ã€ŠThe Guardians of the Veilã€‹


 CHAPTER 1: Shadows Stirring

    The rain fell in a relentless torrent, soaking the shattered remnants of the village. What once had been a quaint settlement¡ªits cobblestone streets bustling with life, its homes standing proud against the wilderness¡ªwas now a hollow shell. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid stench of burnt wood. Fires sputtered weakly in the rain, unable to consume what little remained.

    At the center of the carnage stood Nyroth Solvain, his sharp crimson eyes scanning the devastation. He moved like a shadow through the rain, his black cloak trailing behind him. Despite the downpour, his presence radiated a commanding, almost otherworldly aura. Around him, the Guardians of the Veil stood in silent vigilance, their weapons gleaming faintly under the overcast sky. They had come too late to save the village, but they had arrived just in time to stem the tide of darkness threatening to spread beyond it.

    Before the main horde had been wiped out, Nyroth had captured the largest demon among them¡ªa hulking, misshapen creature with spiked limbs and a gnarled, shadowy face. It now knelt before him, subdued and bound by radiant chains of light. The rain hissed where it struck the demon''s sizzling, charred skin.

    Nyroth stepped forward, his crimson eyes locking with the demon¡¯s hollow, black gaze. ¡°You knew you wouldn¡¯t win this fight. Why attack a place of no strategic value? What are you hiding?¡±

    The demon¡¯s voice was a guttural rasp, laced with malice. ¡°You think... you¡¯ve won, Guardian? This village, these... lives you cherish, they are nothing. Ashes for the pyre.¡±

    Nyroth¡¯s tone remained cold and measured. ¡°Answer me, or I¡¯ll do far worse than send you back to hell, demon.¡±

    The demon let out a wet, hacking laugh. ¡°You can delay... but you cannot stop it. The Veil will shatter. Hell rises again. And when he is finally free, not even you, Nyroth Solvain, will be able to save this world.¡±

    A ripple of unease spread among the Guardians at the mention of the Ruler of Hell. Nyroth¡¯s expression remained unreadable, but the intensity in his gaze sharpened. ¡°Then consider this your last chance to warn him. When I¡¯m done with him, there will be nothing left to rise.¡±

    The demon snarled, but its bravado wavered under Nyroth¡¯s unyielding stare. ¡°You will burn in his shadow,¡± it spat, before dissolving into black mist as Nyroth¡¯s chains crushed its essence.

    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    The air grew heavier, the rain pounding harder as if mirroring the weight of the demon¡¯s words.

    The Guardians regrouped after the interrogation, scanning for any remaining threats. The village seemed quiet now, but the sense of unease lingered. Ilara, ever the pragmatist, broke the silence. ¡°The demon wasn¡¯t lying. Something big is coming. And soon.¡±

    Nyroth¡¯s voice cut through the rain. ¡°We¡¯ll be ready. The Veil holds¡ªfor now. But this was no ordinary attack.¡±

    Before the words could settle, a low rumble echoed across the village. From the shadows of a ruined barn, a second wave of demons emerged, their twisted forms glistening in the rain. These were larger, fiercer than the first, their eyes gleaming with malevolent intelligence.

    ¡°They were stalling us,¡± Ilara growled, tightening her grip on her shield.

    Nyroth raised a hand, signaling his lieutenants to hold their positions. ¡°No. They were baiting us.¡± His voice was cold, calculating.

    The demons surged forward, their claws scraping against the wet stone. The Guardians sprang into action, meeting the charge with practiced precision. Blades clashed, magic flared, and the air filled with the unearthly howls of dying demons.

    For a moment, it seemed the Guardians would overwhelm the attackers. But as the last demon fell, a sharp cry from behind caught their attention. Another group of demons, larger and more savage, had circled around and now closed in from the rear.

    The Guardians whirled, weapons raised, but before they could react, the air grew heavy, thick with an oppressive energy. The rain stopped mid-fall, droplets hanging motionless in the air. The clouds above began to part, revealing a blood-red sky.

    All eyes turned to Nyroth. His crimson gaze burned with terrifying intensity as he stepped forward. His deep voice resonated through the stillness, calm yet commanding. ¡°Enough.¡±

    The world seemed to hold its breath as Nyroth¡¯s eyes blazed brighter. A ripple of energy surged outward from him, a crimson wave that bent the light and shadows around it.

    Crimson Veil was unleashed.

    The attack was an awe-inspiring spectacle. The crimson light from Nyroth¡¯s eyes surged forth, engulfing the advancing demons. Their forms froze mid-attack as the energy invaded their minds, burning away their will and reducing their souls to ash. The oppressive force of Nyroth¡¯s will was absolute¡ªunyielding and merciless.

    The once darkened sky now glowed faintly with the remnants of the light he unleashed. The battlefield fell silent, the demons lying in lifeless heaps, their bodies crumpled as if reality itself had rejected their existence.

    As the crimson glow faded, the rain resumed, though it seemed softer now, gentler.

    The lux astra users among the Guardians, stared at Nyroth in stunned silence, their expressions a mix of awe and reverence. Even they, masters of light, could scarcely fathom the power their leader had just displayed.

    The nox astra users, exchanged glances before one of them spoke up with a smirk. ¡°Well, thanks for stealing our kills boss.¡±

    A ripple of quiet laughter passed through them, but even their humor couldn¡¯t mask the deep respect they felt for Nyroth.

    Nyroth turned to his clan, his expression calm but sharp. ¡°This was no ordinary attack. Something stirs beyond the Veil. We need answers¡ªand fast.¡±

    With that, the Guardians regrouped, their minds weighed with questions. The rain continued to fall as they set out, leaving the broken village behind. None of them spoke, but each knew the same truth: this was only the beginning.

 CHAPTER 2: The Gates of Eldris

    The gates of Eldris Citadel groaned open, revealing the towering stone walls of the city. Above, the dark sky slowly cleared, and the storm that had ravaged the village seemed to fade into the distance. The city was quiet, as it always was before moments of great change.

    Nyroth Solvain, his presence commanding even in silence, led the way with his two closest allies: Ilara Fenryn, the leader of the light users among the guardians, and Zyrran Nyktris, the leader of the darkness users. The trio walked with purpose, their boots clicking softly against the cobblestone path as they moved toward the hall where the council of elders waited. Their footsteps were the only sound in the otherwise still air.

    The Guardians had made their way back to the city in a somber procession, their cloaks wet and faces solemn from the battle they had just fought. Now, they stood outside the grand hall, waiting. Nyroth had insisted that only he and the two leaders enter the council room, a decision that left the others with only questions and uncertainty.

    Among them, Elian Solvain, Nyroth''s son, looked on eagerly. Though young and still finding his place among the Guardians, Elian¡¯s potential was undeniable.

    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    ¡°I hate waiting,¡± he muttered under his breath.

    Varrian stood nearby, his towering frame casting a long shadow. A man always with a smile across his face, even in the worst of situations. He was the type who preferred to laugh at everything, although his focus never wavering from the task at hand. His hammer hung at his side, worn and tested in countless battles. He glanced at Elian. ¡°It¡¯s not easy, waiting. But you¡¯ll get used to it little one¡±, he said, his voice low but with a hint of understanding.

    Elian didn¡¯t answer. He didn¡¯t want to get used to it. He was the son of                                   Nyroth Solvain, heir to a legacy greater than any other Guardian. And yet, here he stood, watching, while others decided the fate of the world.

    Siris leaned against the wall, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips. ¡°They¡¯ll be fine. Your father¡¯s got that ¡®intimidating silence¡¯ thing down to an art.¡±

    Elian forced a chuckle, but his mind was elsewhere. Why wasn¡¯t he inside that chamber? Why wasn¡¯t he part of the conversation? He had trained for years. He wasn¡¯t just a boy anymore. He had fought, bled, and pushed himself to exhaustion, but it never seemed to be enough.

    Dren, quieter than the rest, spoke without looking at him. ¡°It¡¯s not just about fighting, Elian. You¡¯ll have your moment. When it comes, be ready.¡±

    Elian clenched his fists. I am ready. But was that the truth? Or just what he wanted to believe?

    The doors to the council room remained closed, silent and heavy as the Guardians waited. Each of them had their own thoughts, their own fears, but all knew the truth¡ªwhat had begun in the village was only a small part of a larger threat. What lay ahead, in the council chambers, would shape the future.

 CHAPTER 3: Council of Elders

    The grand hall of Eldris Citadel exuded an air of calm before the storm. The faint crackle of fire could be heard as the three Guardians¡ªNyroth Solvain, Ilara Fenryn, and Zyrran Nyktris¡ªentered the chamber. Their footsteps echoed on the polished stone floor, reverberating through the cavernous hall. The Elders, ancient figures draped in robes of wisdom and sorrow, sat at the far end of the room, awaiting their report.

    Above their bowed heads loomed a magnificent emblem, a radiant symbol etched into the ancient stone wall behind them. It was no ordinary crest¡ªit was the emblem of Eldris, depicting Zerythar, the legendary dragon whose name had been etched into the annals of history.

    Zerythar, known as the Celestial Flame, had once been the mighty protector of Eldris alongside the Guardians during the Great War, centuries ago. With wings that spanned the heavens and scales that shimmered like molten gold, he was a creature of unparalleled majesty and power. His fiery breath had turned tides of battle, and his unyielding courage had inspired hope when all seemed lost.

    The emblem captured his essence in exquisite detail: his eyes, sharp and piercing, seemed to gleam with an otherworldly wisdom; his powerful, coiled body was surrounded by intricate carvings of flame and light, symbolizing both destruction and renewal. To the people of Eldris, Zerythar was more than a guardian¡ªhe was a legend, a symbol of resilience and unity in the face of overwhelming darkness.

    Even now, centuries after his last great flight, his name was spoken with reverence, his image a constant reminder of the strength that once protected their realm. The emblem stood as a solemn vow: Eldris would never falter, just as Zerythar had never faltered in his duty. It was a legacy the people clung to, a beacon of hope that endured even in the darkest of times.

    Nyroth, always the composed leader, stepped forward and addressed the Council. His crimson eyes were unwavering as he gave a brief, precise recount of the events that had transpired.

    "The village has been destroyed," Nyroth began his voice low but steady, carrying the weight of his words. "A demon incursion¡ªlarger than expected. They were testing us, stalling for something greater. We were able to contain the attack, but there are troubling signs. The Veil is under threat, and there is talk of a return. Valthrion''s generals are making their moves."

    Ilara, standing at Nyroth¡¯s side, nodded grimly. "We¡¯ve fought off the demons, but there¡¯s no doubt that the Generals are closer than we imagined. Their goal is clear: the Veil is weakening, and Valthrion¡¯s return is inevitable."

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    The Elders exchanged somber glances. One of them, Sareth, an elder with a beard streaked with gray, spoke up, his voice hoarse but filled with urgency.

    "You are right to be concerned," Sareth said, his eyes narrowing. "We¡¯ve received troubling reports from various corners of the realm. Strange occurrences are happening¡ªportals opening, shadows lurking, whispers in the wind. The Generals of Hell are not acting alone. They are working toward the same goal: breaking the Veil, unleashing Valthrion into the world."

    The room grew heavy with the weight of his words. Ilara clenched her fists, her expression hardening. "We can¡¯t wait for more signs. We need to act now, before it¡¯s too late."

    Sareth nodded slowly, but his gaze shifted toward another Elder, Elysia. "There is another matter we must address," he said, his voice carrying an air of finality. "We¡¯ve heard rumors of strange activity in the neighboring kingdom of Theradrin. It is said that some of their leaders have connections to Hell, and they may know more about the Generals¡¯ movements than we do."

    Nyroth''s brow furrowed. "Theradrin?" he muttered under his breath. "We¡¯ve had little contact with them, but they are not an ally we can trust lightly. They¡¯ve always been a dangerous place, full of monsters and chaos."

    Ilara stepped forward, her tone unwavering. "We have no choice. We need the information they hold, especially if their ties to Hell are true. The Generals might have already begun using that kingdom as a staging ground. We cannot ignore it."

    Nyroth glanced toward the Elders. "We¡¯ll do what we must, but not all of us will go. Some of us need to stay here, to protect Eldris."

    The Elders nodded in agreement. Sareth spoke once more, his voice firm. "We understand your hesitation, but this is crucial. Theradrin may have the answers we need, and their king might know more than anyone about what¡¯s truly happening. If you¡¯re to stop Valthrion¡¯s return, you must go."

    Nyroth remained silent for a moment, weighing the decision. Finally, he spoke with a nod. "Ilara and Zyrran will go. We need their expertise. I will stay behind to guard Eldris."

    Ilara¡¯s gaze softened. "I¡¯ll go, Nyroth. You¡¯ll need me here, but if I can gather information that can help stop this war, I¡¯ll do it. And Zyrran¡ª"

    Before she could finish her sentence, without warning, a figure appeared from the shadows behind one of the Elders, his presence unsettlingly sudden and silent.

    "I won''t go, I have work to do", Zyrran said, ", even though the shadows...the shadows there will be interesting".

    The Elder who had been seated before him jumped, startled by Zyrran''s sudden appearance. "Zyrran!" the Elder exclaimed, his voice laced with surprise and frustration. "I told you to stop doing that! You¡¯re going to give me a heart attack one of these days!"

    Zyrran¡¯s lips curled into a smirk, his violet eyes glinting with amusement as he stepped back, retreating into the shadows as though he were one with them. "My apologies, Elder Sareth," he replied smoothly, his voice as cold and calm as the shadows he commanded. "I thought you might appreciate a little... surprise."

    Sareth rolled his eyes, but there was a trace of fear in his expression¡ªsomething he never showed openly. The Elders knew Zyrran¡¯s power, and even though he acted nonchalant, his presence could send a chill through the most seasoned of warriors. He was not one to be trifled with.

    Ilara then said "Varrian then. He will be the one who I will travel through the land of Theradrin with. "

    "It''s decided then! ", Nyroth added, " You''re to leave tomorrow, at dawn, prepare yourselves. "

    As they finished their discussion, there was an unsettling silence in the room. The Elders stood, their ancient faces grave.

    "Be careful," Elysia warned them, her voice low. "Theradrin is a place of monsters, both literal and metaphorical. The king is not one to be trifled with. He has a reputation for cruelty¡ªand for strange alliances. If you go there, expect trouble. And don''t let your guard down."

 CHAPTER 4: The Path Ahead

    The heavy wooden doors of the council chamber swung open, and the trio emerged from the dimly lit room into the bright sunlight of Eldris Citadel. The echoes of their steps reverberated through the grand hall as they made their way toward the central courtyard. Nyroth, Ilara, and Zyrran walked in silence, each with their thoughts clouded by the weight of the council''s demands.

    Nyroth stopped near the courtyard¡¯s edge, looking out over the city below. His eyes hardened with resolve as he turned to Ilara.

    "You''re ready," Nyroth said quietly, though his voice carried the authority of a leader. "Theradrin will be treacherous, but you¡¯ll find a way."

    Ilara nodded her expression grim. "Theradrin will not be kind to us. We¡¯ll need to be careful. The king there is dangerous."

    "Don¡¯t worry, my lady," Varrian said with a grin, already knowing that he''ll acompany her, stepping forward to stand beside Ilara. "I¡¯ll watch out for you." He gave her a wink, clearly enjoying the playful moment. "I¡¯m ready for adventure!! Haa!!"

    Before anyone could respond, Varrian wrapped his massive hand around Zyrran¡¯s shoulder, pulling him into a brief, jovial side hug.

    Zyrran¡¯s response was almost instant. Without a word, the shadows around him rippled, and in a flash, he emerged from Varrian¡¯s own shadow, standing behind him.

    "Don¡¯t even¡ª"

    Varrian didn¡¯t miss a beat. With a grin, he turned his head slightly, as if expecting this. "Yeah, yeah, I know."

    The room fell silent again, the air thick with both unease and a hint of amusement at Varrian''s antics.

    Zyrran, as always, offered no words but gave a curt nod before turning his attention elsewhere. The shadows seemed to cling to him even in the well-lit hall, as though they were his constant companions.

    Ilara glanced at him, slightly annoyed. "Not going to say anything?"

    Zyrran smirked, his violet eyes glinting with amusement. "You know I don''t waste my words."

    Nyroth exhaled softly, then clasped Ilara on the shoulder. "Take care of yourself," he said, his gaze lingering for a moment longer than usual, though his voice was steady. "Theradrin will test you both."

    Ilara offered a faint smile, one tinged with both apprehension and determination. "We¡¯ll be back before you know it."

    As they turned to leave, Nyroth stayed behind, his mind already focusing on the tasks ahead in Eldris. Zyrran, ever the enigma, remained silent, his shadowy presence still filling the space between them. The mission to Theradrin loomed large on the horizon, and it would be up to Ilara and Varrian to uncover the dark truths hidden within that kingdom.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

    The war room of Eldris Citadel was tense with unspoken thoughts. Around the large oak table, the Guardians gathered, waiting for news from Nyroth and Kael. The silence was broken only by the occasional clatter of silverware.

    Elian, Dren, and Siris sat together at one side of the table, a large plate of roasted meat and fresh bread between them. At first, the meal had been civil. Then, as if by unspoken agreement, chaos erupted.

    ¡°Give me that!¡± Elian growled, grabbing at a thick slice of meat.

    Dren smirked, holding it just out of reach. ¡°You snooze, you lose, kid.¡±

    Siris, already stuffing his face with bread, mumbled between bites, ¡°You two argue too much.¡±

    Elian lunged, knocking into Dren¡¯s arm, sending the meat tumbling toward Siris¡ªwho caught it with his mouth and grinned triumphantly.

    ¡°You absolute animal,¡± Elian groaned.

    Dren scowled. ¡°That was mine!¡±

    Before another scuffle could begin, a heavy thud silenced the room.

    Kael had entered, arms crossed, an amused smirk on his face. Beside him, Nyroth stood, unimpressed.

    Kael sighed dramatically. ¡°Is this what the future of the Guardians looks like? Fighting over scraps?¡±

    Nyroth simply shook his head. ¡°Pathetic.¡±

    Elian barely had time to react before Kael punched all three of them in one swift motion.

    The impact sent Elian, Dren, and Siris crashing into the wall, groaning as they slumped to the ground in a heap.

