The torchlight cast dancing shadows across the dusty shelves of the underground library. Elysiel kept the parchment of The Song of the Soulless firmly in her hands, her heart beating hard against her chest. For a moment, everything seemed to be just a terrible dream, an illusion created by despair. However, the weight of the parchment in her fingers was real. The letters etched into the ancient paper, in a long-forgotten language, pulsed with a dark, primal energy.
She knew that what she held in her hands was more than just an ancient artifact. It was a key — a key to something that perhaps shouldn't be released. But her mind was racing, every thought a mix of fear and hope. She needed to know more, to fully understand what she was about to do. She couldn't take a risk without understanding the price.
Elysiel swept her gaze around the library. There were other texts that could contain more information about the song. Perhaps, somewhere in these forgotten manuscripts, she would find something that would help her understand the true power of this forbidden magic. If her people were already doomed, what harm was there in investigating further?
She began pulling books and scrolls from the shelves, her hands quickly filling with dust as she sifted through the ancient texts. The titles were cryptic and dark: "No Magias Ocultas de Ardhurim", "The Lost Tomes of Vharna", "The Forbidden Songs of the Underworld". Each of these texts contained fragments of stories, bits of legend, warnings about ancient magic that should not be touched.
Elysiel spent hours in absolute silence, immersed in reading. Each new page she turned seemed to add more to her uneasiness. The Song of the Soulless was mentioned several times, always with an aura of mystery and terror surrounding it. Her eyes lingered on a paragraph in a particularly worn book, the words almost illegible. "The Song… spoken in an ancient language… will grant power to the singer, but at the cost of his essence… souls shattered, bodies destroyed…"
She frowned. The legend seemed clear: whoever dared to sing the song risked much more than his own life. Losing your soul meant ceasing to be what you were. Becoming an empty shell, consumed by the darkness she would invoke. Still, the descriptions of power were intriguing. The ancient texts spoke of fairies who had tried to use it to reverse natural catastrophes or resist powerful invaders, always at the cost of their own existence.
The stories repeated themselves with the same pattern: unparalleled power, followed by ruin. The song seemed to grant overwhelming strength, enough to control even the oldest demons, but the cost was devastating. Whoever sang it inevitably lost their humanity — or in the case of fairies, their magical essence — becoming a soulless creature, a servant of the shadows they invoked.
"But what if it's different for me?" Elysiel thought, as her fingers ran across the stained pages. She was not like the fairies mentioned in the legends. She was a princess of Elandor, with the responsibility of saving her people weighing heavily on her shoulders. If the fate of the kingdom depended on her, how could she ignore this last hope?
Still, the fear grew. The idea of losing your soul was terrifying. She already felt the weight of darkness around her, and what if singing the song made her unrecognizable? If she stopped being Elysiel and became a creature of darkness, who would rule Elandor in her place? And what would her people look like when they saw their princess transformed into something… corrupt?
Once again, the words "shattered souls" echoed in her mind. She closed the book tightly, fighting to control the anguish rising in her throat. There were stories about demons responding to the song's call, but these creatures were not like her. They were purely destructive forces, interested only in chaos and domination. Why would any sensible fairy risk releasing something like that?
But on the other hand, what else was left? The healers had no solutions, their advisors were dead or dying. Elandor was falling apart. If there was a chance, however small, to reverse the fate of her people, she knew she had to take it.
Elysiel took a deep breath and continued her search. The name of one particular demon began to stand out in the notes, a name that appeared repeatedly in ancient texts. Seraphis. One of the oldest and most powerful demons ever summoned by the Song of the Soulless. According to the writings, his last appearance dated back millennia, when an ancient fairy tried to use him to gain power over the cycle of life and death itself. The result had been devastating — she was consumed by darkness, and her kingdom faded from memory, as if it had never existed.
"Seraphis…," Elysiel repeated the name in a low voice. The mere mention of him made the air in the room feel heavier, thicker. He was described as an entity of pure power and destruction, but also with a sharp and cruel intelligence. It wasn't just a beast that ravaged aimlessly; he had goals, a sharp mind, and, according to some legends, a fixation on domination and control.
She knew that by summoning such a being, she would not be dealing with an irrational force. Seraphis could very well be the only creature powerful enough to stop the plague ravaging Elandor. But what would he demand in return? Demons never made pacts without a price.
The idea of a pact pulsed in her mind, at once threatening and tempting. What if she could negotiate? Use the power of the song to summon Seraphis and control his will, as the legends said? She knew it was risky, maybe insane. But she was tired of feeling helpless. Tired of seeing her people die little by little.
Her breathing quickened. The night was already late, and the silence of the library seemed more oppressive. She knew she couldn't take any longer. There was no time for hesitation. If there was a chance to save her people, even if it meant risking her soul, she needed to try.
She walked to the deepest part of the library, where the books on dark magic were locked. Using a key she had received from her father years ago, Elysiel opened the old wooden door. The creaking of the hinges echoed through the empty space. Inside, the most forbidden and ancient manuscripts rested, covered in a thick layer of dust.
She found what she was looking for: the place where the Song of the Soulless was recorded. An old book, with worn leather covers and symbols engraved in silver. The words seemed almost alive, pulsing with a dark energy that she could feel even on her skin.
"He who sings the Song will give his soul to eternal darkness. The power will be great, but the price will be immeasurable."
Even with all the warnings, something inside Elysiel clung to the idea that this power could be different in her hands. The darkness didn't have to be absolute. She believed she could control the song, shape its power to her advantage, perhaps even avoid the dark fate that awaited whoever sang it.
Closing the book with a deep sigh, Elysiel knew she had made her decision. Elandor's fate depended on it, and she was willing to risk anything for the last chance to save her people.
Elysiel looked at the parchment and the book in her hands. The song was recorded there, waiting only for a voice that dared to release it.
And Elysiel would be that voice.