Caelum had been walking for what felt like hours, though time seemed to lose all meaning within the spire. His footsteps echoed off the jagged stone, the sound hollow and distant, as if the spire itself was mocking him.
The temperature had dropped drastically, and the air was thick with an unnatural stillness. He could almost taste the power in the air, the same dark energy that swirled around him like a storm. The deeper he ventured into the spire, the stronger it became—until it felt like it was suffocating him, clawing at his skin, pulling him toward the heart of the darkness.
Then, as if in response to his thoughts, the path before him widened into a vast chamber. The walls were lined with obsidian, veins of crimson light pulsating through the stone. In the center of the room stood a massive forge, its flames dim and cold, as though it had not been used in centuries. But it was here—the key to everything. The artifact that could destroy the cult's plans. The heart of the spire.
Caelum stepped forward, his body trembling not with fear, but with anticipation. The Shadowforge Blade throbbed in his hand, its dark power guiding him toward the forge. He could feel it, the draw of the blade's influence—telling him that the moment had arrived.
But the question lingered in his mind, a question he hadn't been able to shake since the moment he had seen Lyra in the spire:
How much of himself would he have to sacrifice to destroy the Shadow King?