The first light of dawn crept through the small window of Aelor's cabin, casting a pale, grayish glow across the disheveled room. Books and scrolls were strewn everywhere—on the floor, across the desk, even piled haphazardly on the bed. Dust motes danced in the morning light, but Aelor had no eyes for them. He was hunched over his desk, dark circles under his eyes, his fingers stained with ink and old parchment.
He hadn't slept a wink. The hours had slipped away, consumed by his desperate search for answers. He had scoured ancient tomes, pored over maps, and revisited every scrap of lore he could remember. Yet, every path seemed to lead to a dead end.
Aelor let out a deep, frustrated sigh, raking a hand through his tangled hair. His eyes burned from exhaustion, but he couldn't stop now. The more he uncovered, the more questions piled up. The signs of decay across Aldoria were eerily similar to tales from centuries past—records of lands poisoned by curses, of forests that turned to ash, of rivers that ran black with corruption. And yet, this magic felt stronger, more pervasive, as if something ancient and terrible had been awoken from a long slumber.
He flipped through one of the oldest books, its leather cover cracked with age. The brittle pages whispered as they turned, revealing faded illustrations of dark rituals and forbidden spells. The Council had tried everything in their power—cleansing rituals, wards of protection, spells of rejuvenation—and yet the corruption continued to spread, turning fertile land into a barren wasteland. Nothing seemed to halt its advance.
"What am I missing?" Aelor muttered to himself, his voice hoarse from hours of disuse. He slammed the book shut, its heavy cover thudding against the desk. His gaze drifted to the map he had unfolded earlier, the one marked with all the sites of decay. His finger traced the river's course again, stopping where it forked near the base of the Veiled Mountains.
There was something there, something he couldn't quite grasp. The corruption followed the river, but it also seemed to emanate from specific points—almost as if it was being fed by something. Could it be a series of linked sources, or was there one central heart of darkness poisoning the land?
He pushed himself up from his chair, his muscles protesting from hours of sitting in the same position. Staggering over to the bookshelf, he pulled out another dusty tome—this one a record of Aldoria's oldest legends. It was a book he rarely touched, filled with stories that most dismissed as mere folklore.
"The Seals of the Ancients…" he whispered, remembering Elder Ciryas's mention of the Ashen Divide. There were stories of old, tales of powerful seals placed on the land to keep something terrible at bay. The vampires had once been held back by these seals, but they were not the only creatures imprisoned by ancient magic.
Aelor flipped through the book, scanning for anything that might explain the resurgence of such potent dark magic. His eyes landed on an old illustration—an ancient tree with blackened roots spreading through the earth like veins, corrupting everything it touched. The text beside it spoke of a **Blightheart**, a mythical entity said to feed off the land's life force, spreading darkness wherever its roots reached.
The legend described it as a creature of pure malice, sealed away by the combined magic of the elves and their ancient allies. It was believed to be the source of plagues that had once nearly wiped out entire regions. But if something had broken those seals…
Aelor's thoughts were interrupted by a sudden knock at the door. He froze, the sharp sound pulling him back to the present. His mind immediately went to Rylan, their heated exchange from the previous night still fresh in his memory. For a moment, he considered ignoring the visitor, but then he remembered the urgency of their situation. Perhaps it was news from the Council, or someone with new information.
Reluctantly, he crossed the cluttered room and opened the door.
Standing there was not Rylan, but a young elf he recognized from the village—a messenger clad in simple brown garb, his face flushed from running. The elf panted, clearly out of breath, and held out a sealed letter.
"A message from the Council, Master Aelor," the boy said, bowing slightly. "They've sent word for you to come to the Hall of Stars immediately."
Aelor took the letter, breaking the wax seal with a swift motion. His eyes skimmed the parchment, his frown deepening with each line. The Council was convening an emergency meeting. The decay had spread overnight, reaching the outskirts of the villages closest to the Veiled Mountains. Reports were coming in of strange sightings—shadows moving in the forest, and creatures that should not exist in the waking world.
"Tell them I'll be there," Aelor said curtly, handing the messenger a small coin as thanks. The boy nodded and sprinted off, leaving Aelor standing in the doorway, the cold morning air biting at his skin.
He glanced back at the chaos of books and maps behind him. The pieces were starting to come together, but he needed more time. If this was truly behind the corruption, it was unlike anything they had ever faced before.
Grabbing his cloak and the most relevant books, Aelor steeled himself. He couldn't wait for the Council's approval or their so-called "stronger troops." He needed to act, and quickly. But first, he would hear what the Council had to say, though he suspected their cautious approach would only delay the inevitable.
As he stepped out into the cold light of dawn, he couldn't shake the feeling that they were running out of time. The darkness was spreading faster than he had feared, and if they didn't find a way to stop it soon, all of Aldoria might fall to the creeping corruption.
Aelor stormed through the grand arched corridors of the Hall of Stars, his cloak billowing behind him like a storm cloud. The Council's summons had filled him with a mix of dread and anger. The high, vaulted ceilings of the hall echoed with his hurried footsteps, and the elaborately carved columns stood like silent sentinels as he approached the Council chamber.