    Kael dusted off his hands, casually taking a seat and pulling the plate toward himself. He grabbed a piece of bread, took a hearty bite, and grinned at Nyroth. ¡°I see why they were fighting. This is pretty good.¡±

    Nyroth exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples. ¡°You¡¯re impossible.¡±

    Kael merely grinned wider and continued eating.

    Elian groaned from the floor. One day, I¡¯m going to knock him through a wall.

    As the laughter settled and the meeting began, Elian rubbed his bruised ribs, vowing to one day be strong enough to take on Kael¡ªand win.

    Nyroth sighed and turned to the rest of the Guardians. ¡°Enough playing around. We have serious matters to discuss.¡±

    Before anyone could respond, Zyrran, who had been leaning against the door frame, straightened up and cast one last look at the room. Without warning, he turned and walked toward the door grabbing his bow and putting it on his back, his footsteps echoing ominously in the silence.

    "Where are you going?" Nyroth called after him.

    Zyrran didn¡¯t answer immediately. His form paused in the doorway, casting a long shadow across the room. With a brief glance over his shoulder, he replied in his usual low, detached tone. "Nyroth, a word. "

    Nyroth stepped near him in the hallway. "North.", Zyrran said, " I have a lead, possibly of a general. "

    Nyroth went serious, "A general?! We have not heard from them since the Great War. That explains the increase in demon attacks these days. What could a creature like that have to do with the Northern kingdom. Theradrin yes, but North... It doesn''t make sense. Except--"

    "Thats why I have to go find out. I trust you¡¯ll manage things here."

    Nyroth nodded in confirmation but also with worry filled on his face.

    Kael leaned back, smirking. ¡°Ah, running off into the cold again? Try not to freeze before I get the chance to beat you in a real fight.¡±

    Zyrran gave him a sideways glance, a small smirk tugging at his lips. ¡°I¡¯ll make sure to leave you something to fight when I return, assuming you don¡¯t eat yourself into a coma first.¡±

    Kael laughed, clapping Zyrran on the shoulder. ¡°Stay alive, shadow boy. Wouldn¡¯t be the same without someone lurking in the corners.¡±

    Zyrran¡¯s violet eyes gleamed with mischief. ¡°And it wouldn¡¯t be the same without your loud mouth. Try not to get soft while I¡¯m gone.¡±

    Nyroth watched the exchange, shaking his head slightly. ¡°Enough. Zyrran, be careful.¡±

    With a nod, Zyrran turned, his form already melding with the dim candlelight as he left the hall.

    The door swung shut behind him, leaving a heavy silence in its wake.

    Elian stared at the now-closed door, a sense of unease creeping up his spine. "Why does he always do that?" he muttered to no one in particular.

    Nyroth sighed deeply, his shoulders tense. "Zyrran doesn¡¯t need anyone¡¯s permission. He does what he believes is necessary. We¡¯ll have to trust that he knows what he¡¯s doing."

    Kael leaned back, stretching. ¡°He¡¯ll be fine. Probably.¡±

    Nyroth sighed. ¡°You two are...¡±

    Kael grinned wider. ¡°Entertaining? Haha!¡±

    As the night settled over Eldris, the weight of what was to come pressed on them all. The road ahead was uncertain, and each of them had their own battles to fight. But for now, amidst the rivalry and laughter, there was a brief moment of peace. A moment before the storm.

 CHAPTER 5: Forging the Way

    The city of Eldris slowly faded into the distance as Ilara and Varrian rode along the winding path toward Theradrin. The air was crisp, and the faint sound of rustling leaves accompanied them.

    For a while, neither spoke. Ilara kept her gaze on the horizon, her expression thoughtful, while Varrian hummed a cheerful tune. Finally, he broke the silence.

    "You know, Ilara, you¡¯re far too serious sometimes. You should try smiling more. It might scare the enemies less and give me something pleasant to look at."

    Ilara glanced sideways at him, unimpressed. "Is this how you plan to intimidate the King of Theradrin? With charm and bad jokes?"

    "Bad jokes? HA! My jokes are excellent," Varrian replied, feigning offense. "Besides, intimidation isn¡¯t my job. That¡¯s your department. I¡¯m here to make sure things don¡¯t get too grim."

    Ilara sighed, shaking her head. "You¡¯re impossible, Varrian."

    "Impossible and indispensable," he quipped, flashing her a grin.

    She couldn¡¯t help but smirk, though she quickly suppressed it. "You can keep your jokes, but remember: Theradrin is dangerous. We don¡¯t know what we¡¯re walking into. We can¡¯t afford any distractions."

    Varrian held up a hand in mock surrender. "I hear you, my lady. No distractions. Just pure, unyielding focus."

    A moment of quiet passed before Varrian added, "But if I happen to lighten the mood along the way, I consider it a bonus."

    Ilara let out a soft chuckle, surprising even herself. "Fine. But if your jokes cost us our lives, I¡¯m blaming you."

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    "Deal," Varrian said with a wink.

    Back in Eldris, the training grounds rang with the clash of steel and bursts of energy. Elian stood in the middle of the grounds, his breathing heavy as he faced off against Siris and Dren.

    ¡°Come on, Elian!¡± Siris taunted, his twin blades spinning in his hands like a storm. ¡°If you¡¯re going to hold back, you might as well quit now.¡±

    Elian gritted his teeth, his hands glowing faintly with the opposing powers of light and darkness. He stepped forward, launching a blast of light toward Siris, only for the older Guardian to sidestep it with ease.

    Dren, on the other hand, came at him from behind, his scythe a blur as he struck with precision. Elian barely managed to deflect the blow with a shield of dark energy, the clash sending him stumbling backward.

    ¡°You¡¯re too focused on reacting,¡± Dren said, his tone calm but firm. ¡°Predict us. Control the fight, don¡¯t let it control you.¡±

    Elian tightened his grip on his blade and lunged at Siris, switching tactics. His movements were faster now, the light in his attacks burning brighter. Siris blocked and countered, their blades ringing out in rapid succession.

    ¡°Better,¡± Siris admitted with a grin. ¡°But you¡¯re still¡ª¡±

    Before he could finish, Elian spun and unleashed a wave of darkness toward Dren, forcing the older Guardian to leap back.His blade surging with darkness and light simultaneously. For a brief moment, light and shadow swirled around Elian in harmony.

    And then it broke. The darkness surged uncontrollably, consuming the light, and a pulse of raw energy erupted from Elian, sending both Dren and Siris skidding backward.

    ¡°Enough!¡± Nyroth¡¯s voice cut through the chaos.

    Elian froze, panting heavily as the energy dissipated around him. His frustration was clear as he lowered his blade, his shoulders slumping.

    From the sidelines, Kael crossed his arms, watching the scene with a thoughtful expression. ¡°He¡¯s improving,¡± he said to Nyroth. ¡°But he¡¯s still too raw. Too emotional.¡±

    Nyroth nodded, his gaze fixed on his son. ¡°He has the potential to surpass all of us. But potential means nothing if he can¡¯t control it.¡±

    Kael glanced at Nyroth, his tone light but edged with seriousness. ¡°You''re being too hard on my nephew, Nyroth.¡±

    ¡°He needs me to be,¡± Nyroth replied. ¡°The path ahead isn¡¯t forgiving. If he doesn¡¯t master this, it will destroy him.¡±

    "Come on! Cut him some slack, will you?"

    Kael tilted his head, studying Nyroth. ¡°You see a lot of yourself in him, don¡¯t you?¡±

    Nyroth¡¯s expression softened for a brief moment. ¡°Too much.¡±

    Kael chuckled, placing a hand on Nyroth¡¯s shoulder. ¡°He¡¯ll get there. He¡¯s your son, after all. Stubbornness runs in the family.¡±

    Nyroth allowed a faint smile. ¡°That it does.¡±

    Back on the training grounds, Elian approached Dren and Siris, his frustration evident. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I lost control again.¡±

    Siris clapped him on the back, his usual grin returning. ¡°You¡¯ll get it, kid. Just takes time.¡±

    Dren nodded, his tone less forgiving but still supportive. ¡°Focus on balance. Light and dark aren¡¯t enemies¡ªthey¡¯re tools. Use them like you use your sword.¡±

    Elian took a deep breath, nodding. ¡°Let¡¯s try again.¡±

    From the edge of the training grounds, Nyroth and Kael continued to watch, their expressions a mix of pride and concern.

    As the sun dipped low over Eldris, the Guardians gathered once more. Training would continue, but for now, they prepared for the challenges to come¡ªeach in their own way.

 CHAPTER 6: Shadows in the North

    The frigid winds of the North howled mercilessly as Zyrran entered the gates of Vaelgard. The city seemed as lifeless as the barren wastes beyond its walls, yet shadows clung to its narrow alleys and crooked buildings like old secrets. Zyrran walked through the streets with purpose, his hood drawn low over his face. This was not his first visit to the North, but it was the first time he came not for reconnaissance, but for confrontation.

    He remembered the message from Althar, the man who had forged Noctis Umbra, his shadow-infused bow. Althar was no ordinary craftsman¡ªhis work was legendary, his knowledge vast. Zyrran owed much of his precision in battle to the man¡¯s skill. When Althar sent word of a demon general rumored to be in the North, Zyrran hadn¡¯t hesitated.

    The reports had been chilling: an attack on the fortress of Blackvale, a castle that had stood against countless sieges over the centuries. Yet, in a single night, it had fallen to a horde that moved with unnatural coordination. No ordinary demons could have achieved such a feat.

    Zyrran¡¯s steps were silent as he approached the tavern known as the Black Hollow. Inside, he met with a contact, confirming what Althar had told him: Blackvale was now under demon rule. The fortress laid several days¡¯ travel from Vaelgard, deep in the frozen wastes. The man had also spoken of whispers¡ªan ungodly figure seen commanding the horde.

    After the conversation, Zyrran left the tavern and disappeared into the shadows of the city. He spent the night preparing for the journey ahead, his mind calculating every step.

    Two nights later, Zyrran stood before the gates of Blackvale. The once-proud fortress loomed above him, its blackened stone walls jagged and broken. The air reeked of sulfur and blood, and faint growls echoed from within.

    Zyrran approached the gates, his shadows enveloping him completely. He passed unseen through the entrance, his presence masked by the very darkness he commanded. Inside, the courtyard was littered with bones and ash. Demons of various shapes and sizes prowled the area, their glowing eyes scanning the shadows.

    Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

    From the shadows, Zyrran stepped forward, his voice cutting through the guttural growls. ¡°Your master¡ªwhere is he?¡±

    The demons snarled, turning their attention to the cloaked figure. One of them, larger and more brutish than the rest, lunged at him with claws bared. Zyrran didn¡¯t flinch. With a flick of his hand, tendrils of shadow erupted from the ground, wrapping around the demon and tearing it apart in an instant.

    ¡°I¡¯ll ask once more,¡± Zyrran said coldly, his violet eyes gleaming. ¡°Where is he?¡±

    The courtyard fell silent, save for the sound of heavy footsteps. A tall figure emerged from the shadows of the keep, his form towering over the others. The demon general¡¯s armor was a grotesque amalgamation of blackened steel and bone, each piece adorned with intricate runes that pulsed faintly with crimson energy. His eyes burned like molten fire beneath the jagged helm that obscured much of his face. Even the demons, feral and bloodthirsty, shrank back in his presence.

    ¡°A Guardian of Light, here?¡± the general said, his voice deep and resonant, carrying an unsettling calm.

    Zyrran smirked, lowering his hood to reveal his face. The shadows around him seemed to pulse with energy. ¡°Light? No,¡± he said, his voice a dark melody of confidence. ¡°I walk where light fears to tread.¡±

    The general tilted his head, the glow of his eyes intensifying as he studied Zyrran. ¡°Interesting,¡± he mused. ¡°Let¡¯s see how much your shadows can endure.¡±

    At his command, the demons in the courtyard charged. Zyrran didn¡¯t hesitate. With a smooth motion, he summoned Noctis Umbra, the dark energy of the bow crackling in his grip. He loosed arrow after arrow, each one tearing through multiple demons as if they were made of paper. The shadows around him erupted, forming tendrils and blades that moved with lethal precision, cutting down the horde in seconds.

    As the last demon fell, disintegrating into ash, Zyrran turned his gaze back to the general. His bow remained raised, an arrow of pure shadow aimed directly at the demon¡¯s helm.

    The general chuckled, unfazed by the display. ¡°Impressive,¡± he said, his tone almost amused. ¡°But I¡¯m not here to fight you, Guardian. I¡¯ve already taken what I wanted.¡±

    He raised a clawed hand, revealing a scroll clutched tightly in his grip. The parchment pulsed faintly with the same crimson energy as the runes on his armor.

    Zyrran narrowed his eyes. ¡°You think I¡¯ll let you walk away with that?¡±

    The general smirked, the faintest glint of mockery in his fiery gaze. ¡°You have no choice.¡±

    A portal swirled to life behind him, its edges crackling with hellish energy. ¡°We¡¯ll meet again, shadow wielder,¡± the general said, stepping into the portal.

    ¡°Coward,¡± Zyrran muttered, firing his arrow. It struck the portal¡¯s edge and dissolved into nothingness as the general vanished.

    Zyrran lowered his bow, his expression unreadable. He stepped forward, examining the ground where the general had stood. The faint trace of infernal energy lingered, but it told him little. Whatever the general had taken from Blackvale, it had been important enough for him to flee rather than fight.

    As the shadows around him settled, Zyrran stood in the center of the desolate courtyard, his mind racing. The North had given him a lead, but it was only the beginning. Whatever the demons were planning, he would find out.

    And he would stop it.

 CHAPTER 7: Flames of Truth

    Nyroth sat in his chamber, the golden glow of the fireplace casting dancing shadows across the walls. His sharp eyes scanned the ancient texts sprawled across the table before him. Despite the calm of the room, his mind churned with unease. The faint whispers of coming calamity lingered at the edge of his thoughts, refusing to dissipate.

    A knock broke the silence.

    "Come in," Nyroth said without looking up, his deep voice steady as always.

    The door creaked open, and Elian stepped inside. His expression was a mixture of determination and hesitation, the weight of his father¡¯s legacy pressing upon his young shoulders.

    ¡°Father,¡± Elian began, closing the door behind him. ¡°Do you have a moment?¡±

    Nyroth finally turned, his piercing gaze softening as it landed on his son. He gestured for Elian to sit. ¡°Always. What¡¯s on your mind?¡±

    Elian hesitated, his hands fidgeting slightly. ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking about... everything, the training, the Guardians, the Veil. I feel like I¡¯m not ready, but at the same time, I know I need to be. Us astrae, our power, how did you¡ª¡±

    Before he could finish, the fire in the hearth roared to life, the vibrant red flames shifting into an ominous black. Shadows writhed within the infernal blaze, and a face began to take form¡ªZyrran¡¯s.

    Elian shot to his feet, his hand instinctively moving to the hilt of his sword.

    ¡°Stand down,¡± Nyroth commanded, his voice firm but calm.

    Zyrran¡¯s visage solidified in the fire, his violet eyes glowing faintly within the shadowy flames. His voice echoed, distorted but unmistakably his. ¡°Nyroth.¡±

    ¡°Zyrran,¡± Nyroth replied, his brow furrowing. ¡°What happened?¡±

    ¡°I found him,¡± Zyrran said, his tone grim. ¡°A general of Hell. He was in the North, took over a castle. The demons there¡ªmere fodder for his plans. He¡¯s not like the others.¡±

    Nyroth¡¯s jaw tightened. ¡°What was he''s purpose there?¡±

    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    Zyrran¡¯s expression darkened further. ¡°A scroll of course, as we feared. It had the same markings as the ones you once showed me¡ªthe spell of the Veil.¡±

    Nyroth¡¯s hand clenched into a fist, his calm demeanor fracturing for the briefest of moments. ¡°He¡¯s after the Veil¡¯s undoing,¡± he muttered, more to himself than to Zyrran.

    ¡°I couldn¡¯t stop him,¡± Zyrran admitted. ¡°He fled through a portal before I could act. But if he has one scroll...¡±

    Nyroth nodded, his mind already racing ahead. ¡°Then he¡¯ll go after the others.¡±

    The flames began to waver, the connection weakening.

    ¡°I¡¯ll continue tracking him,¡± Zyrran said. ¡°But be ready. The other generals...if one has returned, they will take action, and soon.¡±

    With that, the fire collapsed back into its normal red-orange glow, leaving the room heavy with silence.

    Elian turned to his father, his expression a mix of confusion and concern. ¡°What was that about? What scroll? What¡¯s going on?¡±

    Nyroth let out a deep breath and motioned for Elian to sit once more. ¡°There¡¯s something you need to understand,¡± he began, his voice heavy with the weight of history.

    Elian, while nodding attentively, couldn¡¯t help but eye the plate of roasted venison placed just in front of the fire. His stomach growled. Carefully, he began inching his hand toward it.

    Nyroth continued, unaware. ¡°The Veil is not just a barrier; it is a prison. It was meant to¡ª¡±

    Just as Elian¡¯s fingers brushed against the plate, a swift fist collided with the top of his head. He yelped, jerking back as Nyroth glared at him.

    ¡°Focus.¡±

    Elian rubbed his head, grinning sheepishly. ¡°I was focusing. Just¡­ on the wrong thing.¡±

    Nyroth sighed, exasperated. ¡°If you put half the effort into your training that you do into stealing food, you might actually learn something.¡±

    Elian shrugged, finally sitting up straight. ¡°Fine, fine. So, about these scrolls¡­ let¡¯s hear it.¡±

    Nyroth shook his head but smirked slightly. ¡°At least try not to starve while saving the world.¡±

    ¡°Centuries ago,¡± Nyroth continued, ¡°when Valthrion rose to power, his ambition threatened all five kingdoms. Even Theradrin, home to monsters and merciless rulers, deemed him a danger. For the first time in history, the kingdoms united to stop him.¡±

    Elian¡¯s brows furrowed. ¡°I¡¯ve heard the stories. But what does this have to do with the scroll?¡±

    ¡°The Veil,¡± Nyroth said simply. ¡°It was never just a barrier. It¡¯s a spell, a prison, created by the greatest sorcerers of each kingdom. Together, they forged a spell so powerful it sealed Valthrion away, locking him in the void and preventing his return.¡±

    Elian¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°The Veil... it¡¯s not natural?¡±

    Nyroth shook his head. ¡°No. And to ensure its protection, the spell was split into five scrolls, one kept in each kingdom. Separately, the scrolls mean nothing. But together, they hold the key to the Veil¡¯s creation... and its destruction.¡±

    ¡°And Hell has one of them now,¡± Elian said, his voice low.

