The Heart of Power
The chamber housing the relic was bathed in an eerie crimson light, the artifact's pulsing glow reflecting off the polished stone walls. Sorcerers moved around it with cautious urgency, their chants filling the room as they struggled to stabilize the artifact's volatile energy. The air was thick with tension, every movement calculated to avoid triggering a catastrophic surge.
Prince Lysander stood at the edge of the chamber, his emerald eyes fixed on the relic. He wore an expression of cold determination, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. Despite the sorcerers' warnings, he refused to entertain doubt.
"How long?" he asked, his voice slicing through the murmurs like a blade.
The lead sorcerer stepped forward, her face pale and strained. "The relic is unstable, Your Highness. It may not withstand another activation without fracturing."
Lysander's gaze darkened. "I didn't ask for excuses. I asked for a timeline."
The sorcerer hesitated before bowing her head. "It will be ready by nightfall, but the longer we push it, the greater the risk."
"Then prepare it," Lysander ordered sharply. "We strike tonight."
---
A Ruthless Plan
Lysander left the chamber and strode through the grand halls of Fleur's capital, his boots echoing against the marble floors. He entered the war room where his generals awaited, their faces a mix of anticipation and unease.
"Tonight, we end this farce of an alliance," Lysander declared, slamming his hand onto the table. The map of the battlefield trembled under the force. "Mondell's forces are stretched thin, their morale fragile. We'll use the relic to fracture their lines, then crush them with our full might."
One general, a grizzled veteran with a scar running down his cheek, spoke cautiously. "The relic's instability is a concern, Your Highness. If it fails during the attack—"
"It won't fail," Lysander snapped, his voice like a whip. "Mondell's precious alliance is built on lies and desperation. They'll fall before they even see us coming."
Another general leaned forward, his tone more strategic. "The Arabic and Eastern forces are Mondell's strongest allies. If we target their leaders during the attack, their armies will crumble."
Lysander smirked. "Precisely. Focus the relic's power on their flanks. Leave Mondell's center exposed. Let him think he has a chance, and then we'll cut him down."
The generals nodded, their initial hesitation giving way to grim determination. Lysander's confidence was infectious, even if it bordered on arrogance.
---
A Personal Vendetta
Later, Lysander stood alone in his private chambers, staring out over the sprawling city. The weight of the upcoming battle pressed down on him, but beneath it burned a personal vendetta. He clenched his fists, his mind replaying the moment Atlas had disrupted his plans.
"De Luna," he muttered, his voice dripping with venom. "You think you can interfere and walk away unscathed?"
He turned to a small table where a map of the allied camp lay, dotted with detailed markers. His eyes lingered on the section where Atlas had been spotted. A cruel smile tugged at his lips.
"If you're so eager to die a hero, I'll make sure it's a death worth remembering."
---
The Relic's Final Test
Back in the relic chamber, the sorcerers completed their preparations. The artifact's glow intensified, its pulsating light filling the room with a sense of foreboding. The lead sorcerer stepped back, wiping sweat from her brow as she addressed Lysander, who had returned to oversee the final stages.
"It's ready, Your Highness," she said, her voice trembling slightly.
Lysander approached the relic, his expression unreadable as he reached out to place a hand on its surface. The energy coursing through it was almost overwhelming, sending a jolt up his arm that made him clench his teeth.
"Power," he whispered, his eyes alight with a dangerous mix of awe and ambition. "This is what true power feels like."
The sorcerer spoke again, her tone laced with warning. "Prolonged use will push it beyond its limits. If it shatters—"
"It won't," Lysander cut her off, his gaze never leaving the relic. "Tonight, Mondell and his pathetic alliance will learn the price of defiance."
He stepped back, addressing his generals with a commanding tone. "Move the relic to the front. When the battle begins, unleash its full power. We'll end this war in one strike."
The generals saluted and left to carry out his orders, leaving Lysander alone with the artifact. He stared at it for a long moment, the faint hum of its energy filling the silence.
"This is my legacy," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "And no one will take it from me."
---
Shadows of Betrayal
As the relic was carefully loaded onto a reinforced carriage, a figure watched from the shadows of the palace corridors. It was one of Lysander's sorcerers, her expression conflicted as she clutched a small, glowing crystal in her hands.
"If the relic fractures, it won't just end the battle—it'll destroy us all," she whispered to herself.
Her gaze shifted toward the horizon, where the allied camp lay hidden beyond the hills. With a determined breath, she slipped into the shadows, the crystal clutched tightly in her palm.
The storm was coming, and not everyone in Fleur's ranks was willing to see it through.