The entrance to the tower of Lysandra was a vast, suffocating emptiness, full of precisely the air heavy with malignant power. The stone doors, once chiselled with delicacies of light and of life, lay battered and crumbling as if the weight of this presence wore them down year by year. A bitter chill filled the air, and the faint drift of whispers-unheard of by human ears but felt deep within the soul-rose from the darkness ahead.
Seraphine gripped the tome with both hands, and its weight was once again a burden as she stepped into the dark threshold. The power inside it pulsed, responding to the atmosphere: its connection to the Shadow King growing stronger with every step they took.
"Stay close," Seraphine warned, her voice steady but laced with unease.
Garin nodded grimly, his eyes scanning the darkness, the bow at the ready. Elara gripped her staff tightly, her face pale from the earlier exertion, but her hands were shaking slightly as she gathered what little magic she had left.
"This place," Elara murmured, her voice strained, "it's like. like it's alive. The tower is more than just stone and mortar-it's a manifestation of the Shadow King's power."
Seraphine said nothing, her mind churning. Elara was right. With every step they took forward, the sense of foreboding deepened, and dark magic pressed upon them like a physical weight. The walls around them shifted as though the stone itself were breathing and alive with the malevolent will of the Shadow King.
They moved forward, deeper into the tower, their footsteps echoing into silence, until they reached at long last a great chamber at the heart of the structure. In the center of the room stood an obsidian altar. Upon it, runes shone with dark energy, with a faint sickly glow from the thing itself casting grotesque shadows on the walls.
Seraphine had taken a step forward when her heart got caught in her throat such that she could well stop and run; this was it-source of his power.
The chamber had been suddenly filled by a cold, harsh voice that resonated in the minds like a crashing wave. You should not have come here, Seraphine. Your journey ends now.
The Shadow King's voice.
Seraphine's grip on the book tightened. She could feel its energy crawling down her spine, dark power that seemed to seep into her very soul. The Shadow King was closer than ever, his presence overwhelming, and his voice a weight on her chest. She couldn't quit. Not now.
"You're wrong," she said, her voice flat and level. "We are here to finish it. You won't take the world."
The air inside seemed to shudder with a response, the shadows climbing up the walls like some sentient, living thing, twisting, and contorting. The altar before them flared with life, a deep vibrating hum filling the air as a dark portal opened in its center.
From out of the swirling darkness emerged a figure. Shadows draped its form, and its face was hidden behind a hood. It paced forth with an unnerving ease: tall, impossibly tall, and eyes like coals burning beneath the fold of the hood. The figure itself embodied the darkness, embodied the Shadow King's very essence.
Seraphine's heart skipped a beat. This is it-the final guardian.
Her hands shot up, and the shadows leapt forward, like an army. The air grew thick with malice as waves washed over Seraphine's head, her mind reeling in the sheer intensity of the energy in the room.
But then, the book in her hands pulsed in response to the darkness like a magnet to iron. It burnt with light; runes flashed brighter than ever. A rush of power went through Seraphine.
"Elara!" she shouted. "The book! We have to use it!"
Elara nodded, determination set in the lines of her face, though her eyes still reflected such exhaustion. She started chanting and her staff with a wave of magic set it ablaze as she focuses it onto the book.
The dark shape sensed the difference, screamed, and was beset with rage. "You really think you can fight me? You are nothing but puppets of light, destined to fall into the void."
Seraphine stepped forward, her sword aglow. "We are not your puppets, Shadow King. This ends now."
The figure's eyes flared with fury as he lifted his hands and raised a storm of darkness. In those shadows, iron tended to whip through the air and every strike carried the weight of a thousand storms. Seraphine's sword deflected the first few blows but the force was overwhelming. Her muscles burned from the exertion; she stumbled back under the weight of the attack.
"Hold fast!" Garin shouted, his bow bent and releasing arrows of light. Each one, striking home, reformed the shadows as soon as it was possible to do so, the dark magic holding them together.
Elara's voice rose in a chant powerful enough to shake the foundations of stone, her hands weaving complex sigils in the air. This was like the counterweight to the Shadow King's power, each word and phrase she spoke weaving a thread of light into the darkness.
Her heart thudded against her ribs as she focused on the tome, pulling more of its power into her being. She felt the darkness seeping in, trying to consume her, but she resisted it, drawing on the power of her will, the strength of those who had fought and died for this.
And then, with a last shout, she thrust the book before her, and a great flash of light went out so brilliant that it stood like sunlight filling a room, blinding and lovely. Shadows shrieked, recoiling from the power of light, their forms breaking up to nothingness. The dark figure reeled back, its form breaking, weakening.
"No…" it hissed, its voice now full of fear. "No one can defy me…"
It was too late. Power from the tome together with Elara's spell and Seraphine's unyielding will ripped the heart of the darkness apart. The figure let out a shriek as it was engulfed by the light, and its body broke into dust and ash.
There was silence for a long, long moment.
And then the light faded, and this oppressive weight of the tower seemed to be lifted, as if the air had cleared. The altar's dark glow dimmed, and the runes faded into nothing. Closing up the portal in the middle of the room, sealing the last vestiges of the influence of the Shadow King.
She sank to her knees, exhaustedly. The sword dropped from her hand; the tome fell from her fingers. She barely breathed for the weight of the battle-be it physical or mental-was crushing in upon her.
Garin was at her side in an instant, his hand grasping on her shoulder. "You did it," he said, his voice filled with awe. "It is finished.
But Seraphine shook her head weakly, her eyes still filled with the residues of dark energy that yet clung in the air. "It's not over," she whispered. "The Shadow King. he's still out there. We've only taken the first step".
Elara nodded, still panting from the strain of the magic she had wielded. "She is right. The battle far from won. The Shadow King's forces are vast still, and his influence not so easily erased.".
Seraphine closed her eyes, already planning what was next to come. The war would not yet be done, but for the first time in an eternity, she had a feeling that may last. She and her team had finally broken through to the heart of darkness. Now they would finish what they started.