    Nyroth nodded grimly. ¡°If he collects them all, he can undo the Veil. Valthrion will roam our world free.¡±

    Elian leaned back, the enormity of the revelation settling over him. ¡°Why haven¡¯t we destroyed the scrolls? If they¡¯re so dangerous¡ª¡±

    ¡°They cannot be destroyed,¡± Nyroth interrupted. ¡°Not without undoing the Veil itself. The kingdoms agreed to keep them hidden, protected. But it seems even that wasn¡¯t enough.¡±

    The two sat in silence for a moment, the crackling of the fire the only sound in the room.

    Elian finally broke the silence. ¡°What do we do now?¡±

    Nyroth¡¯s gaze hardened. ¡°We prepare. We find the other scrolls before they do. And you,¡± he said, his voice softening slightly, ¡°must continue your training. You have a role to play in this, Elian. A greater one than you realize. You are a Solvain after all, and that name, our family''s name will always make the enemy tremble in fear.¡±

    Elian met his father¡¯s gaze, determination flickering in his eyes. ¡°I won¡¯t let you down.¡±

    Nyroth placed a hand on his son¡¯s shoulder, a rare gesture of affection. ¡°You¡¯ll face challenges you can¡¯t yet imagine. But I believe in you. In the meantime, follow me for we have work to do, ".

    As the flames danced in the hearth, the weight of destiny loomed over them both.

 CHAPTER 8: Fangs and Fists

    The journey to Theradrin had been long, and the unsettling nature of the kingdom made every step feel heavier than it should. The once-vibrant forests had long since given way to twisted trees, their gnarled branches clawing at the gray sky like skeletal fingers. Ilara and Varrian rode silently through the winding paths, their steeds unnerved by the oppressive aura of the land.

    Theradrin was not a place for the faint of heart. It was a kingdom of monsters¡ªvampires, werewolves, and other creatures of the night who had sworn allegiance to their enigmatic king.

    As they approached the outskirts of a decrepit town, Varrian glanced at Ilara with his usual grin. ¡°We need answers, and this place looks... welcoming.¡±

    Ilara raised an eyebrow. ¡°A tavern in Theradrin. Brilliant idea, Varrian. What could possibly go wrong?¡±

    ¡°Oh, come on, my lady. What¡¯s life without a little risk?¡± he said with a hearty laugh, dismounting from his horse.

    Ilara sighed but followed, muttering under her breath. ¡°I¡¯ll remind you of that when we¡¯re surrounded by fangs and claws.¡±

    The tavern loomed ahead, its crooked sign swinging precariously in the wind. The name, The Howling Moon, was etched in faded letters, accompanied by the faint sound of snarls and raucous laughter from within.

    As they pushed the heavy wooden doors open, a wave of silence swept over the room. Every eye turned to them¡ªsome glowing red, others gleaming yellow. Vampires, werewolves, and a variety of other monstrous beings filled the dimly lit space. The tension was palpable, the air thick with suspicion and malice.

    Varrian, undeterred, stepped inside with a wide grin. ¡°Friendly bunch, aren¡¯t they?¡± he said loud enough for everyone to hear.

    Ilara rolled her eyes, whispering, ¡°This was your idea. Remember that.¡±

    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    They moved to an empty table near the corner, the stares following them like predators eyeing their prey.

    ¡°Let¡¯s rest and ask around,¡± Varrian said, scanning the room. ¡°Someone here knows where the King of Theradrin is.¡±

    Ilara leaned in, her voice low. ¡°This isn¡¯t Eldris, Varrian. These people¡ªor creatures¡ªdon¡¯t take kindly to strangers poking around.¡±

    Varrian leaned back with a shrug. ¡°Well, we¡¯re here now. Let¡¯s make the best of it.¡±

    Before long, a group of burly werewolves approached their table. The leader, a towering figure with mangy fur and glowing yellow eyes, growled, ¡°Bounty hunters, are you? Think you can come here and sniff around?¡±

    Varrian smirked, rising from his seat. ¡°Bounty hunters? No. But if you¡¯re looking for a fight...¡± He cracked his knuckles. ¡°I¡¯d be happy to oblige.¡±

    The werewolves lunged, but Varrian was quicker. With a single punch, he sent the leader crashing into a table, splinters flying everywhere. Another tried to grab him from behind, but Varrian spun, slamming his fist into the creature¡¯s jaw with enough force to knock out a fang.

    Meanwhile, Ilara leaned back in her chair, watching the chaos unfold. She sighed dramatically, resting her chin on her hand. ¡°Every time we go somewhere, you just have to smash something, don¡¯t you?¡±

    Varrian grinned, dodging a wild swing and delivering a thunderous uppercut that sent another werewolf sprawling. ¡°Keeps things interesting!¡±

    The remaining creatures hesitated, their confidence wavering. Varrian turned to the rest of the room, his booming voice echoing. ¡°Anyone else want a piece of me?¡±

    The tavern fell silent again, and the remaining patrons quickly looked away, shaking their heads in unison.

    Ilara finally stood, brushing off her cloak. ¡°Subtle as ever, Varrian.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re welcome,¡± he replied with a grin, dusting off his hands.

    The bartender, a hulking three-headed beast with glasses perched on each snout, cleared his throats. ¡°If you¡¯re done redecorating my establishment, what can I get you?¡±

    Varrian blinked, looking from one head to the next. ¡°Uh... which one do I talk to?¡±

    ¡°All of them,¡± Ilara said dryly, stepping up to the bar. ¡°Two beers, please.¡±

    The beast nodded, each head moving in unison, and poured the drinks into large, frothing mugs.

    Varrian clapped an arm around Ilara¡¯s shoulders, laughing. ¡°Now this is what I¡¯m talking about! Drinks on me!¡±

    But as he took a sip, his expression soured. ¡°What is this? This isn¡¯t beer¡ªit¡¯s... it¡¯s sludge!¡±

    Ilara smirked, sipping her drink without complaint. ¡°Welcome to Theradrin.¡±

    Varrian set the mug down with exaggerated disgust. ¡°Monsters can¡¯t even brew a decent drink.¡±

    Ilara turned her attention back to the bartender, her tone serious. ¡°We¡¯re looking for the King of Theradrin. Any idea where we might find him?¡±

    The three-headed beast eyed her cautiously before nodding. ¡°The king resides in the Iron Spire, deep in the heart of Theradrin. But be warned¡ªgetting an audience with him isn¡¯t easy. And if you do manage it... you might not like what you find.¡±

    Ilara nodded, slipping a few coins onto the bar. ¡°Thanks for the warning.¡±

    As they left the tavern, Varrian muttered, ¡°I still can¡¯t believe they call that swill beer.¡±

    Ilara shook her head, a small smile playing at her lips. ¡°Focus, Varrian. We¡¯ve got a king to find.¡±

    The doors closed behind them, the eerie silence of Theradrin¡¯s streets enveloping them once more. Their journey was far from over.

 CHAPTER 9: Shadows of the Iron Spire

    The forest of Theradrin was a labyrinth of gnarled, ancient trees, their twisted branches clawing at the sky like skeletal fingers. A thick fog clung to the forest floor, muffling their footsteps and casting an eerie glow as the light of Ilara¡¯s shield reflected off the mist. The distant howls of wolves echoed through the trees, a chilling reminder that they were far from welcome in this cursed land.

    Varrian tightened his grip on his hammer, his muscles coiled with tension. "I don¡¯t like this," he muttered, his deep voice cutting through the silence.

    Ilara glanced at him, her shield raised as they moved cautiously forward. "Stay sharp. The creatures here are known for their ambush tactics."

    As if on cue, a low growl rumbled from the shadows. Varrian froze, his eyes narrowing. "We¡¯ve got company."

    From the darkness, a pair of glowing yellow eyes appeared, then another, and another. The growls multiplied, surrounding them in a circle of ominous snarls. Slowly, the werewolves emerged, their hulking forms blending seamlessly with the shadows. Each creature was a nightmare of fur, muscle, and jagged fangs, their claws glinting like blades in the dim light.

    The largest of the pack stepped forward, its scarred muzzle curled into a snarl. It was nearly twice the size of the others, with fur as black as midnight and eyes that burned with cruel intelligence. It bared its teeth, speaking in a guttural, rasping voice. "You dare enter our domain, Guardians?"

    Ilara stepped forward, her shield glowing faintly. "We¡¯re here to speak with your king, nothing more. Let us pass."

    The werewolf let out a barking laugh, echoed by the pack. "Speak with the king? You¡¯ll be lucky to leave this forest alive."

    Varrian hefted his hammer onto his shoulder, his lips curling into a grin. "Then we¡¯ll make our own luck."

    The werewolf snarled, lunging forward with terrifying speed. Ilara reacted instantly, raising Aegis Solis to deflect the attack. The beast¡¯s claws scraped against the shield with a deafening screech, sparks flying as Ilara held her ground.

    "Varrian!" she shouted.

    "I¡¯m on it!" Varrian roared, swinging his hammer in a wide arc. The weapon connected with a werewolf mid-lunge, sending it flying into a tree with a sickening crunch. Another beast leaped at him, but he spun, delivering a bone-shattering blow to its side.

    Ilara pressed forward, her shield glowing brighter as she channeled her light. The pack hesitated, their eyes narrowing against the sudden brilliance. Seizing the moment, she struck with her sword, its edge biting deep into the flank of one of the creatures.

    The alpha howled, rallying its pack. "Kill them!"

    The remaining werewolves surged forward, their claws and fangs a blur. Ilara and Varrian fought side by side, their movements perfectly synchronized. Ilara¡¯s shield deflected incoming attacks, creating openings for Varrian¡¯s devastating strikes.

    One of the werewolves managed to slip past Ilara¡¯s guard, its claws slashing toward her back. She twisted just in time, the edge of its claws raking her armor but failing to pierce. Before it could recover, Varrian¡¯s hammer came down with a resounding thud, crushing the beast into the dirt.

    "Watch your back!" he barked, grinning despite the chaos.

    "Thanks for the reminder," Ilara shot back, her sword flashing as she drove another werewolf to the ground.

    The alpha watched the battle with growing rage, its pack falling one by one. Finally, it let out a deafening roar, charging directly at Ilara. She braced herself, her shield glowing with an intense light.

    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    The beast collided with her shield, the force of the impact reverberating through the clearing. Ilara gritted her teeth, holding her ground as the alpha¡¯s claws scraped against the radiant surface.

    "Now, Varrian!" she shouted.

    Varrian didn¡¯t hesitate. With a roar of his own, he swung his hammer upward, catching the alpha under the jaw. The werewolf¡¯s head snapped back, and it crumpled to the ground in a heap.

    The remaining werewolves hesitated, their confidence shattered. With a series of low growls, they retreated into the shadows, their glowing eyes disappearing one by one.

    Varrian lowered his hammer, breathing heavily. "That¡¯s what I thought."

    Ilara wiped blood from her sword, her expression grim. "They are stronger than what they¡¯re supposed to be, and they¡¯ll be back. We need to move."

    He nodded, falling into step beside her as they continued toward the distant lights of Theradrin¡¯s citadel. Behind them, the forest grew eerily silent once more, the weight of the encounter lingering in the air.

    The grand hall of Theradrin¡¯s ruler loomed before them, a cavernous expanse steeped in shadow. Torches mounted on the black, jagged stone walls burned with an otherworldly blue flame, casting eerie, flickering light across the room. At the far end of the hall, upon a throne carved from black onyx streaked with deep crimson veins, sat Lord Maldrak Voryn, the King of Theradrin.

    Maldrak exuded an air of absolute dominance. His pale, ethereal skin seemed to absorb the light around him, his sharp, aristocratic features framed by sleek, jet-black hair that flowed past his shoulders. His eyes glowed faintly, like molten gold, radiating both intelligence and danger. He wore a high-collared black coat, lined with intricate patterns that shifted and shimmered as though alive. In his hand, he held a chalice of dark liquid that seemed thicker than wine, swirling with unnatural movement.

    When Ilara and Varrian stepped into the hall, Maldrak¡¯s lips curved into a smirk. His voice, rich and melodic, echoed through the chamber. "Well, well, what an unexpected delight. A Guardian of the Veil... and her blunt instrument." His eyes flicked to Varrian, a glimmer of amusement in them. "Tell me, did you bring him for conversation or just to break things?"

    Varrian¡¯s fists clenched. "Careful, vampire. You don¡¯t want to push me."

    Maldrak chuckled, a low, velvety sound. "Push you? My dear boy, I could crush you." He lifted a single hand, and the air around Varrian suddenly grew dense. Varrian stumbled forward, forced to his knees under the weight of an unseen force.

    "Enough!" Ilara snapped, stepping forward and raising her shield. The gleaming surface of Aegis Solis, crafted with unmatched precision, seemed to glow faintly even in the dim light of the hall.

    Maldrak¡¯s eyes narrowed as he studied the shield. His smirk returned, though more subdued. "Ah, a masterpiece of craft. That shield bears the touch of the bowmaker, doesn¡¯t it? Tell me, how fares the old artisan?"

    "We didn¡¯t come here to talk about shields or bows," Ilara said firmly. "We need answers, Maldrak."

    Maldrak raised a brow, sipping from his chalice. "Oh? And what makes you think I owe you anything, Guardian?"

    "Nyroth Solvain sent us," Ilara said without hesitation.

    At the mention of the name, Maldrak froze. For a brief moment, the playful glint in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something colder, sharper. He set his chalice down with deliberate slowness, leaning forward in his throne. His voice, though still smooth, carried a new edge. "Nyroth?...That man has haunted history like a specter. Wherever that name is whispered, shadows follow. And now, he sends you here."

    Varrian rose to his feet, glaring. "You should be afraid of him."

    Maldrak¡¯s gaze shifted to Varrian, and his smirk returned, though it was now laced with menace. "Afraid? No, Guardian. Fear and respect are two very different things. Nyroth is powerful, yes, but power alone does not cow me. I¡¯ve stood against greater threats and endured."

    "Then tell us what you know," Ilara demanded. "We¡¯ve heard rumors of your dealings with Hell, of a scroll that might jeopardize the Veil. Are you working with Hell to destroy the balance you claim to value?"

    Maldrak tilted his head, studying her with keen interest. "Balance is a curious thing. What you Guardians see as balance, I see as opportunity. Yes, I have dealings with Hell, but not for the reasons you think." He gestured around the hall. "Theradrin thrives in darkness. My subjects¡ªthe vampires, the werewolves, the myriad other creatures who call this land home¡ªowe their survival to the eternal night I¡¯ve created. The price? Souls. Hundreds of them, traded for the power to ensure the sun never rises here again. A small sacrifice, don¡¯t you think?"

    "That¡¯s why those werewolves from before were so strong. And the scroll?" Ilara pressed.

    Maldrak chuckled, shaking his head. "The scroll you speak of is not in my possession, nor would I want it. Its power is... unwieldy, even for me. Hell may have sought it, but my interests lie elsewhere."

    "You allow Hell to act freely in your lands," Ilara said sharply. "That makes you complicit in their plans."

    Maldrak rose from his throne, his full height imposing. He descended the steps slowly, each movement deliberate and controlled. "And what would you have me do? Wage war on Hell itself? No, Guardian, I am no fool. I let them play their games, as long as they do not interfere with mine. You, however, are beginning to interfere."

    Varrian stepped forward, fists raised. "We¡¯ll do more than interfere if you¡¯re hiding something."

    Maldrak¡¯s golden eyes flashed, and with a casual flick of his wrist, Varrian was hurled backward by an invisible force. He crashed into the stone wall, gritting his teeth in pain.

    "Varrian!" Ilara moved to shield him, but Maldrak stopped in front of her, towering over both Guardians.

    "I have indulged your questions long enough," Maldrak said, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "Tell Nyroth this: I respect the Solvains, but if he wishes to meddle in my affairs, he should think carefully. Theradrin¡¯s monsters serve me, not him, and I will not bow to anyone, not even a Solvain."

    Ilara straightened, meeting his gaze without flinching. "We¡¯re not here to start a war, Maldrak. But if you¡¯re hiding anything that threatens the Veil, we¡¯ll be back. And we won¡¯t be alone."

    Maldrak stared at her for a long moment, then laughed softly, stepping back. "You¡¯ve got spirit, Guardian. I like that. But I suggest you leave now, before my hospitality runs out."

 CHAPTER 10: General of Shadows

    The portal flickered ominously above the Infernal Wastes, a rip in the fabric of reality that churned with swirling dark energy. From it came a figure clad in blackened armor, his silhouette a dark blot against the fiery backdrop of Hell¡¯s desolation. The air grew colder as he emerged, and the very ground seemed to recoil beneath his boots.

    Two demons stood near the swirling portal, their grotesque features twisted into a mixture of awe and dread. As the air around them grew heavy with a suffocating power, a shiver ran through their spined forms. One of them caught sight of the figure emerging through the haze and gasped, their voice trembling with recognition.

    ¡°It¡¯s him¡­¡± the first demon whispered, their words barely audible over the hum of the portal.

    The second demon turned to look, their glowing eyes widening in terror as the figure¡¯s aura became unmistakable. Without hesitation, both creatures dropped to their knees, their once-defiant postures reduced to servile submission. The air seemed to hum with their collective fear, the unspoken truth binding them to obedience.

    Their heads bowed low, claws digging into the ground as if to brace themselves against the weight of the presence before them. They didn¡¯t dare raise their gaze again, knowing full well the consequences of even a single misstep in the shadow of such overwhelming power.

    He was Isharoth, General of the Dread Legion ¡ª a name known only in hushed tones by the demons, spoken with a mix of awe and terror. The moment he stepped onto the ashen earth, the wretched beings around him froze, instinctively bowing their heads in submission. Not a soul dared to look up. They could feel his power¡ªabsolute, crushing¡ªand knew better than to challenge him.

    Isharoth¡¯s presence was a palpable force, one that commanded obedience without uttering a single word. His helmet, adorned with the jagged horn of a great beast, concealed any expression, but his aura spoke volumes. The demons who cowered in the distance understood that they were in the presence of one who was not merely a servant of Valthrion, but his right hand¡ªhis will incarnate.

