The Present Day
At the precipice of Aeloria, where the sacred temple crowns a sheer cliff. The ground trembles violently, though the quake is no earthly disturbance. Within the high-vaulted corridors of the temple, the Enlightened Ones clutch at columns and brace themselves against the undulating force, while the temple guardians struggle to steady their footing.
Amid the chaos, an Aelorian staggers through the trembling halls, his robes catching the light of flickering sconces as he presses onward. He reaches the grand sanctum, its carved doors already ajar, revealing the chamber within.
There she sits, her eyes are closed, her body rigid, locked in a transcendent trance. Her chest rises and falls shallowly, her aura almost tangible, pulsing in sync with the unseen force that shakes the world around them.
The Aelorian approaches cautiously, his hand outstretched, intending to rouse her from this spectral state. Yet, before his fingertips can graze her, her small hand shoots out with an uncanny swiftness, grasping his wrist in a grip like tempered steel.
"Your Holiness," he breathes, his voice a steady tether. "Drift through it. Remember—do not fight it."
Liriel's eyes are clouded with an iridescent white mist, flickering for a moment before the vapor dissipates. With a soft exhale, she collapses back onto the bed, her body slack as the tremors subside and the air grows still.
He stands watch at her side to ensure her wellbeing, his eyes never straying from her form as she shifts restlessly. Time stretches in the silence. And then, like a fragile flicker of life, she stirs once more. Her body rises, trembling, and with a soft, haunting sob, she searches for solace—some comfort she cannot name.
The Aelorian, his gaze reverent and steady, lowers himself to his knees. He bows ever so slightly as his hands rest upon the cold stone floor, his posture embodying the weight of his devotion. Her sobs spill like broken fragments, even though the quakes have ceased, for the tremor within her is far deeper than the earth itself.
"What troubles you, Your Holiness?" he asks softly.
She wrings her hands restlessly, her breath shallow, before speaking in a voice brittle as glass. "I'm scared."
He inclines his head, though his words carry no hint of doubt. "There is no cause for fear, Hallowed One. Your very presence shields us from darkness. Let that truth be your light and in it find peace."
With a sharp exhale, she straightens, her voice trembling like a drifting leaf.
"I cannot… I have seen too much."
A spark of wonder ignites within him, his heart quickening at the thought. "What have your visions revealed to you?"
Before she can answer, the deep, reverberating sound of an alarm pierces the stillness—a warning. The drums beat their steady rhythm, and her eyes snap to the door in alarm. Without hesitation, she rises, her hands shaking as she struggles to steady herself. The Aelorian moves swiftly, draping her celestial white cloak across her shoulders. Together, they exit the bedchamber and step into the waiting darkness.
Outside, a company of silent guardians stands poised, their faces as cold as the stone walls surrounding them. One steps forward, his voice grave. "An attack. Shadow wraiths, brought forth by the Dominium. There is an army beyond these walls, and they will tear down these defences before long."
"Her Holiness must be taken out of the temple," another guardian insists, "and taken to Nytheris as foreplanned."
A deafening explosion rocks the temple, sending shards of stone and rubble raining down. Instinctively, the guardians form a protective dome around Liriel, their bodies bracing against the chaos. The air is thick with dust and debris, choking their breath as they wait for the onslaught to reveal itself. When the dust settles, twisted silhouettes emerge from the haze—shadow wraiths with gaunt, skeletal frames.
Half the company surges forward, their movements sharp and decisive. The wraiths release an ear-splitting shriek that cuts through the air like broken glass before they charge. The guardians, masters of divine energy, require no weapons. Their hands move in intricate, fluid motions, summoning golden energy that solidifies into burning projectiles. A barrage of radiant blasts tears through the front ranks of the wraiths, reducing some to sparking ash. But their retaliation is swift and brutal—shadowy limbs stretch and twist into whip-like tendrils, latching onto guardians with searing force. The scalding lassos pull their victims apart, scattering charred flesh across the bloodied ground.
The remaining guardians close ranks around Liriel, shepherding her toward safety. She glances back, her wide, tear-brimmed eyes fixed on the chaos. Shadows burst into dazzling light, but for every wraith felled, a guardian collapses in agony, their bodies reduced to blackened ruins. The attack is relentless, more devastating than anyone could have anticipated. Death sweeps through the temple like a storm, consuming everything in its path.
