolled beneath it, silver-winged birds carving arcs across the sky. At its heart, a vast dome shimmered, surrounded by gardens of shifting colors.
"The scent… unchanged. Yet it is not as it once was," he whispered, touched with melancholy.
He walked the ancient paths, footsteps whispering against stone, until at last he stood before the gate: a massive circle of metal split by a jagged seam—built to test, built to intimidate.
"How many times have I stood here? And how many secrets do you still hide?" he asked, wonder tinged with unease.
The walls groaned. Ancient gears stirred. Slowly, the doors parted. A corridor yawned deep and shadowed. Two robed figures emerged, golden eyes glowing beneath their hoods.
"Welcome home, Magus. Generations have passed since you vanished." His voice brimmed with respect.
"And still—you return, as foretold." His tone held quiet certainty.
Arden leaned on his staff, exhaling a long, heavy breath.
"Yes. I have returned. Not as a hero… but because the world trembles again. And once more, I must face the storm."
The robed figures bowed. One stepped aside, gesturing toward the hall.
"The High Masters await you. They knew you would come."
Arden stepped into the hall. Runes glowed faintly along the walls, carved by forgotten hands. His steps echoed softly; the corridor remembered him.
"Home… or prison? It no longer matters. I have returned."
The thought drifted deeper, stirring memories long buried beneath time's dust. Arden walked on, his figure swallowed slowly by the waiting dark, until only shadow remained… then nothing at all.