    His obsidian-black cloak fluttered like a living shadow, merging with the darkness around him, as he marched across the desolate land of Hell. The ground beneath cracked and splintered with every step he took, as if Hell itself recoiled in fear.

    Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

    Isharoth made his way toward the gates of the fortress, the towering spires of the Ruler¡¯s seat stretching high into the blood-red sky, their peaks lost in the ever-rolling clouds of smoke and ash. Demons who stood guard before the gates did not even raise their weapons as he approached. They bent their heads, parting ways for him as he passed. No words were exchanged. The mere act of his arrival was enough.

    Without hesitation, Isharoth raised a hand. The enormous gates of the fortress groaned in protest, but obeyed, swinging open to reveal the blackened interior.

    The coldness of the air inside the fortress was stifling. Thick shadows clung to the walls, and the faint wailing of tormented souls echoed through the narrow halls. Isharoth walked without fear, without pause, heading directly toward the heart of the fortress.

    Within the inner chamber, a throne of blackened bone awaited, the very seat of the King himself. But there, atop it, was only darkness¡ªno form, no figure. The air hummed with a heavy, ancient presence, and the shadows seemed to bend and writhe as if in anticipation.

    Isharoth knelt before the throne, drawing a scroll from his cloak¡ªa scroll sealed with the emblem of Valthrion. The symbols on the scroll glowed faintly, their power ancient and incomprehensible to the uninitiated.

    The moment the scroll was unfurled, the room plunged into even deeper shadow. The runes on the scroll flared to life, as if they had a mind of their own, and for a moment, the temperature in the room dropped sharply. A pulse of dark energy spread outward, rippling through the fortress, unsettling even the walls.

    But then¡­ silence. Not a sound, not a whisper.

    Isharoth¡¯s head remained bowed, his voice low and controlled.

    ¡°I have come to fulfill your will,¡± he said, his words cutting through the silence like a blade. ¡°The Veil grows weak. I bring news of the Solvains. Nyroth and the little brat stir, their power grows.¡±

    For a moment, there was only silence in response. The shadows within the room shifted, as though the very darkness was listening, awaiting the signal. A subtle, unnerving shift of power that only Isharoth could feel. He remained kneeling, his posture unyielding.

    Then, with chilling clarity, Isharoth rose. His command was absolute.

    ¡°Prepare the Legions. The time has come to set him free.¡±

    His voice carried with it the weight of Valthrion¡¯s decree. The words reverberated through the fortress, though no voice was heard. Isharoth had given the command, and the will of the Demon King had been delivered without utterance. The room itself seemed to bend in response.

    There was no need for Valthrion¡¯s voice to be heard directly. Isharoth was the conduit, the vessel for the King¡¯s desires.

    He walked out of the throne room, the scroll still in hand, its runes glowing ominously. Demons rushed to attend to his will, each aware of the task that had just been set into motion. The fortress itself seemed to breathe with anticipation.

    ¡°My brothers¡­ we¡¯ve waited long enough. It¡¯s time for you to return,¡± wishpering to himself with a menacing grim to his face.

    As Isharoth moved through the chamber, his presence cast an impenetrable shadow over the denizens of Hell. They knew¡ªwithout a doubt¡ªthat Valthrion¡¯s return was inevitable. And with Isharoth at the helm, it was only a matter of time before the realm of the living would be shattered.

 CHAPTER 11: Change of Plans

    The cold stone halls of Maldrak¡¯s castle stretched before them, dark and hollow. Ilara and Varrian moved swiftly, their footsteps echoing against the marble floor as they neared the final gate. The exit loomed ahead, heavy iron doors standing like silent sentinels. Their mission in Theradrin was complete; they had delivered the Council¡¯s request and now prepared to leave.

    Then the doors slammed shut.

    A deep, resonant clang reverberated through the chamber, the sound of fate sealing itself against them. The torches along the walls flickered as shadows twisted unnaturally, pooling into the center of the room. And from the darkness, a figure emerged.

    Maldrak.

    "Leaving so soon?" His voice was silk wrapped in iron. A slow, measured step forward. "I¡¯m afraid there¡¯s been a change of plans."

    Ilara and Varrian turned sharply, weapons already in hand. Maldrak¡¯s presence made the air feel heavier, charged with something unseen but suffocating. His eyes, gleaming like embers beneath a hood of shadow, settled upon them as if he had known this would happen all along.

    Varrian acted first.

    With a thunderous roar, he swung his war hammer, the weight of it cracking the marble beneath his feet as he drove it toward Maldrak. The strike should have shattered bone and flesh, but it met only empty air. Maldrak shifted like a mirage, reappearing effortlessly a few paces away.

    A flick of his hand and a surge of dark energy exploded toward Varrian. He barely had time to brace himself before the force slammed into his chest, sending him skidding back.

    Ilara stepped forward, raising her shield. Aegis Solis, the radiant golden shield, gleamed in the dim light as she braced herself. Maldrak turned his attention to her, his smirk unfazed.

    "You Guardians always struggle against inevitability," he mused, raising one hand. "Let me show you what it means to be powerless."

    A storm of shadow tendrils lashed toward her, writhing and twisting like serpents. Ilara gritted her teeth, slamming her shield down into the stone. A pulse of golden energy erupted outward, disintegrating the darkness in a flash of blinding light.

    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    Maldrak''s smile did not fade. If anything, it widened.

    ¡°Yes, yes!!! That¡¯s more like it¡­¡±

    Varrian recovered. He shot forward again, swinging his hammer in a devastating arc. This time, Maldrak did not dodge. Instead, his form shimmered, and a protective aura of interwoven darkness and light enveloped him. The hammer struck, but the impact was dulled, absorbed by the unnatural energy surrounding him.

    A single gesture from Maldrak, and a concussive wave of force blasted outward. Varrian was thrown off his feet, crashing against the stone wall.

    Ilara barely had time to react before dark chains shot from the ground, ensnaring her arms and legs. She fought against them, her Astra flaring, but Maldrak¡¯s power was too absolute. The shadows writhed like living things, constricting tighter with every struggle.

    Varrian groaned, trying to rise, but Maldrak turned his gaze toward him, muttering something under his breath. A surge of power coursed through his limbs, unnatural strength crackling around his form. He was enhancing himself.

    "A commendable effort," Maldrak murmured, his voice almost bored. "But this was never a fight you could win."

    Ilara¡¯s heart pounded. Their only chance now was to send word to the others.

    With a last desperate effort, she poured all her remaining strength into Aegis Solis. The shield trembled, its form shifting, molding into a golden eagle. Maldrak¡¯s gaze flicked toward it just as the radiant bird shot through the air, weaving past the chains and shadows, soaring toward the castle¡¯s highest window.

    Maldrak''s expression darkened. He raised a hand, sending a spear of black energy toward the eagle¡ª

    ¡ªbut it was too late.

    The golden eagle broke through the glass, vanishing into the night sky.

    Ilara exhaled, victorious even in defeat.

    Maldrak turned back to her, his smirk returning. "A message to your friends? Good. Let them come. It will save me the trouble of hunting them down myself."

    Darkness surged. The world blurred. Then, there was nothing.

    Ilara awoke to cold stone beneath her hands. The air was thick with dampness, the scent of mold clinging to the walls. Flickering torches barely illuminated the vast, cavernous dungeon buried beneath Maldrak¡¯s castle. Heavy iron bars lined the cells, and beyond them, grotesque creatures stood guard¡ªtwisted forms of darkness given life.

    Varrian sat across from her, his head bowed. His war hammer was gone, stripped from him, and his hands were bound in thick, enchanted chains. His eyes were distant, his jaw clenched.

    "Varrian?" Ilara¡¯s voice was quiet but steady.

    He didn¡¯t look up. "I failed you. I failed my job to protect, again."

    Ilara frowned, shifting closer. "You fought. You stood against Maldrak. That is not failure."

    He let out a bitter chuckle. "I was supposed to protect you. I couldn¡¯t even land a proper hit on him. I let you get injured."

    She placed a hand on his shoulder, firm but reassuring. "You are a Guardian, Varrian. We do not measure victory by survival alone. You did not fail me, nor did you fail yourself."

    Varrian finally lifted his gaze, searching her face for doubt. There was none.

    Before he could speak, a voice broke the silence.

    "Hope still lingers, Guardians."

    The voice was hoarse but steady, echoing from the shadows of the adjacent cell. A prisoner.

    Ilara and Varrian turned toward the sound. A figure sat within the darkness, barely visible beyond the iron bars.

    "You are not the first to be cast down here," the stranger murmured, "but perhaps¡­ you will be the first to escape."

    The torches flickered. The dungeon grew colder.

    His eyes¡­ h¡ªhis aura¡­

    Wh¡ª No! What¡ªwhat? What did they meet?

 CHAPTER 12: The Summoning

    The sky above Eldris was painted in the hues of the dying sun, streaks of crimson and gold casting long shadows over the towering spires of the Citadel. The streets bustled with life, but within the Council Chamber, a heavy silence loomed, disturbed only by the flickering of enchanted torches lining the ancient walls.

    A sudden burst of golden light tore through the stillness.

    From the heavens, a radiant eagle descended, its feathers shimmering like molten gold. It streaked through the great open skylight of the chamber, spiraling downward in a controlled dive. As it neared the stone table where the Elders convened, its form shifted mid-air, and in a final burst of energy, it transformed back into Aegis Solis¡ªIlara¡¯s shield.

    The impact reverberated through the chamber, sending a ripple of light pulsing across the floor. Gasps filled the room as the shield quivered, its golden surface flickering with residual power.

    The eldest of the Council, Elder Sareth, stepped forward, his gnarled fingers brushing the shield¡¯s glowing surface. "A message," he murmured, his expression dark with foreboding. "And not one sent lightly."

    The shield trembled, and from its surface, a shimmering projection unfolded¡ªa memory, hazy but clear enough to strike fear into those who watched. The battle within Maldrak¡¯s castle played before them. Ilara and Varrian fighting desperately. Maldrak emerging from the shadows. Chains of darkness ensnaring them. A final glimpse of Ilara¡¯s golden eagle breaking free before the vision dissolved into silence.

    The chamber remained still for a long moment, only the crackling torches breaking the hush.

    Elder Sareth turned to the nearest attendant. "Summon the Guardians. At once."

    The great bells of Eldris tolled, their solemn peals ringing through the city. People in the streets paused, glancing toward the Citadel, knowing that when such a call was made, something grave had occurred.

    Within the Council Chamber, the Guardians gathered one by one.

    Nyroth Solvain was the first to arrive, his presence alone casting a shadow of authority across the chamber. He strode forward, his crimson eyes flickering toward the shield upon the table. His gaze lingered for a moment longer than necessary, jaw tightening. "Ilara¡¯s shield. She only would¡¯ve sent it if there was no other way."

    Elian was close behind, tension evident in the sharpness of his movements. "Ilara and Varrian... they''re in danger." His fists clenched at his sides. "We have to act."

    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    Kael and Siris entered together, their usual air of ease absent. "Captured?" Kael muttered, shaking his head. "And we only find out now?"

    Siris crossed his arms, watching the shield as if expecting it to speak. "Ilara wouldn¡¯t have sent this unless they were beyond saving themselves. This is worse than just an ambush."

    Dren, silent as ever, took his place near the back, his expression unreadable. Neither spoke, but their presence alone was answer enough.

    Elder Sareth surveyed them all before speaking. "Ilara and Varrian have fallen into Maldrak¡¯s hands. This much is certain. But his motives remain unknown. This is no mere act of war. This... is something else."

    "It was reckless to send them alone," Dren finally said, his voice low but unwavering. "Even under peaceful terms, Maldrak was never to be trusted. Going to Theradrin to question his dealings with Hell¡ªwithout reinforcement¡ªwas a mistake."

    Elian straightened, his mind already working. "Then that confirms it," he said. "There¡¯s no doubt anymore. Theradrin and Hell are connected. This was a trap from the beginning."

    Nyroth exhaled sharply, his voice cutting through the room like steel. "We leave at dawn. We don¡¯t have time to waste."

    The chamber stirred with tension, but Elder Sareth raised a hand. "This is no hasty assault. Maldrak¡¯s strength is formidable. You must tread carefully. We do not yet know his full hand."

    Kael scoffed. "Careful or not, we¡¯re not sitting around while they rot in some dungeon."

    Elian stepped forward, his gaze flickering to Nyroth. "And Zyrran?"

    Nyroth¡¯s jaw tightened. "Unreachable. He¡¯s too far north. We act without him."

    Elian¡¯s fists clenched, but he nodded. "Then we go in full force. We don¡¯t just walk into Theradrin with a handful of warriors¡ªwe bring our best."

    Nyroth gave a sharp nod. "Agreed. We take our elite forces¡ªthe ones who answer only to us."

    Outside the Citadel, horns of war sounded. Across Eldris, warriors stirred. They were more than just soldiers; they were the chosen, the fiercest fighters in the land, bound to the Guardians by loyalty and blood.

    From the great barracks, the Sentinels of Ilara emerged¡ªstalwart defenders, their armor gleaming like the dawn, shields lined in celestial engravings. Their leader, Captain Edris, stepped forward, his face set in stone. "Our lady is captured. We march through fire to bring her home."

    In the forges below, the Ironbound of Varrian prepared¡ªgiants among men, their weapons heavy enough to crush boulders, their fury barely restrained. Their leader, Commander Oris, slammed a fist against his plated chest. "Varrian is our shield. If he stands, we stand. If he falls, we burn the world to get him back."

    From the shadows, the Silent Blades of Siris watched¡ªassassins, ghosts clad in midnight, their eyes like daggers in the dark. At their head, Shade gave a slow, knowing smirk. "One order, my lord, and not even Maldrak''s shadow will be safe."

    And then there were the Phantom of Dren¡ªwarriors of precision, moving like the wind itself, their strikes swift as death. Their leader, Vaelis, bowed before Nyroth. "The enemy will never see us coming."

    The city pulsed with an energy unseen in years. War was coming. And they would answer.

    Nyroth¡¯s eyes flickered. "Good. They¡¯ll need that fire. We march at dawn."

    Elian stepped forward, but before he could speak, Nyroth fixed him with a steady gaze. "You¡¯re not coming."

    Silence. A stunned pause.

    "What?" Elian¡¯s voice was sharp, his stance rigid. "You¡¯re leaving me behind?"

    "You and Kael will stay in Eldris," Nyroth said, his voice leaving no room for argument. "The city cannot be left undefended. If this is a larger scheme, we cannot risk an open flank."

    Kael sighed but didn¡¯t argue. "Babysitting duty. Just my luck."

    Elian, however, wasn¡¯t so accepting. "You¡¯re sidelining me. I can fight. I should be there."

    Nyroth¡¯s expression darkened slightly, his eyes scanning the chamber. "I know you can. That¡¯s why you¡¯re staying. This attack¡­ something about it feels too easy. Like a move meant to pull our eyes away from something else." He let the words settle before finishing, "Eldris must stand. And I need someone I trust to hold it. That¡¯s you."

    Elian clenched his jaw, frustration visible, but he gave a short nod. "Fine. But don¡¯t expect me to sit idly. If anything happens, Kael and I move."

    "Fair enough," Nyroth said.

    The bells tolled once more. And as the echoes faded into the night, the Guardians knew¡ªwar found them much earlier than they expected.

 CHAPTER 13: Whispering Chains

    Darkness clung to the lowest dungeon of Maldrak¡¯s castle, thick and suffocating. The air was damp, carrying the stench of rot and forgotten souls. Chains rattled softly as Ilara and Varrian sat against the cold stone wall, their bodies aching from battle and imprisonment. The silence was near absolute¡ªuntil a voice broke through.

    "You should be more careful where you tread," the voice murmured from the shadows.

    Ilara and Varrian tensed, their gazes snapping toward the adjacent cell. A figure sat in the dim torchlight, barely more than a silhouette, but something about him felt wrong. Not just the way he looked¡ªragged, unmoving¡ªbut the way his very presence seemed to press against the air.

    Varrian narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"

    The man chuckled, a sound too smooth for a prisoner. "Just another forgotten soul." He turned his head slowly toward them, the flickering light casting eerie shadows over his face. "But you... you are not forgotten. No, not at all."

    Ilara stiffened. "What do you mean?"

    The prisoner leaned forward slightly, the light catching his eyes¡ªdeep, hollow, knowing. "Does the heir still burn like the sun¡­ or has the shadow touched him yet?"

    Varrian¡¯s breath hitched. Elian.

    "How do you know about him?" Ilara¡¯s tone sharpened.

    The prisoner smiled, a slow, deliberate thing. "Everyone knows of Elian Solvain. A name whispered even beyond the Veil. The boy of two paths¡­ the lock and the key." He tilted his head, almost in amusement. "You do not wonder why?"

    Varrian exchanged a glance with Ilara, unease creeping down his spine. "You speak in riddles, old man."

    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    "Do I?" the prisoner mused. "Perhaps. Or perhaps truth is easier to ignore when wrapped in mystery."

    Ilara forced her expression to remain calm. "If you know so much, tell us why we¡¯re still alive. Why hasn¡¯t Maldrak killed us?"

    "Ah, Maldrak¡­" The man chuckled again, this time with something close to amusement. "A man who plays at war but does not see the whole board." He paused. "But I do. And that is why I will help you."

    Varrian frowned. "Why? What do you gain from this?"

    The prisoner¡¯s smile widened. "My freedom, perhaps? Or maybe¡­ I simply wish to see how the pieces fall."

    Ilara hesitated only a moment before responding. "How?"

    The prisoner lifted his hands, revealing his own shackles, lined with runes of ancient binding. "My power is not what it once was, but I have enough left to break the chains that hold you. The rest... is up to you."

    Varrian and Ilara exchanged a look. Trusting a stranger was dangerous¡ªbut they had little choice.

    The prisoner murmured something under his breath, and Ilara and Varrian¡¯s chains loosened, falling to the floor with a metallic clatter. The prisoner gave a satisfied nod. "Now, go. Before the shadows catch their breath."

    Ilara eyed him warily. "Who are you really?"

    The prisoner leaned back into the darkness, his expression unreadable. "A messenger. A herald. A patient god waiting to be remembered."

    Varrian¡¯s skin prickled at the words. Ilara, jaw tight, turned toward the far end of the dungeon. There¡ªan old passage, barely noticeable, hidden behind loose stone.