Liriel's scream shatters the cacophony as her gaze lands on the mangled corpses of the Aelorians who raised her. The sight burns into her mind, igniting a volatile storm deep within her. Power surges through her veins, wild and unrestrained, and the temple quakes once more—this time with her rage. With a furious motion, she whips her hand through the air. The hallway behind them collapses in an avalanche of rubble, crushing the wraiths beneath tons of stone.
"Your Holiness, no!" the Aelorian shouts, his voice strained with desperation.
She turns to him, but her body glows with an eerie intensity. The tattoos etched across her skin—the ones hidden beneath her gown and cloak—blaze to life, their light cascading like molten gold. Then, like ink spilled into water, the illumination darkens, blackness bleeding through the sacred markings. A violent force explodes outward, a wave of raw energy that tears through the air and sends guardians and enemies alike hurtling into the distance.
Sharp debris spears through the torsos of some guardians, their dying gasps lost amidst the chaos. A sobering sight that makes Liriel stare at the carnage in horror as the light guttering from her tattoos fades, leaving an ominous darkness in its wake.
Tears stream down her face as she staggers toward the last surviving Aelorian, her voice trembling. "Forgive me… I didn't mean—"
He clutches his wounded side, his breath shallow but steady. "Your life is all that matters. Not mine."
Despite his injuries, he rises and she tries to help as much as she can. They move forward, unaware of the shadow wraiths that survived the collapse, creeping closer through the wreckage. A lance of shadow hurtles toward Liriel, followed by another in quick succession. A golden shield flares into existence, deflecting the first strike, but the second pierces clean through the guardian's gut. He crumples, blood spilling from his lips as he looks back at them both.
With a grimace, the Aelorian lifts her into his arms and he plants his hand on the back of her head, forcing her face down. He surges forward, carrying her even as his strength falters.
The surviving guardians rally around them, driving the shadows back as they retreat into the temple's underground network. Passage by passage, the guardians seal the way behind them, their powers draining with each barrier they erect. But even as the walls close around them, the echoes of death and destruction linger.
They stagger into the open night, the bitter wind cutting through the devastation. The remnants of the temple loom behind them, jagged and towering, but their reprieve is short-lived. A warband of wraiths awaits, their forms undulating like black flames, eyes glowing with malice. The guardians surge forward, their movements sharp and desperate, pooling the last of their energy to forge a radiant golden shield. The barrier crackles against the onslaught of shadow battering it, a fragile defence against overwhelming darkness.
Liriel twists out of the Aelorian's arms, her breath shallow and panicked. The light within her tattoos ignites once more, spreading across her skin in intricate, glowing patterns. But the light falters, guttering like a flame starved of air. Her legs buckle, and she collapses into the Aelorian's arms. He catches her instinctively, turning his back to the battle and cocooning her against his chest. Blood seeps through his garments from wounds he can no longer feel.
The golden shield flickers as two guardians falter under the strain, their lifeforce drained to fuel its brilliance. Their bodies wither, collapsing into lifeless husks before crumbling to the earth. The remaining two, trembling with exhaustion, summon the last vestiges of their power. They release a blinding burst of light, a final, desperate attack that shatters the wraiths into nothingness. The radiant blast illuminates the night, but as the light fades, so do the guardians, their bodies falling like stars severed from their paths.
The Aelorian glances over his shoulder, his breath catching at the sight of the charred ruin—the twisted remnants of what was once their sanctuary. He pulls Liriel closer, her limp form weightless in his arms. Blood drips steadily from his wounds, pooling at his feet, but he presses onward, his steps uneven and faltering.
The half-destroyed temple grows smaller in the distance as he limps toward salvation, the faint hope of the nearest Nytheris garrison burning in his mind. Each step is agony, his vision blurring, but he forces himself forward—he cannot fail Her.
The night stretches endlessly before them, the horizon a yawning abyss, but he does not stop. His grip on Liriel tightens as the weight of his duty keeps him moving, even as his strength slips away with every drop of blood soaking into the earth.