The massive oak doors swung open as he pushed them, revealing the circular room beyond. The Council members were already assembled, seated on their ornate chairs that encircled a central dais. The room was filled with a cold, blue light cast by the enchanted crystals embedded in the walls. At the center, Elder Ciryas sat with an air of authority, flanked by the other councilors in their ceremonial robes. Lady Maelin was there as well, her gaze unreadable, while a contingent of armored guards stood at attention around the room.
Aelor barely paused to acknowledge the gathered elves. His anger had simmered all the way here, fed by sleepless hours of research and the Council's interference. He stepped into the center of the room, his eyes blazing with fury.
"You summoned me," Aelor began, his voice harsh and unyielding, "but it seems you've already made up your minds about everything, haven't you?" His words dripped with disdain. "Instead of acting, you debate and delay. And now, the land is dying while you sit in your high chairs, afraid to make a move."
A murmur rippled through the chamber. Elder Ciryas's eyes narrowed, his fingers tightening on the armrest of his chair. "Watch your tone, Aelor," he warned, his voice low and dangerous. "We summoned you to discuss a plan of action, not to be accused of cowardice."
"A plan?" Aelor scoffed, his frustration boiling over. "You call it a plan to strip me of the right to investigate the source of this darkness? You had no right to stop me! I was closer to the truth than any of your soldiers could ever hope to be!"
Lady Maelin leaned forward, her stern gaze fixed on Aelor. "You are too reckless," she said icily. "We cannot afford to lose more lives to your impulsive decisions. The situation is far graver than you realize."
Aelor's fists clenched at his sides. "The situation is dire precisely because you've refused to act! The corruption is spreading, and every second we waste here costs us more of Aldoria's life. If you had trusted me, if you had allowed me to continue—"
"Enough!" Elder Ciryas's voice cut through the room like a blade, silencing Aelor's tirade. "You forget your place, Aelor. The Council makes the decisions that safeguard our people, not you."
The room fell into a tense silence, the air thick with the unspoken clash of wills. Aelor's chest heaved with anger, but before he could retort, another voice spoke up.
"Aelor…"
He turned to see Rylan standing by the side of the chamber, his face a mask of regret. Aelor's heart sank. The sight of his friend here, in the midst of this confrontation, only added fuel to the fire of his resentment.
Rylan stepped forward, a sorrowful look in his eyes. "Aelor, please, just listen to them. This isn't the way. They're trying to protect you. To protect us all."
Aelor shook his head, disbelief etched on his face. "Protect me?" he spat, turning his gaze back to the Council. "By chaining me down and sending others to face the danger I discovered? You think you can protect Aldoria with cowardice and hesitation?"
Rylan hesitated, glancing toward Elder Ciryas, who gave a subtle nod. The silent command passed between them, and Rylan's face tightened with resolve.
"Forgive me, Aelor," Rylan whispered, barely audible above the crackling tension in the room. "I have no choice."
Aelor's eyes widened as Rylan reached for a set of silver chains held by one of the guards. "By order of the High Council," Rylan declared, his voice trembling despite his attempts to sound firm, "you are to be detained until further notice. You are a threat to our mission and to yourself."
Shock rippled through Aelor, swiftly replaced by a red-hot fury. "You would do this to me, Rylan?" he growled, stepping back as the guards began to close in. "You'd shackle me like a criminal because I dare to speak the truth?"
"I'm trying to save you!" Rylan shouted, his voice breaking. "Please, just cooperate. This isn't forever. Let us handle this, and you'll be released when it's safe."
But Aelor was beyond reasoning. He felt betrayed, not just by the Council but by the one person he thought he could trust. With a snarl of rage, he lunged toward Rylan, his hand instinctively reaching for the dagger at his belt.
The guards reacted instantly, surrounding him in a flash. Aelor fought back, throwing punches and shoving them away, his movements fueled by a wild desperation. But there were too many of them. The chains clattered as they wrapped around his wrists, the cold metal biting into his skin.
"Aelor, stop!" Rylan pleaded, grabbing hold of Aelor's arm, but Aelor turned on him with a look of pure betrayal.
"You chose their side," Aelor hissed, his voice raw with emotion. "After everything… you chose them."
Rylan flinched as if struck, but he did not let go. "I'm trying to keep you from throwing your life away," he whispered, his eyes shining with unshed tears.
But Aelor didn't respond. He pulled against the chains, every ounce of his strength poured into resistance, but it was no use. The guards forced him to the ground, pinning him in place as the cold chains tightened.
"Take him to the holding cells," Elder Ciryas ordered, his voice calm, but with an edge that spoke of finality. "Perhaps a few days of reflection will remind him of his place."
As they dragged Aelor away, his eyes met Rylan's one last time. In that fleeting moment, there was a silent plea—a hope that this was all a terrible mistake, that Rylan would somehow undo this betrayal. But Rylan only looked away, his shoulders sagging with the weight of his decision.
The heavy doors of the Council chamber slammed shut behind Aelor, leaving him in darkness, his mind swirling with rage, hurt, and a sense of loss that went deeper than any chain could reach.