    They rushed toward it. Just as they slipped into the tunnel, the prisoner¡¯s voice echoed softly behind them¡ª

    ¡°Tell Elian¡­ the door is already open.¡±

    Neither Guardian had time to question what he meant. They ran.

    The air was heavy on the border of Theradrin. A frigid wind swept across the barren hills, carrying the weight of an approaching storm. And at the head of an army that stretched like an unbroken tide of steel and power, stood Nyroth Solvain.

    His cloak billowed behind him, the deep midnight fabric streaked with the golden insignia of the Guardians. His golden eyes, sharp as a blade, scanned the darkened horizon before him, unwavering, unreadable. A warrior. A commander. A force unto himself.

    Behind him, the might of Eldris¡¯ greatest warriors stood assembled. Rows of soldiers, their armor gleaming in the fading light. The Sentinels of Ilara, shields locked, their discipline unshaken despite their leader¡¯s absence. The Ironbound of Varrian, restless, weapons eager for battle. The Silent Blades of Siris, moving like shifting shadows. The Phantoms of Dren, unseen, but felt.

    The air trembled with tension.

    Nyroth exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his blade.

    "Tomorrow, we march into Theradrin," he said, voice steady, carrying through the ranks like a solemn decree. "We do not march for war. We march for our own. Ilara and Varrian stand alone in enemy hands. That ends now."

    A murmur of agreement rippled through the army.

    Nyroth¡¯s eyes lifted to the sky, where storm clouds churned like restless spirits. This was no simple rescue. Something darker lurked beneath the surface.

    He turned his gaze back to the path ahead, where Theradrin¡¯s border loomed like a fortress of shadows.

    "Stay sharp," he warned. "This battle was set before we even arrived. And I do not intend to let the enemy dictate the ending."

    Then, without another word, Nyroth stepped forward. And behind him, the army followed.

 CHAPTER 14: The Gathering Shadow

    Eldris stood quiet beneath the fading light of dusk. From the high walls of the citadel, Elian Solvain gazed out at the vast horizon, his arms crossed, his mind restless. Below, the city carried on as if war did not loom on its borders, as if the Veil was not on the brink of collapse.

    "You¡¯ll burn a hole through the horizon if you stare any harder."

    Elian turned to see Kael Solvain, his uncle, leaning against the stone battlements. His usual smirk played across his lips, though his eyes carried something deeper¡ªsomething that didn¡¯t match his easy demeanor.

    "Shouldn¡¯t you be training the city¡¯s defenses?" Elian asked, turning back to the view.

    Kael scoffed. "I have. The city is ready. The real question is, are you?"

    Elian tensed. "I should be out there. With them."

    Kael studied him for a moment before shaking his head. "And there it is. That same Solvain stubbornness."

    "It¡¯s not stubbornness," Elian muttered. "Ilara and Varrian are prisoners. My father is marching into enemy territory. And I¡¯m¡ª"

    "Here," Kael finished. "Where you¡¯re needed."

    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    Elian turned sharply. "Needed? I¡¯m supposed to be fighting. Instead, I¡¯m babysitting walls."

    Kael¡¯s smirk faded, replaced by something unreadable. "You think war is just about swinging a sword? You think charging into battle makes you strong?"

    Elian clenched his fists. "It¡¯s better than doing nothing."

    Kael exhaled, his expression unreadable. "You remind me of myself, you know. Once, I thought like you. Thought power alone made me who I was. Thought I could master it just by willing it so. But power¡­ has a price."

    Elian met his gaze. "And you were afraid to pay it?"

    Kael¡¯s smirk returned, but it was cold. "No. I paid it. And it nearly consumed me."

    Silence stretched between them.

    "We are Solvains, Elian. We don¡¯t get to just be warriors. We are something¡­ different. Something heavier."

    Elian shook his head. "I never asked for that."

    Kael chuckled, but there was no humor in it. "Neither did I. Neither did your father. But it doesn¡¯t care what we want. It just is. And sooner or later, you¡¯ll have to decide what that means for you."

    Elian turned away, staring back at the city. "And what if I don¡¯t want to be ¡®something more¡¯?¡±

    Kael¡¯s voice was quieter this time. "Then you¡¯ll never be ready for what¡¯s coming."

    Elian scoffed, shaking his head. "What¡¯s coming?"

    Kael didn¡¯t answer. Instead, he turned his gaze to the sky. And that¡¯s when it happened.

    The air around them suddenly shifted. The world seemed to exhale, as if reality itself was holding its breath.

    Then, the sky ripped apart.

    A jagged tear, lined with writhing darkness and crimson fire, split the air just beyond Eldris¡¯ walls. The very ground trembled beneath its presence, and a suffocating wave of energy crashed over the city like a storm.

    From the abyssal void, a figure stepped forward.

    Isaroth.

    Clad in blackened armor, his silver hair untouched by the wind, his eyes burned with a cold, merciless fire. Behind him, the portal widened, and from it, a legion of demons poured forth¡ªtwisted, snarling creatures of the abyss, their howls breaking the night¡¯s silence.

    Kael¡¯s smirk was gone, his stance shifting. "Well, Elian. You wanted action? Here it is."

    Elian stepped forward, eyes locked on the nightmare unfolding before them.

    The battle for Eldris had begun.

 CHAPTER 15: The Trap Unveiled

    The heavens above Eldris lay torn asunder, the gaping rift pulsating with malignant energy. Isaroth stepped forward, his boots pressing into scorched earth as the infernal gateway pulsed like a malignant wound upon reality. His gaze swept over the city¡¯s towering walls, where protective runes flickered faintly, holding the darkness at bay.

    He let out a low chuckle. "Clever. A barrier woven into the very bones of Eldris¡ªdenying me the luxury of simply tearing through its heart. Smart. I would expect no less."

    Behind him, the demonic horde seethed, their grotesque forms bathed in the sickly glow of the rift. The very ground beneath them withered, recoiling from their presence as if the land itself sought to escape. Isaroth stood at the vanguard, unmoving, his gaze fixed upon the distant citadel that crowned the city.

    "It begins," he murmured, watching the flickering torchlight of Eldris¡¯ defenses as they stirred to life. He had foreseen resistance, of course, but it was inconsequential. The Guardians had abandoned their stronghold, their greatest warriors drawn to Theradrin like moths to an open flame. What remained was a city left ripe for slaughter.

    Yet, as his sharp eyes raked over the battlements, something unexpected stilled his breath. A flicker of surprise¡ªquickly buried beneath cold calculation. Two figures stood at the forefront of Eldris'' defense. Even from this distance, their presence was undeniable.

    Kael Solvain. Elian Solvain.

    Isaroth¡¯s smirk faltered, a shadow of irritation crossing his face. "Interesting. I expected resistance," he murmured. "I expected someone to stay behind. But not them."

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    His gaze lingered on Kael, an enigma unto himself. "Kael Solvain¡ªformidable, unyielding. A warrior of sheer instinct and raw power." Then, his eyes drifted to the younger Solvain, unreadable. "And Elian¡­ the boy of two paths. The key to a power even he does not yet understand."

    A slow breath escaped him, the faintest trace of amusement threading his tone. "Unexpected¡­ but not unaccounted for."

    The pieces had shifted, but the game remained unchanged. His smirk returned, sharper this time. He had orchestrated this moment. The veil of war, the feint in Theradrin, the lure of Guardians to a battlefield leagues away.

    "So fate moves against me," he mused, his voice low, measured. "Shifting the board even as I play the game."

    He turned his head slightly, as if addressing the abyss itself. "Maldrak served his purpose well."

    With the grace of a master conductor, he raised his hand, the very air quivering beneath his will.

    "March forward," he commanded, his voice echoing like a death knell. "Let the streets of Eldris drown in fire."

    A monstrous roar erupted as the demonic legion surged, their claws raking against the earth, their weapons raised, their howls a chorus of impending ruin. The ground trembled beneath their charge, the weight of countless horrors descending upon Eldris like a living storm.

    Within the walls of Eldris, Kael and Elian stood atop the battlements, their gazes fixed upon the infernal tide cresting the horizon. Below them, the city stirred¡ªsoldiers rushed to their stations, steel rang against steel, and orders were barked across the stone corridors. The air was thick with the scent of oil and burning torches, the prelude to war.

    Elian¡¯s jaw tightened. "So this is it."

    Kael remained still, his gaze locked on the shifting darkness beyond. "We hold. That¡¯s all there is to it."

    The sky above them flickered with eerie light as the horde advanced, their shadows stretching like claws across the land. In the distance, beyond the waves of encroaching ruin, Isaroth stood watching. Still at the border. Still waiting.

    "He¡¯s studying us," Kael murmured, his voice edged with something unreadable. "Measuring our worth."

    Elian¡¯s fingers curled tighter around his sword. "Then let¡¯s show him exactly what he¡¯s up against."

    The bells of Eldris tolled again, their solemn cry reverberating through the city like a heartbeat before battle.

    Kael flexed his hands, the very air around them distorting as latent power crackled beneath his skin. "Hold the line. No matter what comes through that portal, we do not break."

    Elian took his place beside him, his voice steady, resolute. "For Eldris! For the Guardians!"

    A defiant roar rose from the walls of the citadel as the soldiers of Eldris braced for the storm.

    The battle had begun.

 CHAPTER 16: The Storm of Theradrin

    The land of Theradrin trembled beneath the march of Eldris¡¯ vanguard. The once-cursed fields, long shrouded in darkness, now burned under the light of war. From the front lines to the rear, the elite forces of the Guardians moved as one, a flawless engine of destruction against the unending tide of nightmarish creatures that surged to meet them.

    Steel met flesh. Blades carved through shadows. The battlefield was a symphony of war, and the warriors of Eldris were its conductors.

    The Sentinels of Ilara, clad in golden plate, crashed into the enemy ranks like a living wall of steel. Shields locked, spears thrusting forward with deadly precision, they carved a path through the monstrous horde, their movements unshaken despite the horrors before them. Their captain, Edris the Unyielding, led them with brutal efficiency, his shield caving in the skull of a towering beast before skewering another through the throat. His voice rang clear over the chaos: "For Ilara! For the fallen!"

    Beside them, the Ironbound of Varrian unleashed their fury. No formation, no careful precision¡ªonly carnage. Giant warriors wielding weapons as heavy as their rage, they tore through flesh and bone as if they were paper. Their leader, Commander Oris, brought down his massive warhammer upon the earth, sending a shockwave that shattered the creatures in his path. His roar was not of command, but of vengeance. "Where is our captain?! Bring them back or drown in your own blood!"

    The rest of the Guardians moved among them like specters of war.

    Siris, a phantom in the storm, weaved through the enemy ranks untouched. His twin blades whispered through the air, cutting the throats of monsters before they could even react. He did not run¡ªhe glided, death following his every step.

    Dren walked like a shadow given form. His scythe cut through the air in sweeping arcs, silent and precise, carving through the nightmarish creatures with a deadly grace. It simply struck, and where it struck, the enemy ceased to exist. His presence was cold, calculating, unstoppable.

    And yet, none of the Guardians seemed concerned for their own safety. They moved not as warriors fighting for their lives, but as gods walking through an inferior world¡ªuntouchable, unbothered. The enemy threw itself at them in desperation, yet not one reached them. The creatures of the night were fearless in nature, but against the Guardians, they hesitated.

    And at the front of it all, a singular figure marched without pause.

    Nyroth Solvain.

    He did not raise his sword. He did not even glance at the war around him. He simply walked forward, his presence cutting through the battlefield like a force of nature. And yet, no blade, no claw, no spell touched him. The creatures shrank away from his path, unwilling to be the first to challenge him. His crimson eyes were locked ahead¡ªon Maldrak¡¯s castle, where the true battle would begin.

    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    The massive, blackened gates of Maldrak¡¯s fortress loomed in the distance, wreathed in darkness and lined with unholy symbols. As Nyroth neared, the battlefield seemed to quiet. The creatures no longer charged blindly. Instead, they withdrew, forming a shifting mass beyond the castle walls.

    The doors creaked open before Nyroth could reach them.

    From the darkness beyond, a slow clap echoed.

    Maldrak emerged, clad in black robes laced with veins of crimson energy. His form seemed to shift unnaturally, as if reality itself refused to hold him in place. A smirk curled his lips as his golden-red eyes met Nyroth¡¯s.

    "Nyroth Solvain," he mused, his voice dripping with amusement. "You come with all the fire of legend, yet walk like a man with no doubts. A dangerous habit."

    Nyroth halted, his crimson gaze unwavering. "I do not waste time doubting what I already know."

    Maldrak¡¯s smirk deepened. "And what is it you know, Guardian?"

    "That you stand between me and my people," Nyroth said, his voice calm, absolute. "A mistake you will not live to regret."

    Maldrak chuckled, the sound like silk over steel. "Such certainty. And yet, you assume too much. Do you truly believe your prisoners are still waiting for you? Perhaps your grand invasion was for nothing."

    Nyroth¡¯s expression did not change, but the slightest flicker passed through his eyes. "Then you are as blind as you are arrogant. If they have freed themselves, it means you were never their captor¡ªonly their fool."

    Maldrak¡¯s smirk faltered for the first time.

    Nyroth turned his head slightly. "Siris. Dren. Find them. Now."

    Neither Guardian hesitated. Without a word, they vanished into the shadows of the castle.

    Maldrak¡¯s fingers curled slightly, the air distorting around them. "Sending away your best? A bold choice. But one you may regret."

    Nyroth exhaled, unhurried, unconcerned. "I am where I am needed. Here. With you."

    The battlefield had gone silent. The war behind them raged on, but here, at the gates of Maldrak¡¯s domain, something else was about to begin.

    Maldrak¡¯s smirk returned, though there was a sharpness to it now. "Then let us begin, Guardian of the Veil. Show me if your legend is deserved."

    Nyroth did not draw his blade. He did not shift his stance.

    He merely nodded.

    And the world itself seemed to hold its breath.

    Deep within the fortress, the air was thick with damp rot and the scent of blood. Siris and Dren moved like wraiths through the dark corridors, their footsteps soundless against the cold stone.

    Then, from the shadows ahead, a deep growl rumbled.

    The elite werewolves of Maldrak emerged, their eyes gleaming with predatory hunger, their bodies lined with unnatural muscle.

    Siris exhaled, rolling his shoulders. "More of these things? We already saw how that went for them."

    Dren did not speak. He simply raised his scythe.

    The werewolves lunged.

    The battle that followed was swift and brutal. These beasts were faster, stronger, more cunning than the lesser creatures of the horde. But Siris and Dren were not ordinary warriors.

    Siris was untouchable, his twin blades a blur of motion, slashing through sinew and bone before his enemies could react. Every step, every movement was calculated, a dance of death performed without flaw.

    Dren, by contrast, was relentless. His scythe tore through bodies as if they were mist, cutting arcs of destruction that left nothing in their wake. A beast lunged at him¡ªhe spun, the scythe passing through its neck in a single fluid motion before the rest of its body even hit the ground.

    The last werewolf fell, its body crumpling in a pool of darkness.

    Siris flicked blood from his blades and glanced down the corridor. "We¡¯re close."

    Dren nodded once, stepping forward.

    Beyond the next door lay the dungeons. And, unbeknownst to them, the cells they sought were already empty.

 CHAPTER 17: Clash of Titans

    The moment the battle began, the very air around Maldrak¡¯s fortress shuddered.

    Nyroth moved first.

    No blade. No stance. No visible effort.

    Yet Maldrak barely saw the attack coming.

    A shockwave of pure force erupted as Nyroth struck¡ªnot with a weapon, but with his bare hand. Maldrak barely managed to twist away, but the ground beneath him cracked and cratered, the sheer force of the strike shattering stone like glass. The fortress trembled. Maldrak¡¯s smirk vanished.

    Nyroth¡¯s crimson eyes burned like twin stars in the darkness.

    "Come now, Maldrak. You wanted to face me." He stepped forward, unhurried. "You should have prepared."

    Maldrak growled, his fingers weaving dark sigils into the air. "Don¡¯t mock me."

    The ground beneath Nyroth erupted in an explosion of blackened spikes, jagged tendrils of dark energy lunging for him. He did not move. The spikes struck¡ª

    And shattered into dust upon impact.

    Maldrak¡¯s eyes widened. "What¡ª"

    Nyroth punched forward.

    Maldrak flew backward, crashing through the stone doors of his own fortress. The force of the impact sent debris cascading in all directions, the walls groaning as cracks splintered up their foundations. Maldrak rolled to his feet, blood trailing from his lips. His golden-red eyes burned with something new¡ªsomething he had not expected to feel.

    Fear.

    Beyond the castle walls, the war waged on. The elite forces of Eldris tore through the enemy ranks with unrelenting fury. Yet in the midst of the carnage, a sudden pulse of unimaginable force rippled through the air, sending warriors and monsters alike staggering back. The sky itself seemed to tremble, the winds howling with unseen fury.

    Commander Oris of the Ironbound halted mid-swing, his warhammer buried in the skull of a demon. He turned his gaze toward the fortress, his grip tightening. "That¡­ was not normal."

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    Edris the Unyielding, shield raised, felt the impact through his very bones. "That was Nyroth," he muttered, a grim smile breaking across his face. "The real battle has begun."

    Not far from the dungeons, Dren and Siris stood victorious over the fallen werewolves, their bloodied bodies sprawled across the stone floor. The battle had been fierce¡ªthese creatures were as strong, as relentless than the ones Ilara and Varrian had faced before. But it hadn¡¯t mattered. The Guardians had been merciless.

    Siris flicked the blood from his twin blades, glancing at the carnage. "That was almost interesting," he muttered.

    Dren merely exhaled, planting his scythe into the ground for a brief moment before straightening. "We keep moving."

    Then, they felt it. A tremor shook the stone beneath them.** Dust rained from the ceiling, torches flickered, and for a brief moment, an eerie silence settled.

    Siris exhaled sharply, tightening his grip on his twin blades. "We don¡¯t have time for this. Whatever¡¯s happening up there¡ª" He glanced at Dren, who remained unreadable. "¡ªwe need to move faster."

    Dren simply nodded once, his scythe gleaming in the dim torchlight. "We find them. Now."

    The next clash tore the world apart.

    Maldrak lunged forward, now matching Nyroth¡¯s speed. Their fists collided, sending shockwaves that ripped apart the stone walls around them. The very air howled with the force of their strikes. They moved faster than human eyes could follow, blurring in and out of existence as they struck, countered, and struck again.

