The air felt different as they crossed into the Blacklands-heavier, oppressive. The land itself seemed to shudder beneath their feet, the once-fertile soil now cracked and barren, ash and stone in the sandy dunes. Low, like coming night, hung the churning clouds of gray and black across its expanse, and faintly in the air a hum was, as if some dirge played on the strings of the earth itself.
Seraphine led, carrying her sword slung across her back, but every sense heightened. Behind her, Garin watched for movement on the horizon. Elara muttered tiny incantations under her breath, keeping their wards in place, and even her fingers glowed faintly as she worked to keep magic contained and ordered around their person. More hardened warriors brought up the rear, having been trained for weeks.
"We'll bivouac close to that escarpment ahead," Seraphine said, pointing a spindly finger toward a rust-red line of hills in the distance. "It should give us some cover while we talk over our approach into the temple.".
The others nodded, but their tension could be felt. For nothing that they had ever seen or been within seemed to compare with the Blacklands. It wasn't just the landscape; it wasn't even the trees, blown and blasted, or the moorland which went on as far as the eye could see, a sickly patchwork. No; it was the feeling, the sense that they were being watched by eyes that weren't there.
"Do you feel that?" Garin asked as they trudged onward.
Seraphine nodded grimly. "The Shadow King's presence. It is stronger here.".
"I don't like it," Elara muttered. "It's as though the land itself is alive—and angry."
By the time they reached the ridge, the faint hum had grown louder, a deep, resonant vibration that seemed to pulse through their bones. The group set up camp quickly, lighting a small, shielded fire that cast flickering shadows on the rocky walls.
As they ate their meager rations, Seraphine spread out the enchanted map Lysandra had given them. The temple was marked with a glowing sigil, located in the very center of the Blacklands. To reach it, they would have to cross a series of canyons known as the Maw, a labyrinthine network of ravines and cliffs said to be teeming with the Shadow King's minions.
We must go quickly, tracing our path through the map," Seraphine said. "The Maw is treacherous, and the longer we stay there, the more vulnerable we'll be to an ambush."
Elara's brow furrowed into a frown. "And when we get to the temple? What then?
Seraphine hesitated. "Lysandra said the temple holds the knowledge we need to either strengthen the seals or destroy the Shadow King. We'll figure it out once we get there."
"That's not much of a plan," Garin muttered, though there was no malice in his tone.
"It's all we've got," Seraphine replied, her voice firm.
The group fell silent, the weight of their task settling over them like a shroud.
The first attack came in the dead of night.
Seraphine was on watch, her sword resting across her lap, when she felt it—a subtle shift in the air, like the calm before a storm. She rose to her feet, scanning the darkness beyond their campfire.
"Something's coming," she whispered, barely above a breath.
The others awoke to their readiness of arms. Garin grasped his bow, an arrow already notched; Elara began to weave a spell to protect them.
It was swift, the attack. Shadows burst through the darkness, human forms wreathed in black smoke, flickering with crimson light. Their forms were fluid, shifting and morphing as they moved, and their eyes burned like embers.
" Hold the line!" Seraphine cried out, drawing her sword.
The first shadow lunged at her, its claws slicing through the air like ripping fabric. Seraphine parried, and the blow seemed to ring in her arm, and then plunged her blade into its center. The creature shrieked, its smoke-filled body dissolving, but more were already closing in.
Garin shot arrow after arrow in rapid succession: each one a crackling kiss of kinetic energy, striking home with precision. Elara's ward flared to life around her, shimmering and repelling the shadows, but it was taking its toll on her face.
"They never end!" one of the warriors yelled, hacking at a shadow that slid past the barrier.
"They're testing us," Seraphine realized, her breath coming in short gasps. "They're not trying to kill us—they're trying to wear us down."
It only strengthened her resolve. With a fierce battle cry she launched into the fray, her sword blazing with all the magic she had painstakingly learned. And the others were right behind, their weapons glowing with their last shred of strength.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the last of the shadows disappeared, leaving the air heavy with smoke and sulfur smells. The group stood there, panting, their weapons slick with black ichor.
"Everyone all right?" Seraphine croaked.
The warriors nodded one by one, though their faces were grim.
"They'll be back," Elara said, wiping sweat from her forehead. "And next time they'll be stronger.".
"Then we'll be ready," Seraphine said, though the words pressed heavily on her chest.
The road through the Maw was gruesome. Canyons narrowed to thin air and swelled into mountain faces, walls streaked with strange, pulsing veins of black and red. The group moved cautiously, their senses on high alert, but the shadows were relentless.
Each night an attack came, more brutal than the last. The group managed to hang on to life through magic and skill, but the constant fighting was wearing on them. It didn't sleep much, and even in its rare moment of rest, the Shadow King's whispers haunted its dreams.
On the fourth day, they reach a chasm as wide as to seem to stretch on into eternity. Across the gap is a narrow stone bridge, its surface slick with a strange, oily substance which shimmers in the dim light.
"This must be it," Seraphine said, referring to the map. "The bridge to the temple."
"It looks…unstable," Garin observed, his voice laced with doubt.
"We don't have a choice," Seraphine replied. "Stay close and move quickly."
They crossed the bridge, one after the other, their footsteps echoing meanly across the chasm below. The air chilled with each step; the whispers grew louder, sardonic, and taunting.
"You will fail," the voices hissed. "You are nothing. You cannot stop what is coming."
Seraphine clenched her fists, trying to concentrate, but halfway across the bridge, the shadows struck again.
They came from beneath the very depths, scrabbling up the walls of the chasm at unnatural speed. Fighting desperately, swords flashing and magic flickering in dim light, they pressed their way desperately across the narrow bridge: there was always a perilous drop out of sight, lurking about the edges.
"Elara, hold the line!" Seraphine screamed, striking at a shadow that had clung to the bridge.
"I'm trying!" Elara shouted, her voice straining as she cast another ward.
In a very steady rhythm, Garin shot arrow after arrow at the moving silhouettes. Their aim was true; the arrows seemed to bury themselves into the darkness, but the shadows kept coming.
Suddenly, the wailing cry cut through the din. One of the warriors fell and slid into the chasm below.
"No!", Seraphine yelled out, stretching her hands out for Kael. She stretched her hands but it was too late.
The loss caused a wave of despair. Seraphine made herself press on. "We can't stop! Run! Run!" she yelled out.
At last they reached the other side, their emergence marked by the retraction of the shadows and by the cold laugh that ran down the canyon, marking darkness.
Seraphine collapsed on her knees, her chest shaking. The rest of them were just as spent, their faces pale and haunted.
"We're almost there," she said, even though her voice was empty. "The temple is just ahead.".
But as she gazed out toward the horizon, hope seemed to take up a place within her. Now there was a temple-or rather, it loomed: a black stone monstrosity, jagged spires pointed into the air like broken glass. So sheerly immobile was its form that even the air around it seemed distorted, and the whispers grew louder, venomous words creeping into her mind.
The Shadow King waited.