The chamber trembled with the thunder of approaching boots. The echoes of armor and torches hammered against the stone walls like a war drum, growing louder with each passing second.
Kael's breath came in shallow bursts as he stared at the satchel, his pulse in rhythm with the pulsing crystal. Let go, the voice whispered again, the words sliding into his mind like oil. You don't need to control the shadows. Let them flow. Let them hunt.
"No," he growled, yanking his gaze away.
Ciaran shot him a look, his golden eyes fierce. "Now is not the time for doubt, Stormcloak."
Kael's hands shook, but before he could respond, the first of the Lunaris Elite appeared at the base of the staircase. Their leader stepped forward—a massive figure in dark, segmented armor, his helmet shaped into the likeness of a snarling wolf. His torchlight cast flickering shadows across the floor, making the carved runes seem to writhe.
"In the name of the Crown," the leader bellowed, his voice booming through the chamber, "Kael Stormcloak, you are hereby sentenced to death!"
Kael froze as the words rang out, loud and final. For a moment, the sound of his name spoken with such venom dragged him back—to the night they had come for his family. Flames. Screams. A shattered home.
They'll never stop hunting you.
Ciaran's voice sliced through the fog of Kael's thoughts. "Are you going to stand there, or are you going to fight?"
Kael's instincts screamed at him to run, but there was nowhere to go. The staircase was blocked, and the shadows of the pillars stretched long, like reaching fingers. His eyes flicked to Ciaran, who was already in motion, his black blade carving through the air as he met the first soldier.
"Take him!" the wolf-helmeted leader roared.
The Elite charged.
Kael stumbled backward as two soldiers rushed at him, their swords gleaming in the torchlight. He ducked the first swing on instinct, the blade whistling past his ear, but the second soldier's gauntleted fist caught him across the jaw. Pain exploded through his face, and he crashed to the ground, his vision swimming.
"Useless," Ciaran muttered as he cut down another soldier, blood spraying across the stone. "Get up, Kael!"
Kael pushed himself up, his teeth gritted, but the soldiers were already on him again. One lunged forward, his sword aimed straight for Kael's chest.
Time seemed to slow. Kael could see the blade coming, the glint of steel, the sneer on the soldier's face. He heard the voice again, sharper this time, thrumming in his bones.
Let. Me. Out.
Kael's fingers curled against the stone floor. The shadows beneath him stirred, dark tendrils slithering out like vipers sensing prey.
"Enough!" Kael roared.
The shadows exploded outward. They coiled around the soldiers' legs, yanking them back as if the ground itself had come alive. One of the men screamed as the tendrils climbed up his body, crushing his armor like paper and dragging him into the darkness. The second soldier fought, hacking at the shadows with his sword, but the blade passed through them uselessly.
Kael staggered to his feet, his heart pounding as the power surged through him. He could feel the shadows moving, feeding on his anger, his desperation, his will. They were alive—and they obeyed him.
Ciaran paused mid-swing, his golden eyes narrowing as he watched Kael. "Well, well… maybe you're not hopeless after all."
The wolf-helmeted leader roared in fury, pointing his sword at Kael. "Kill him! Now!"
The remaining Elite charged as one. Kael's breath came in ragged bursts, but he didn't hesitate this time. He raised his hand, and the shadows answered.
They surged forward like a tidal wave, wrapping around the soldiers, snuffing out their torches, their screams echoing in the cavernous chamber. Kael felt the pull of the Void more strongly now, its hunger a constant thrum in his chest. He clenched his fists, forcing the shadows to obey, to hold rather than devour.
When the darkness receded, the soldiers lay sprawled across the stone, groaning and broken but alive. Only the leader remained standing, his torch still burning, his sword trembling in his hands.
"What… what are you?" the leader stammered, his voice barely a whisper.
Kael stepped forward, the crystal pulsing in his grip, and for the first time, he let the power show in his eyes. The shadows flickered around him like a living storm.
"Leave," Kael said, his voice cold as death. "Or you'll find out."
The leader hesitated, his gaze flicking between Kael and the bodies of his men. Finally, he dropped his torch, the flame sputtering out as he turned and fled up the staircase, his footsteps frantic.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Kael let out a shaky breath, his body trembling as the shadows retreated, sinking back into the edges of the chamber. He looked down at his hands, still tingling with the lingering power.
Ciaran approached, wiping his blade clean on a fallen soldier's cloak. "Not bad," he said, his tone almost impressed. "You're starting to look like a Wielder."
Kael glared at him, his chest still heaving. "Don't say that."
Ciaran raised an eyebrow. "Why not? You are one. You can fight it all you want, Stormcloak, but the Void is part of you now. It's in your blood."
Kael shook his head, his fists clenching. "I'm not like them."
"You're exactly like them," Ciaran said softly, his golden eyes gleaming in the dim light. "You just don't know it yet."
Kael turned away, swallowing hard as he tried to steady himself. The soldiers' groans still echoed in the chamber, a stark reminder of what he had done—what he was capable of. The power terrified him, but the worst part was that, for a moment, it had felt good.
He looked back at Ciaran. "What now?"
Ciaran smirked. "Now? Now we find out just how deep the Void goes."