    Maldrak unleashed a blast of raw Astra, but Nyroth caught it with a single hand, gripping the writhing energy before hurling it back. The explosion carved a deep trench into the fortress floor, sending Maldrak crashing into a pillar. He staggered, coughing, but barely a moment passed before he was airborne again, already counterattacking.

    Fists shattered the air. Kicks blurred like phantom blades. Every strike felt like a thunderclap, every movement like a tempest unleashed. Power incarnate against power incarnate.

    Maldrak raised a hand, and a spear of pure Lux Astra formed in his grip. He hurled it. Nyroth dodged¡ª

    No. He caught it.

    Then he crushed it in his fist.

    Maldrak snarled, leaping high into the air, darkness flooding into his limbs. The sky itself seemed to warp around him. "Fall, Solvain!" He descended like a meteor, his Astra forming a blade of light and shadow as he slashed¡ª

    And Nyroth finally moved his hand to his hilt.

    Not to draw.

    Just to parry.

    Maldrak¡¯s Astra-blade shattered upon impact. Nyroth had used only a fraction of his strength.

    He stared at Maldrak, unimpressed. "You truly thought you could win this?"

    Maldrak panted, chest rising and falling. He was losing.

    And he knew it.

    But then, his grin returned. Wider. More wicked.

    "Winning isn¡¯t always about strength, Nyroth."

    His hand snapped to his robe. And when it emerged¡ª

    A scroll rested in his palm.

    Nyroth¡¯s eyes widened for the first time.

    "No¡ª"

    "Oh, yes," Maldrak hissed. The scroll glowed with dark power, pulsing like a living thing. "You know what this is, don¡¯t you? One of the scrolls. Ancient. Forbidden. And now¡ª" He unrolled it. "Mine."

    A storm of power erupted from Maldrak¡¯s body.

    Nyroth stepped back, shielding his face as waves of energy crashed through the ruined fortress. The very air distorted¡ªlight bending, darkness expanding, reality itself screaming under the force of the scroll¡¯s influence.

    Maldrak¡¯s form changed. His skin darkened with sigils, his eyes became pits of endless abyss, his veins pulsed with unholy power. A monstrous force unlike anything before stood in his place.

    And he was laughing.

    Nyroth¡¯s crimson eyes narrowed. "The scroll¡¯s power is corrupt. It will consume you."

    Maldrak threw his head back, howling in amusement. "Corrupt me? Solvain, I was already corrupted. I am beyond redemption!"

    His laughter was swallowed by another pulse of power, the very ground trembling beneath him.

    Nyroth exhaled slowly.

    Then, for the first time in this battle, his hand fully grasped the hilt of his sword.

    The light of the blade gleamed in the darkness.

    The real battle was about to begin.

 CHAPTER 18: The Siege of Eldris

    The night sky over Eldris burned with crimson fire, the heavens split by the unholy portal Isaroth had torn into reality. Demons poured from the abyss, their monstrous forms descending upon the city like a plague. The streets ran red with blood as innocent men, women, and children fled in terror. The air was thick with the stench of burning wood, of flesh, of death.

    But Eldris did not fall without a fight.

    The city¡¯s defenders rushed into action, soldiers surging forward to protect the helpless. Steel met claw, battle cries drowned out the wails of the dying. The demons fought with monstrous strength, tearing through stone and flesh alike, but the warriors of Eldris held the line.

    A demon loomed over a crying child, its jagged claws raised for the kill. The little girl sobbed, frozen in terror.

    Then, in an instant, a golden spear impaled the creature through the chest, piercing straight through its vile heart.

    Elder Sareth stepped forward, pulling his weapon free as the demon collapsed lifelessly at his feet. He knelt beside the girl, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

    "Shh, little one. You¡¯re safe now," he said gently, his voice warm despite the chaos around them. He helped her to her feet, guiding her toward a group of fleeing civilians. "Go to your mother. Hurry."

    The girl sniffled, nodded, and ran. Sareth smiled as he watched her go. Then, his gaze hardened, turning back to the battlefield.

    Among them stood Elder Sareth, his golden spear glowing with radiant energy.

    The former Guardian, a master of Lux Astra, had taken up arms once more. His presence alone was enough to rally the soldiers, his spear cutting through the chaos with precision that belied his age. His presence alone was enough to rally the soldiers, his blade cutting through the chaos with precision that belied his age. The demons faltered before him, for they sensed the weight of experience, the sharpened instinct of a warrior who had lived through war and survived.

    "Protect the people! Form a wall!" Sareth¡¯s voice boomed across the battlefield. His spear whirled, carving through the chest of a demon before it could reach the civilians cowering behind the defensive line. Soldiers followed his command without question, their blades striking with renewed vigor.

    The demons pushed. The warriors of Eldris pushed back. The battle raged, but the city would not break so easily.

    At the highest point of Eldris, where the winds howled and the fires burned brightest, Kael and Elian stood before Isaroth.

    The silver-haired general of Hell regarded them with an expression of mild amusement. His black cloak billowed in the wind, his presence an immovable shadow against the raging battlefield. The city burned behind him, the cries of the fallen echoing in the distance, yet he seemed utterly unbothered.

    "So," Isaroth said, his voice smooth, deliberate. "They send the lost son and the broken warrior to stand in my way."

    Kael¡¯s golden eyes glowed faintly, his stance relaxed but ready. He cracked his knuckles, a smirk tugging at his lips. "We are just here to beat you to death." "I don¡¯t recall anyone sending us. We¡¯re just here to ruin your plans."

    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    Isaroth smirked. His gaze briefly flickered to the great banners of Eldris, where the emblem of Zerythar, the Dragon of Eldris, was emblazoned in gold. For a moment, something unreadable passed through his eyes. Then, without a word, he reached up, removed his helmet¡ªits single horn curving ominously¡ªand ran a hand through his silver hair. He smirked.

    "How noble. How foolish. You stand before an army of demons, your city crumbling, your people dying. And yet, you think yourselves enough to stop me?"

    Elian tightened his grip on his sword. "We don¡¯t think," he said. "We know."

    Isaroth¡¯s gaze flicked toward him, and for a moment, there was something unreadable in his expression. A flicker of curiosity. Of something deeper. Then, in a blink, it was gone.

    "Ah," Isaroth murmured, tilting his head slightly. "So this is the boy. The heir."

    Elian tensed. Kael stepped forward slightly, blocking his nephew from Isaroth¡¯s line of sight.

    "Enough talk," Kael said, his voice low, dangerous. "You came to destroy Eldris. But if you want it, you¡¯ll have to go through us first."

    Isaroth sighed, as though disappointed. "Pity. I had hoped to avoid this."

    Then, in a blur of motion, the battle began.

    Kael and Isaroth met in an explosion of force, their battle unfolding in a blur of motion. For a time, they were evenly matched¡ªfists clashing, shockwaves ripping through the battlefield. Kael fought like a relentless storm, every movement precise, every strike filled with raw, untamed power. Isaroth met him blow for blow, his control effortless, his Astra weaving between light and shadow with terrifying mastery. The ground beneath them shattered as their fists collided, the impact sending a shockwave through the city. Fire and darkness clashed, the sheer energy of their strikes warping the air around them.

    Kael moved like a tempest, his attacks unrelenting, his raw power shaking the earth with every strike. Isaroth matched him blow for blow, his movements effortless, his mastery of Astra near perfection. They were equals.

    But as Kael began to gain the upper hand, his relentless assault pushing Isaroth back step by step, the general¡¯s gaze flickered toward Elian. A shift in his expression¡ªcalculating, decisive.

    Before Kael could react, Isaroth vanished¡ªand reappeared before Elian.

    But Isaroth caught the strike effortlessly.

    His fingers clamped around the steel, stopping it mid-swing, and with a flick of his wrist, he sent Elian hurtling backward.

    "Too weak," Isaroth murmured.

    Elian gritted his teeth, rolling to his feet. He charged again, his light-infused blade blazing with determination¡ª

    Isaroth sidestepped.

    A single strike from the general sent Elian sprawling across the stone floor, his sword skidding from his grasp.

    Kael¡¯s instincts screamed danger, and he moved without thinking. In a blur, he threw himself between Isaroth and Elian¡ªjust as the general¡¯s Astra-infused strike landed.

    Pain. Blinding, searing pain.

    Kael staggered, his golden eyes widening as dark energy tore into his side. His Astra flickered¡ªthen began to fade. The wound wasn¡¯t fatal, but it was enough. Enough to weaken him. Enough to put Elian in even greater danger.

    "Kael!" Elian¡¯s voice rang through the chaos, his chest heaving, his hands trembling. Something inside him snapped.

    A surge of power erupted around him¡ªlight and darkness intertwining, merging into one.

    For the first time, Elian embraced his Astrae form. Isaroth met him with equal intensity, their battle turning into a storm of fists, fire, and shadow.

    ¡°You are going to pay for this!!!¡± Elian screamed dashing towards Isaroth meeting his fist with his.

    Elian forced himself up, ignoring the pain, gripping his sword once more. He couldn¡¯t let himself be useless.

    He rushed forward again¡ª

    This time, Isaroth let him.

    Elian swung his sword, pouring every ounce of strength into the attack. Isaroth did not move.

    The blade neared his throat¡ª

    Then, in an instant, Isaroth vanished.

    Before Elian could react, a cold hand gripped his neck from behind.

    Isaroth had him.

    The world slowed.

    Kael turned, eyes widening. "Elian!"

    Elian struggled, his hands clawing at Isaroth¡¯s grip, but the general held him effortlessly, his strength unnatural. This was it. He could end it. He could kill Elian right now.

    But he didn¡¯t.

    Isaroth merely stared at him.

    And then, he let go.

    Elian''s breaths came ragged, his vision blurring. The raw power had left his body trembling¡ªhe had burned through his strength too fast.

    Isaroth saw it. And he moved in for one more blow.

    The general raised his hand, a spear of dark Astra forming at his fingertips. One strike. One death.

    But before he could finish it, a force of pure shadow slammed into him, hurling him across the battlefield.

    He crashed into a stone wall, the impact sending cracks through its surface.

    Silence fell.

    Elian coughed, struggling to lift his head. His vision swam, but through the haze of battle, he saw it.

    A figure stepping forward, its form obscured by the swirling darkness.

    The chapter ended in the stillness of that moment¡ªwho had arrived?

    Isaroth regained his footing and wiped a single drop of blood from his lip. He smiled.

    "Interesting," he said softly, his gaze flickering between Elian and Kael. "Very interesting."

 CHAPTER 19: Unfinished Business

    The battlefield was in chaos, but for a brief moment, everything seemed still. The air crackled with power, the scent of blood and fire thick in the air. Isaroth, General of Hell, pulled himself from the broken stone wall where he had been thrown, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the impact. His crimson eyes flickered with recognition as they locked onto the new arrival.

    Zyrran.

    For the first time that night, Isaroth''s smirk faded. His eyes narrowed as he took in the dark-cloaked figure before him, the shadows clinging unnaturally to his form, as if the night itself bent to his will.

    "So," Isaroth exhaled, tilting his head. "You''ve finally come, Shadow Sovereign."

    Zyrran''s expression remained unreadable, but his voice was low, cold, and absolute.

    "I am not letting you escape this time."

    Kael, still injured from his previous battle, forced himself up. His breathing was heavy, but his golden eyes burned with defiance. He staggered for only a second before stepping beside Zyrran, standing tall despite his wounds.

    Isaroth''s gaze flicked between the two warriors now before him¡ªKael Solvain, still battle-worn yet unyielding, and Zyrran Nyktris, the man who had hunted him for years.

    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    Behind them, Elian watched the scene unfold. He could feel it in the air¡ªthe weight of power gathering, pressing down like a coming storm. These two¡­ they were on a different level. He clenched his fists, stepping back as the realization struck him.

    For the first time, he truly understood the gap between them.

    His lips curled into a smirk of his own as he looked at Isaroth. "Now you''re fucked."

    Isaroth exhaled through his nose, but before he could respond, Kael let out a sharp breath, shaking his head.

    "Took you long enough," he muttered toward Zyrran, rolling his shoulders in preparation.

    Zyrran shot him a sidelong glance, his lips barely twitching upward. "Good thing I arrived just in time. You seem in great shape."

    Kael snorted. "Fuck you."

    Zyrran smirked. The brief exchange between them held years of familiarity, battles fought, wars waged. And now, one more fight awaited them.

    Far below the battlefield, amidst the raging chaos, Elder Sareth was a force of nature. His golden spear blurred through the air, cutting down demons with every precise strike. The creatures of Hell surged at him in waves, but they fell just as quickly, torn apart by the sheer mastery of his Astra. Soldiers rallied behind him, emboldened by his presence, striking back with renewed strength. And then, amidst the battle, Sareth felt it¡ªa familiar darkness, a power unlike any other. He paused, his eyes lifting toward the distant heights of Eldris. A knowing smile crossed his face. Zyrran had arrived.

    Isaroth watched them without amusement. His fingers twitched, and the ground beneath him began to tremble. The very air shifted, growing thick with dark Astra as his expression twisted into something savage, something primal.

    Then, his head tilted back, and he let out a roar that shook the heavens.

    "COME ON, GUARDIANS! SHOW ME YOUR POWER!"

    A storm of raw Astra exploded from his body, darkness and fire coiling around him as his power surged. The sky above them split, crackling with violent energy, as if Hell itself had turned its gaze upon the battlefield.

    Kael and Zyrran stepped forward in unison, power radiating from them like a force of nature.

    Elian watched, his breath caught in his throat. He had never seen anything like this. The air itself seemed to vibrate as the three warriors faced each other, unmoving, unbreaking.

    And then, as if on cue¡ª

    They attacked.

 CHAPTER 20: The Unchained Battle

    The battlefield trembled under the weight of three monstrous forces clashing. Kael. Zyrran. Isaroth. Warriors of legend, locked in a battle that threatened to tear Eldris apart.

    Kael charged first, ignoring the pain searing through his wounds. His golden eyes burned with defiance, his fists clenched, his body refusing to yield. He was battered, bleeding, but he would never stop. He was Kael Solvain¡ªhis will was unbreakable.

    Zyrran followed in perfect sync, his movements fluid, ghostlike. The shadow of death itself. While Kael was raw power, a raging storm that crushed anything in its path, Zyrran was precision. Efficiency. Every arrow he loosed whistled through the air with deadly intent, each shot aimed for a weakness.

    Isaroth stood his ground, his eyes burning with amusement and fury. His power was overwhelming, his strikes like tidal waves crashing against stone. His fists shattered the very air, his kicks sent shockwaves through the ground. For every blow Kael and Zyrran landed, Isaroth returned with twice the force.

    Kael lunged, his punch a blur. Isaroth caught his wrist mid-swing and twisted, sending Kael flying into the side of a ruined wall. Before he could capitalize on it, a black arrow whistled through the air, aiming for his throat.

    Isaroth leaned back just in time, the arrow slicing a thin red line across his cheek.

    "Tch." He wiped the blood away, his grin widening. "Not bad."

    Zyrran loosed another, but this time Isaroth caught it mid-air. His grip pulsed with dark energy, snapping the arrow in half as he charged forward.

    Kael burst from the rubble, meeting him head-on. Their fists collided, the impact sending a concussive blast through the battlefield, forcing soldiers and demons alike to stagger.

    "You don¡¯t know when to stay down, do you?" Isaroth growled, throwing a devastating knee into Kael¡¯s ribs. The sound of cracking bone filled the air, but Kael only grinned, blood dripping from his mouth.

    "You¡¯ll have to do better than that."

    With a roar, he grabbed Isaroth¡¯s leg, lifting him off the ground, and slammed him into the earth with monstrous force. The ground shattered beneath the impact.

    Isaroth coughed, spitting blood, but his grin never faded.

    "That¡¯s more like it."

    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

    Before Kael could strike again, Isaroth erupted upward, his Astra flaring around him like a storm of hellfire.

    "ENOUGH!"

    He swung, and Kael barely had time to block before he was sent skidding backward. Zyrran took the opening, loosing five arrows in rapid succession, each glowing with dark Astra.

    Isaroth dodged three, deflected one¡ªbut the last struck deep into his shoulder.

    He snarled, ripping the arrow free, the wound sealing instantly.

    "You¡¯re starting to piss me off, Nyktris."

    Zyrran nocked another arrow, unfazed. "Good. Then I won¡¯t have to listen to your monologues."

    The battle surged forward once more¡ª

    But on the sidelines, Elian was motionless.

    The world around him was chaos, but Elian wasn¡¯t looking at it anymore. He was looking inside.

    Power. It was there. Inside him. Waiting. Burning. Begging to be unleashed.

    But every time he¡¯d touched it before, he had lost control. He had felt it take hold, threatening to consume him.

    Not this time.

    He clenched his fists, his breathing steadying. He focused.

    A memory surfaced¡ª

    Nyroth stood before him, his crimson eyes unreadable as the torches of the training hall flickered around them.

    "Astrae is not just power, Elian. It is balance. If you lean too far into either Lux or Nox, you will lose yourself. But if you accept both¡­" Nyroth raised a single hand, and before Elian''s eyes, light and darkness intertwined, forming a sphere of perfect harmony. "Then you will become something greater."

    Elian, younger then, had clenched his fists. "But how do I control it?"

    Nyroth had smiled. "You don¡¯t. You become it. He felt the Astra within him pulse¡ªLux and Nox, light and dark, twin forces locked in eternal struggle.

    The battle was at its peak. Kael and Zyrran were holding their own, but barely. Isaroth¡¯s strength was endless, his attacks relentless.

    Everything stopped.

    A shockwave pulsed through the battlefield, stronger than anything before. Kael and Zyrran turned¡ªeyes widening.

    Elian stood at the edge of the battle, his form wreathed in light and shadow. His Astrae form, fully realized.

    "What¡ª" Isaroth barely had time to react before Elian moved.

    No sword. No weapon. Just a punch.

    Elian¡¯s fist connected with Isaroth¡¯s chest.

    For a single, frozen moment, the battlefield fell silent.

    Then¡ª

    A cataclysmic explosion of force.

    Isaroth was launched across the battlefield, tearing through the ground, through walls, through everything in his path. The very air seemed to distort, the shockwave sending warriors and demons crashing to their knees.

    He didn¡¯t stop.

    Not until he slammed into the farthest border of Eldris, right at the gates of the still-open portal.

    Kael and Zyrran stood in absolute disbelief. Neither had seen it. Neither had even understood what just happened.

    Elian lowered his fist, his breathing calm. He stood there, Astrae form still active, perfectly controlled.

    For the first time, he had not been controlled by his power. He had mastered it.

    Across the battlefield, Isaroth slowly rose from the crater where he had landed, stunned, bleeding, laughing.

    "Well¡­ that was unexpected." He wiped the blood from his lip, his eyes flickering toward the portal behind him. "Seems like my time is up."

    His gaze met Elian¡¯s, and instead of shock, there was something else¡ªsatisfaction.

    Then, with a smirk, he stepped backward, his form disappearing into the portal. "That''s it. That''s what I wanted to see. It is true, then. Magnificent."

    "I¡¯ll be back."

    The portal snapped shut behind him.

    The battle was over.

    Kael exhaled, shaking his head. "What the fuck just happened?"

    Zyrran said nothing. He only stared at Elian, something new in his eyes.

    Respect.

    Elian exhaled, his Astrae form flickering, then fading. His vision blurred, his body swayed. He barely registered the sensation of falling¡ªuntil he landed in someone''s arms.

    Zyrran.

    For a moment, it seemed like Zyrran might hold him, but then, with a look of disinterest, he unceremoniously dropped Elian like dead weight.

    Kael, reacting purely on instinct, caught Elian mid-fall. "Are you fucking serious?!" he snapped at Zyrran.

    Zyrran smirked, shrugging. "He¡¯s still breathing. He¡¯ll be fine." He had done it. He had finally controlled it.

    For the first time, he didn¡¯t fear his own power.

    He embraced it.

 CHAPTER 21: The Labyrinth of Shadows

    The dungeons of Theradrin¡¯s castle were a twisted maze, a place where time and space bled into one another like ink in water. The torches that lined the endless stone corridors flickered erratically, their light offering little reprieve from the encroaching darkness. The very air seemed to hum, charged with unseen power.

    Siris and Dren moved swiftly, their boots echoing against the cold, damp stone. Above them, the entire fortress trembled. Dust rained from the ceiling as the walls shook under the force of the battle raging in the main hall. Even deep in the dungeons, they could feel the sheer magnitude of the clash¡ªMaldrak, now a near equal to Nyroth, wielding the corrupting power of the scroll. The shockwaves sent tremors through the ancient walls, making the ground beneath them feel unsteady.

    "We need to move faster," Siris muttered, eyes scanning the endless corridors. "The longer we¡¯re down here, the harder it will be to get out."

    Dren nodded but said nothing. His grip on his scythe tightened.

    They ran side by side, navigating the labyrinth, but as they turned a corner, the air suddenly grew thick, heavy, suffocating.

    Dren blinked.

    Something was wrong.

    Siris was still running beside him, his breath steady, focused¡ªbut something shifted.

    Dren¡¯s heartbeat slowed, the sounds of the castle fading into a distant hum. His body tensed as a strange sensation crawled up his spine. He turned his head slightly¡ª

    And his breath hitched.

    Siris was gone.

    Instead, a small boy ran beside him, grinning, his bright eyes filled with youthful joy.

    Dren¡¯s entire body froze, his mind screaming at him that it wasn¡¯t real, that this was an illusion¡ª

    But his heart did not listen.

    His throat tightened, his vision blurred, and for the first time in decades, tears welled in his eyes.

    The boy kept running, his laughter echoing through the hall. Then, in the blink of an eye, he vanished.

    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Dren stopped moving altogether, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. The weight of something long buried pressed down on him, suffocating.

    A voice cut through the fog.

    "Dren!"

    Hands grabbed his shoulders, shaking him. Siris. His sharp, piercing gaze locked onto Dren¡¯s own, grounding him.

    "Stay with me, damn it!" Siris snapped, his voice firm, steady. "What did you see?"

    Dren swallowed hard, pushing back the flood of emotions threatening to consume him. "A ghost," he muttered, shaking his head. "Nothing."

    Siris studied him for a long moment before sighing. "The dungeon is cursed. I can feel it, even if I can¡¯t see it. Maldrak is a sorcerer¡ªthis must be his doing. The labyrinth, the illusions¡­ they¡¯re meant to break us."

    Dren exhaled sharply. "Then we better keep moving before it gets worse."

    They pushed forward, moving deeper into the maze, the echoes of the past lingering like shadows at their backs.

    Farther within the dungeon, Ilara and Varrian moved swiftly through the corridors, unaware of the chaos above them. They had escaped their prison with the help of the old man, but now they had another problem¡ªfinding a way out.

    "How long do you think we¡¯ve been down here?" Varrian asked, his voice low.

    Ilara didn¡¯t answer immediately. Her hands tightened into fists, her mind racing. "Hard to tell," she admitted. "The air feels... wrong."

    "You feel it too?" Varrian frowned. "Something¡¯s twisting this place."

    They exchanged a look, knowing that whatever was happening in the castle was no ordinary battle.

    ""If Maldrak is fighting Nyroth," Ilara said, "then we don¡¯t have much time. And I don¡¯t even have my shield."

    Varrian nodded. "Then let¡¯s move."

    As they continued through the dungeon, Ilara suddenly stopped. Her breath caught in her throat. The corridor ahead had changed¡ªwhere there had once been endless stone walls, a wooden door now stood slightly ajar. A flickering glow emanated from within.

    "Varrian¡­" she whispered. "This place¡­ it looks familiar."

    Varrian turned, following her gaze. "Familiar how?"

    Ilara stepped forward cautiously, pushing the door open. Her breath hitched.

    Inside, the room was exactly like the home she had once known in a small village outside Eldris. The worn wooden floor, the tiny bed in the corner, the single window that overlooked the valley¡ªall of it was as she remembered.

    She moved inside, fingertips brushing the rough surface of the wooden table. "This was my home¡­ before the war. Before everything."

    Varrian¡¯s expression darkened, sensing the illusion at play. "Ilara, we need to keep moving. This isn¡¯t real."

    Before she could respond, the walls shimmered and twisted. The soft candlelight flickered violently, and in an instant, the room around them was no longer warm and welcoming¡ª

    It was burning.

    The village outside was engulfed in flames. Screams echoed through the air. The once-peaceful streets were lined with the bodies of the fallen. And in the center of it all, amidst the ash and ruin, a small child knelt, sobbing.

    Ilara¡¯s breath caught. It was her. A younger version of herself, trapped in the nightmare of her past.

    Varrian stepped forward, ready to pull her back, but Ilara was frozen in place. Tears welled in her eyes as she watched her younger self tremble in fear.

    Then¡ª

    A figure emerged from the fire. A tall presence, stepping through the smoke, his crimson eyes glowing in the inferno¡¯s glow.

    He knelt before the young Ilara, offering his hand. His voice, though lost to the illusion, was gentle. A silent promise of safety.

    The child hesitated¡­ then grasped his hand.

    The vision shattered. The flames were gone. The village was gone. Only the cold stone walls of the dungeon remained.

    Ilara dropped to her knees, gasping for air, her body trembling. The weight of the past had crashed into her all at once.

    Without hesitation, Varrian knelt beside her.

    He didn¡¯t speak. He didn¡¯t ask.

    He simply placed a hand on her shoulder, steady and firm¡ªjust as the man in the fire had done all those years ago.

    Ilara shut her eyes, letting a single tear fall before exhaling sharply. She wiped her face, steeling herself.

    "We keep moving," she whispered.

    Varrian nodded. "Right beside you, my lady."

    They stood together, pushing forward once more into the unknown.

    Together, they pressed on, unaware that they were not the only ones trapped in the labyrinth¡¯s grasp.

 CHAPTER 22: Blade of Duality

    The great hall of Theradrin¡¯s castle lay in ruin. Shattered pillars, fractured stone, and the lingering embers of shattered magic painted the battlefield in eerie twilight. The air pulsed with raw energy, crackling with the remnants of unleashed Astra. At the heart of the destruction stood two figures¡ªNyroth Solvain and Maldrak.

    Maldrak, his body wreathed in an unnatural glow, breathed heavily, but his smirk never wavered. The scroll¡¯s power had twisted him, reshaped him. His frame pulsed with darkened Astra, veins of crimson light coursing through his arms like molten fire. He no longer resembled the man he once was¡ªhe was something more, something monstrous.

    Nyroth remained still, crimson eyes locked onto his foe. His armor was dusted with debris, his cloak tattered, but he stood unshaken. He had tested Maldrak¡¯s strength, felt the corruption of the scroll coursing through his opponent¡¯s every move. Now, it was time to end this.

    Maldrak laughed, rolling his shoulders. "You finally look concerned, Nyroth. What¡¯s wrong? Have I become more than you can handle?" His voice echoed unnaturally, distorted by the sheer power surging through him.

    Nyroth exhaled slowly. "No. I¡¯ve simply decided you¡¯re no longer worth my patience."

    With a single motion, Nyroth unsheathed his sword. The moment the blade was freed from its scabbard, the air itself seemed to still. A chilling silence fell over the battlefield as a pulse of power rippled outward from the weapon.

    The Blade of Duality.

    Its polished surface gleamed with a fusion of Lux and Nox Astra, the two forces intertwining seamlessly within the blade¡¯s edge. Light and darkness, creation and destruction¡ªopposing forces bound in perfect harmony. This was not a mere weapon; it was the embodiment of Astrae itself, forged in an age when balance still reigned over chaos.

    Maldrak¡¯s eyes widened slightly, his smirk faltering for the first time. "So... this is the sword of the Solvain bloodline. I had hoped I¡¯d see it before I killed you."

    If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    Nyroth took a step forward, the blade humming with restrained power. "Then take a good look, Maldrak. It will be the last thing you ever see."

    Maldrak snarled, extending his hand as a torrent of fire erupted around him. From the inferno, a massive sword of pure flame took shape, its edges flickering with unbearable heat. He gripped it tightly, the heat distorting the air around him. With a roar, he surged forward, striking with monstrous speed. The impact sent a shockwave through the hall, stone and dust erupting from the sheer force of his attack. Nyroth met him head-on.

    Their blades clashed, Astra colliding in a spectacle of destruction. Light and shadow clashed in violent bursts, illuminating the ruins around them. Maldrak struck again, his newfound strength making his every blow like a falling mountain. But Nyroth parried effortlessly, moving like flowing water¡ªcontrolled, precise, unshakable.

    "You fight like a beast," Nyroth remarked, sidestepping a vicious strike. "Unfocused. Desperate."

    Maldrak roared, summoning a surge of raw, corrupted Astra, hurling it toward Nyroth. The Guardian raised his blade, and with a single arc, the energy was severed, dissipating into nothing.

    Maldrak¡¯s fury deepened. "This power¡ªthis strength¡ª! The scroll has given me more than you could ever fathom!"

    Nyroth tilted his head slightly. "And yet, you''re still losing."

    Maldrak lunged again, but Nyroth moved faster. The Blade of Duality sang through the air, cutting through Maldrak¡¯s defenses with terrifying precision. A deep gash opened along Maldrak¡¯s side, and for the first time, he staggered.

    Maldrak''s breathing grew erratic. His hands trembled. "No... this power is infinite! I can still¡ª"

    Nyroth vanished.

    In the blink of an eye, he reappeared behind Maldrak. A single stroke followed, and Maldrak froze.

    Blood dripped from the tip of Nyroth¡¯s sword.

    Maldrak staggered forward, his body convulsing. The corruption within him flared wildly, struggling to hold his form together. He turned his head slightly, eyes wide with disbelief. "This... isn''t possible..."

    Nyroth flicked his blade, casting Maldrak¡¯s blood onto the ruined floor. His voice was calm, absolute.

    "Power without control is nothing."

    Maldrak collapsed to his knees, the light in his eyes flickering. The scroll¡¯s influence began to unravel, its dark energy dissipating into the air. His breaths came in ragged gasps as his body trembled, unable to contain the force he had foolishly unleashed.

    He looked up at Nyroth one last time, his arrogance finally replaced with fear.

    "I should have never underestimated you..."

    Maldrak''s breath came in ragged gasps, desperation flickering in his eyes. He clutched his wounded side, his voice a strained whisper. "Wait... you need me alive!"

    Nyroth paused, regarding him with cold indifference. His crimson eyes burned like embers in the dim light. "Do I?" His voice was neither cruel nor merciful¡ªjust a statement of fact.

    Nyroth stepped forward, pressing the Blade of Duality against Maldrak¡¯s throat, its edge gleaming with cold finality. Maldrak froze, his breath shallow, his eyes locked onto the blade that could end him in an instant. The hall trembled one last time, and then¡ªsilence.

 CHAPTER 23: The Labyrinth Unraveled

    Maldrak''s breath was shallow, his body barely holding together under the strain of his own corrupted Astra. Yet, even with Nyroth''s blade pressed to his throat, a faint smirk crept onto his face. He coughed, his voice hoarse but laced with a bitter amusement.

    "You need me alive, Solvain." His fingers trembled as he reached for the fractured remains of his strength. "Your Guardians¡­ they''re still lost in my dungeon. You know as well as I do that the labyrinth will never let them go¡­ unless I will it."

    Nyroth''s crimson eyes remained impassive, the blade unyielding against Maldrak''s skin. There was no hesitation, no flicker of uncertainty in his stance. And yet, the air between them grew heavier, charged with the weight of the truth Maldrak had spoken.

    Deep within the cursed dungeon, Siris and Dren pressed forward through the winding corridors. The walls around them seemed to breathe, shifting ever so slightly when they weren''t looking. The deeper they went, the heavier the air became, thick with the whispers of the past.

    Then, without warning, Siris came to a dead stop. His breath hitched, and for a moment, everything around him blurred.

    A flash of memory¡ª

    A battlefield drenched in moonlight. Blood on his hands. A figure in the distance, reaching for him¡ª

    And then, nothing.

    Dren grabbed his arm, shaking him back to reality. "Siris! What the hell is wrong with you?"

    Siris exhaled sharply, blinking rapidly. "I¡­ I don''t know." His hand went to his temple, as if trying to steady himself. "This place¡ªMaldrak''s magic is messing with us."

    Dren frowned, glancing around. "We need to move before it gets worse."

    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    They pressed on, the weight of unseen memories lingering like ghosts at their backs.

    Further ahead, Ilara and Varrian turned a final corner and froze. Before them stood the two Guardians. Relief flooded Ilara''s expression as Siris, already watching her approach, stepped forward with Ilara''s shield in his hands. But before letting go, he pulled her into a brief but firm hug, concern flickering in his eyes. "Figured you''d want this back."

    Ilara caught it with ease, her fingers running over its surface as if greeting an old friend. "I was starting to think you''d grown attached to it."

    Siris smirked. "Not my style."

    Dren stepped forward as well, offering Ilara a nod. "Good to see you still in one piece." His usual sharp tone was softened by relief, though he quickly masked it with a smirk.

    Before another word could be exchanged, Varrian let out a booming laugh and threw his massive arms around both of them, crushing them in an embrace so tight it nearly lifted them off their feet.

    "If you break my ribs, I swear¡ª" Siris grunted.

    "You''ll heal," Varrian interrupted, squeezing them tighter before finally letting go. "It''s damn good to see you two."

    Dren coughed, catching his breath. "You too, you oversized bear."

    They exchanged glances, nodding in silent understanding. Whatever they had endured in the depths of the dungeon, they had made it out together.

    Beyond the castle walls, the battle raged on, but the tide had turned. The once-overwhelming horde of monsters found themselves faltering as the forces of Eldris pressed forward with relentless precision. The air was thick with the clash of steel, the crackling hum of Astra, and the dying roars of the creatures of the night. What had once seemed like an endless wave of darkness was now a scattered, desperate force trying to withstand the might of the Guardians'' elite soldiers. The elite forces of Eldris carved through the remaining monsters, their unity and discipline overwhelming the scattered remnants of Theradrin''s dark army. Each Guardian''s warriors fought with an unmatched fury, their disciplined formations holding strong even in the midst of chaos. The warriors of Ilara and Varrian fought with reckless abandon, fueled by the rage of their missing commanders. Every strike was brutal, every movement sharp with vengeance. Elsewhere, the forces under the command of Siris and Dren''s lieutenants moved like a well-oiled machine, cutting through enemy ranks with precise coordination, their presence a testament to the leadership they followed. Above the fray, Astra-infused arrows rained down from expert marksmen, thinning the monstrous numbers even further.

    And then, the sound came.

    A great, resounding impact echoed from deep within the castle, shaking the very foundation of the battlefield. For a moment, everything stilled. The monsters faltered, their movements hesitant.

    Then, as if sensing their leader''s fate, the creatures hesitated, their ferocity wavering. They turned their heads toward the looming castle as if awaiting a command that would never come. Fear seeped into their ranks, their confidence shattered. Some turned to flee on instinct, while others fought a few desperate moments longer before realizing the battle was lost. The remaining warriors of Eldris advanced one last time, cutting down those who lingered too long in hesitation. A deep, echoing horn sounded across the battlefield, signaling the retreat, its mournful call carrying over the ruins of war.

    The battle was over.

 CHAPTER 24: The Threads Unwoven

    The air in Maldrak''s throne room was thick with tension, the flickering torches casting elongated shadows against the black stone walls. The vampire lord sat upon his onyx throne, one leg lazily draped over the other, fingers steepled before him in mock amusement. Before him stood Nyroth Solvain, his crimson eyes unwavering, the air around him thrumming with restrained power.

    "You took your time, Solvain," Maldrak mused, his golden eyes gleaming. "I was beginning to wonder if the great leader of the Guardians had lost his edge."

    Nyroth''s expression remained cold. "Enough games, Maldrak. End this labyrinth."

    Maldrak let out a low chuckle, the sound laced with something both dangerous and amused. "So direct. That''s what I always liked about you, Nyroth. No patience for theatrics." He sighed, pushing himself to his feet. "Very well. I suppose I''ve had my fun. And truth be told, I grow tired of this maze myself."

    With a slow, deliberate movement, Maldrak raised his hand. Dark tendrils of energy coiled around his fingers, slithering through the air as though alive. The room trembled as ancient runes etched into the very foundation of the labyrinth glowed with unnatural light.

    "I am the architect of this prison," Maldrak intoned, his voice reverberating through the chamber. "And so, with my will, I undo what was woven."

    The air crackled. The walls of the labyrinth groaned, shifting like a great beast rousing from slumber. Maldrak''s fingers curled into a claw, and with a final utterance in a tongue long forgotten, he snapped them.

    A deep, resonant boom echoed throughout the castle.

    Inside the depths of the labyrinth, Ilara, Varrian, Siris, and Dren were still searching, their torches barely illuminating the endless stone corridors. The twisting paths seemed without logic, shifting and changing just as they felt they were making progress.

    "This is impossible," Siris muttered, running a hand through his hair. "We''ve been going in circles."

    Ilara exhaled sharply. "There has to be a way out. This isn''t an ordinary maze¡ªit''s enchanted. Someone put this here, and someone can end it."

    Just then, the air shimmered, and faint tremors ran through the walls. The ground beneath them seemed to pulse, a sensation like something unraveling at its very core.

    Ilara turned to the others. "Something''s happening."

    Varrian crossed his arms, a knowing smirk creeping onto his face. "I take it that means our fearless leader finally got through to Maldrak."

    Ilara narrowed her eyes at him. "How did you find us?"

    Varrian shrugged, his grin widening. "Did the old man tell you?"

    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

    Siris and Dren exchanged confused glances. "What old man?" Dren asked, his voice as neutral as ever.

    Before Ilara or Varrian could respond, the labyrinth convulsed. The walls flickered like mirages before shattering into fading light. A gust of wind rushed past them as the oppressive weight of the spell lifted. Before them, where there had once been only endless stone pathways, now stood a massive set of iron doors¡ªthe exit.

    The four Guardians exchanged glances before pushing forward. As they stepped into the main hall, their eyes widened at the sight before them.

    Nyroth stood, his back straight, his presence commanding as ever. And opposite him, Maldrak, now smirking with the air of a predator merely entertaining a guest. The remnants of dark energy still crackled at his fingertips.

    The Guardians tensed, hands instinctively going to their weapons, but Nyroth lifted a hand¡ªa silent command to stand down.

    Maldrak exhaled, dusting off his coat. "Well, that was amusing. Shall we discuss what comes next, Solvain?"

    Nyroth''s gaze was unreadable. "We shall."

    Silence filled the chamber, heavy with unspoken words, unspoken history. The battle for survival had ended, but the true confrontation was only beginning.

    Outside the fortress, the victorious forces of Eldris stood tall, their banners fluttering against the wind. Ilara and Varrian stepped forward to meet them, their eyes taking in the scene before them.

    The Sentinels of Ilara, clad in gleaming golden armor adorned with the crest of the Guardians, stood in disciplined ranks. Their posture was one of unwavering honor and respect, their reputation as noble and elite warriors preceding them. Yet beneath their composure, a flicker of emotion could be seen¡ªthe subtle relief in their eyes, the tension easing from their shoulders. When Ilara stepped forward, Captain Edris, her second-in-command, bowed deeply before her.

    "My lady," his voice wavered ever so slightly, "the battle is won. We stand ready."

    A rare softness crossed Ilara''s face as she took in the faces of her warriors, the men and women who had fought for her, bled for her. She nodded, her voice firm but warm. "And you have done well. Better than I could ever ask for."

    On the other hand, the Ironbound of Varrian were the stark opposite. Rough, battle-worn, and fierce, they erupted into victorious cheers, roaring in triumph. Some beat their weapons against their shields, others threw their fists into the air. In the middle of them, Varrian himself let out a bellowing laugh, slamming his fists against their chests as they did the same. His laughter turned almost comically exaggerated as he wiped at his eyes. "Damn it¡ªI''m not crying, you''re crying!" he called out, though tears of joy streaked his face. His soldiers only cheered louder, some even mimicking his exaggerated sobbing.

    At his side, Commander Oris, his second-in-command, clasped his shoulder, grinning through his own misty-eyed expression. "We thought we''d lost you, Varrian," Oris admitted, his voice rough with emotion. "It''s good to have you back."

    Varrian pulled him into a bone-crushing embrace, laughing. "You think I''d go down that easily? Never! Now come on, let''s celebrate like warriors!"

    From behind them, Siris and Dren emerged from the fortress, watching the scene unfold. Siris chuckled, shaking his head. "Varrian, you''re a walking contradiction."

    Dren, more composed, merely let out a small exhale of amusement.

    The elite soldiers of both Siris and Dren then stepped forward, bowing in unison before delivering their reports. The battlefield had been secured, their forces victorious. As Siris raised his sword high into the air, a triumphant cry erupted from the soldiers¡ªboth elite and regular warriors alike¡ªshouting in unison, their voices carrying across the battlefield.

    Dren, ever the composed one, stepped forward as the cheering settled. His voice was steady yet firm. "We need to tend to the wounded. Our victory means nothing if we do not honor those who fought and those who fell."

    There was no argument. Even Siris, always the brash one, gave a solemn nod. "He''s right. We celebrate, but we do not forget."

    A murmur of agreement passed through the ranks, and soon, the soldiers shifted their focus. Healers moved among the wounded, and preparations were made to ensure the fallen were honored with dignity.

    The battle was over. But the war was far from won.

    Back in the main hall, Nyroth stood motionless, his crimson eyes locked onto Maldrak with a smoldering intensity. The air between them was charged, an unspoken challenge lingering in the silence. His voice, cold and unwavering, finally broke the stillness.

    "Now, what am I going to do with you?"

    Maldrak, ever the enigma, tilted his head, his smirk half amusement, half apprehension. He exhaled through his nose, then spread his hands with a dramatic sigh. "Care for some tea?" His voice carried its usual smooth charm, though beneath it, a flicker of nervous energy lingered.

    Before Nyroth could respond, Maldrak snapped his fingers. In an instant, a polished obsidian table materialized between them, two elegant glasses appearing atop it, filled with a deep crimson liquid that shimmered unnaturally. The vampire lord gestured toward the seats with an air of playful defiance. "Might as well talk things through properly, don''t you think?" said the vampire placing the scroll in the middle of the table changing back into his regular form. With that the great battle of Theradrin came to an end.

 CHAPTER 25: The Convergence of Power

    The remnants of Maldrak¡¯s throne room lay in ruin, the aftermath of his defeat stark against the flickering shadows. Shattered pillars and scorched stone bore silent witness to the battle that had reshaped the hall into a graveyard of grandeur. Smoke curled from the fractured walls, and embers glowed among the rubble. The air was thick with the scent of burnt fabric, charred wood, and blood.

    And yet, amidst the wreckage, a single structure remained untouched. At the center of the destruction stood the obsidian table Maldrak had summoned in his desperation, its surface flawless and gleaming despite the devastation around it. Upon it lay the scroll¡ªa relic of terrible power, pulsing with a faint crimson glow, whispering secrets only the damned could understand. It was the last semblance of control Maldrak had left.

    Nyroth Solvain stood before it, unshaken, unyielding. His crimson eyes burned with an intensity that made even the dying flames seem cold. His armor was cracked, his cloak tattered, but his posture was as unwavering as ever. He had won.

    Maldrak, however, had not yet accepted that fact.

    The Vampire King sat slumped against the remnants of his throne, his regal attire torn, his usually pristine face marred with bruises and dried blood. Yet, despite the clear evidence of his loss, he still wore a smirk, though there was something beneath it now¡ªsomething uneasy.

    "You know," Maldrak exhaled, his voice smooth but lacking its usual arrogance, "when I summoned this table, I imagined a conversation held in much more... agreeable circumstances."

    Nyroth did not move. He did not need to. His silence carried more weight than words ever could.

    Maldrak chuckled, but it was weaker than before. He tapped a single finger against the table¡¯s surface. "A beautiful piece, isn¡¯t it? Solid obsidian, flawless. Much like yourself, really. Unyielding. Cold. And yet, even stone can be shattered."

    Nyroth¡¯s gaze flickered only briefly to the scroll. "Enough. Talk."

    The smirk on Maldrak¡¯s lips faltered. "So impatient. You have already won, Nyroth. Do you truly need to press your boot upon my throat so quickly?"

    Nyroth remained silent, his expression unreadable. The weight of his presence alone was enough to make Maldrak shift uncomfortably in his seat.

    The Vampire King sighed, finally lowering his gaze to the scroll. "Very well. You are not a man to be denied. This..." he gestured toward the relic, "is one of the five keys to the Veil. You already knew that, I¡¯m sure. But what you may not know is that you are not the only one searching for them."

    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Nyroth¡¯s eyes darkened. "Isharoth."

    Maldrak let out a breath that was too sharp to be a laugh. "Ah, so you¡¯ve heard. Yes, the great General of the Dread Legion walks this world again. He moves unseen, but not unnoticed. And where Isharoth walks, Hell follows."

    The room seemed to tighten around them. Even in defeat, Maldrak knew how to choose words that carried weight.

    "I did not invite him," Maldrak added quickly, perhaps sensing the shift in Nyroth¡¯s stance. "I am no fool. Do you think I wish for Valthrion¡¯s return? For this world to be torn asunder by the legions of Hell? No, Guardian, I have my own stake in this."

    Nyroth¡¯s voice was quiet but edged like a blade. "Then why work with Hell?"

    Maldrak¡¯s smirk returned, but this time it was forced. "Would you believe me if I said... fear?" He leaned back slightly, rubbing his temple as if exhausted. "It is a rare thing for me, I admit. But tell me, Nyroth, if you had lost a battle to a man who should not even be able to bleed, would you not be a little shaken as well?"

    Nyroth did not respond. He didn¡¯t need to. Maldrak¡¯s battered state was proof enough.

    Maldrak exhaled slowly. "The scroll whispers, you know. It tells of the Breaking. The day the Veil will shatter, the chains will fall, and Valthrion will rise once more. The demons... they are not searching blindly. They know exactly where the remaining pieces lie. And worse still, they know your name."

    Nyroth¡¯s fingers curled slightly at his side. "I am not afraid of Hell."

    Maldrak laughed then, though there was no real humor in it. "Oh, I do not doubt your resolve. But I wonder¡ªdo you fear for your son?"

    A flicker of something crossed Nyroth¡¯s face, gone in an instant. Maldrak caught it, and his smirk grew. "Ah, Elian... the heir of Solvain. He is already spoken of in hushed tones among the shadows. You may be Hell¡¯s greatest enemy, but he is its greatest prize."

    Nyroth¡¯s voice was steel. "If Hell comes for my son, it will learn the true meaning of despair."

    Maldrak tilted his head. "Such conviction. Admirable, if not misguided. You fight for a world that no longer understands the war it wages. Even your Guardians do not yet grasp what is coming. And when the time comes, Nyroth, will you be willing to sacrifice them? Will you be willing to wield the darkness if it means stopping something worse?"

    Nyroth¡¯s expression did not change. "Give me the scroll, Maldrak."

    The Vampire King let out a slow breath, drumming his fingers against the obsidian table. For the first time, real hesitation crossed his face.

    Then, with an almost resigned motion, he slid the scroll forward. It stopped just before Nyroth¡¯s hand.

    "Take it, then," Maldrak murmured. "Take it and see how little it changes. The demons will not stop because you hold a piece of their prison. Isharoth will not falter because of a missing key. As you know, Isharoth already obtained one scroll. The war has already begun, Nyroth. And when the lines between friend and foe blur, remember this conversation."

    Nyroth picked up the scroll without another word, securing it beneath his cloak. He turned, striding toward the ruined doors with the same quiet power he had entered with.

    Maldrak¡¯s voice echoed behind him one last time. "Isharoth will come to Theradrin, you know, for the scroll. What should I do? Lie again?"

    Nyroth, his back turned, paused at the threshold. Without looking back, his voice cut through the ruin like a blade. "No, you should tell him this. If I find out he messed with my son, I will personally hunt him down."

    Maldrak let out a slow exhale, his smirk wavering. "Though, if I¡¯m being honest, he already did. Causing this much trouble was a mere distraction as you know¡ªso he could go to Eldris while you were here."

    Nyroth¡¯s posture stiffened just slightly, the only sign of his discomfort. He clenched his jaw, exhaling through his nose before resuming his stride.

    Nyroth finally left the main hall, stepping outside. As he did, his voice carried across the ruins, calm yet absolute. "Prepare for departure. We leave for Eldris immediately." The war had already begun.

 CHAPTER 26: Ashes of the Past

    The gates of Eldris stood open, but the city beyond them was unrecognizable. Smoke still rose from the ruins, twisting into the sky like silent cries of the fallen. The once-proud walls bore the scars of battle, great gashes torn through stone and steel. The air was thick with the acrid scent of burnt wood and blood, and beneath it all, the suffocating weight of despair.

    Nyroth rode at the head of the returning party, his crimson eyes scanning the devastation with cold precision. His heart, however, was not as still as his gaze. He had seen war. He had seen ruin. But never had he seen his home brought to its knees, not for a long time.

    The streets were littered with debris¡ªshattered homes, overturned carts, remnants of lives abruptly ended. Survivors moved like ghosts through the wreckage, their faces hollow, their eyes speaking of horrors that could not be put into words. Every step forward felt like treading through echoes of screams.

    But Nyroth did not linger. There was only one thought in his mind.

    Elian.

    He moved like a storm, brushing past those who called his name. His boots pounded against the broken stone, his mind racing through every possible place his son could be. The castle, the training grounds, the old watchtower. Yet, each place he searched was met with the same answer¡ªhe was not there.

    Then it struck him. The thought landed like a dagger to the heart.

    His mother¡¯s graveyard.

    Nyroth''s breath caught, and he turned sharply, making his way beyond the ruins, past the outer streets, to the place where only memories remained.

    And there, beneath the twisted branches of a lone, withered tree, sat Elian.

    The boy did not turn as Nyroth approached. He sat before the gravestone, his knees drawn to his chest, his eyes locked onto the name carved into the stone. The wind whispered through the stillness, carrying nothing but the scent of ashes and sorrow.

    Nyroth did not speak at first. He knelt beside his son, his gaze resting on the grave as well. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet.

    ¡°She would have been proud of you.¡±

    Elian exhaled sharply, a breath that was almost a laugh but too broken to be one. ¡°I did it you know...I mastered it, at least for a while. After all this training with you, after all this hard work, I actually did it, and yet...I don¡¯t even know if I deserve that.¡±

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    Nyroth placed a hand on his shoulder, firm but not forceful. "You do. Your mother always believed in you, Elian. She saw something in you that was worth everything. Don''t let doubt take that from you. Remember, what happened to her... it''s not your fault son."

    Elian didn¡¯t reply. He just sat there, letting the silence hold them both.

    "Father...could...could you leave me alone here for a while, please?"

    "Of course son. You know where I''ll be", placing a hand to his head messing with his hair before leaving.

    Elian gave a little smirk, before it faded away very quickly.

    Meanwhile, back within the ruins of Eldris, another figure had already come to his own decision about how to handle grief.

    Varrian stormed into the remains of the Drunken Crow, a once-bustling tavern that now bore the signs of battle. The walls were scorched, half the tables broken¡ªbut the barrels of ale, miraculously, had survived.

    With a smirk that cut through the gloom, Varrian grabbed a mug, filled it to the brim, and raised it high. He laughed greatly. "To still standing when the world itself wanted us gone!"

    A few wounded soldiers and disheveled patrons looked up. For a moment, the weight of sorrow held them down. Then, slowly, as if daring to feel again, someone lifted their own mug.

    ¡°To surviving,¡± they echoed.

    It wasn¡¯t joy. It wasn¡¯t even happiness. But it was something. And in a city drowning in grief, something was enough.

    Away from the noise, in the quiet of the war-torn corridors, Siris found himself walking beside Dren. The younger warrior had been silent since their return, but Siris could see the weight on his shoulders.

    Finally, he spoke. ¡°What did you see? In the dungeons?¡±

    Dren¡¯s jaw tightened. He did not answer immediately. Instead, he let the silence stretch between them before exhaling a breath he did not realize he was holding.

    Dren hesitated, his breath unsteady. "I saw a little boy running beside me¡­ and then he was gone. But I knew him, Siris. I know it was my brother." His voice broke, his hands clenching into fists. "He died because of me. When we were young, we began to discover our power. I thought I could teach him, guide him, but I was reckless. An accident... I couldn''t stop it. He was gone before I even realized what had happened. And now, I see him. In the dark, in the silence. Always running, always just out of reach."

    Siris listened, his own expression heavy with something unsaid. He placed a firm hand on Dren¡¯s shoulder, grounding him. "The past is cruel, Dren. It lingers, it haunts. But guilt does not honor the dead. You carry him with you, not as a burden, but as a promise. To be better. To keep going."

    Dren exhaled shakily, a tear slipping down his cheek. For the first time in a long time, he did not wipe it away.

    After a moment, he whispered, "How do you do it, Siris? How does the past not break you?"

    Siris was quiet for a moment before answering. "It does. But I carry it. I grow by it. And I make sure it never defines who I become."

    Ilara sat in the dim glow of her chamber, her fingers tracing the worn edges of a small, faded picture. The faces within it were a reminder of a life that had been stolen from her¡ªa life that once held warmth, love, and promises that would never be fulfilled. The walls of her chamber felt smaller, pressing in around her as the weight of memories settled like an iron chain around her chest.

    A soft knock at the door broke the silence. She inhaled sharply, hastily wiping away the tears that had slipped down her cheeks. Before she could find the strength to speak, the door creaked open, and Nyroth stepped inside.

    For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Ilara¡¯s breath hitched as their eyes met, and suddenly, the years fell away. The flashes of her past, of that fateful night, of the man who had pulled her from the wreckage of her old life¡ªit had always been him.

    "I saw it, Nyroth... I lived it again. The single most horrific moment of my life. It was as if I was there all over again."

    She did not resist when Nyroth stepped forward and knelt beside her. He did not speak, did not try to offer empty reassurances. Instead, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, holding her as she broke down. Her body trembled, and for a moment, she allowed herself to cry¡ªnot as a warrior, not as a survivor, but as the girl she had once been.

    The silence stretched between them, heavy yet comforting in its understanding. Then, after a moment, Nyroth exhaled through his nose, the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. "I still remember the first time I tried to train you. You were, without a doubt, the most stubborn recruit I''d ever met."

    Ilara let out a weak chuckle between her sobs, shaking her head. "You were terrible at teaching."

    Nyroth huffed a quiet laugh. "And yet, here you are." The weight of the night lingered, but for the first time in a long time, Ilara felt something lighter¡ªsomething closer to peace. Outside, the ruins of Eldris remained, but within these walls, in this quiet moment, neither of them was alone