Chapter 41
Shadows of the Past
The rift pulsed with an eerie light, casting long shadows across the desolate ruins of Eldarath. Seraphine stood at its edge, gripping the hilt of her sword with white-knuckled fingers. A cold wind rushed past her, carrying whispers from a time long gone—voices of the fallen, of the betrayed, of those who had once called this place home.
But none of them struck her as deeply as the voice that came next.
"Why did you betray me?"
The words seeped into her mind, chilling her more than the wind. She turned sharply, her heart pounding against her ribs. There, standing amidst the swirling mist of the rift, was Alaric. Not as a broken spirit nor a mere memory, but as if he had stepped right out of the past. His silver hair was as she remembered, his dark eyes filled with something unreadable—sorrow, perhaps, or disappointment.
Seraphine's throat tightened. "I didn't betray you."
Alaric tilted his head slightly, his gaze never leaving hers. "Didn't you?" His voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of the past, of choices that could not be undone.
Seraphine clenched her jaw. The memories she had buried for so long clawed their way back into her mind. The night Alaric fell. The battle that had torn Eldarath apart. The moment she had chosen to save herself rather than stand by him.
The guilt she had pushed aside now rose like a tide, threatening to drown her.
"I thought I was doing what was right," she finally admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
Alaric let out a low chuckle, though there was no humor in it. "And was it right? Look around you, Seraphine." He gestured toward the ruins, to the endless sky fractured by the rift's light. "Was this worth it?"
She had no answer.
Behind her, footsteps approached.
"Seraphine?"
It was Dain, his voice steady but cautious. He was one of her most trusted allies, a warrior who had fought by her side since the fall of Eldarath. He stopped beside her, his sharp gaze scanning the area. But when she looked back at where Alaric had stood, he was gone.
Dain frowned. "What's wrong?"
Seraphine exhaled, shaking her head. "Nothing. Just… ghosts."
Dain studied her for a long moment but didn't press further. Instead, he looked toward the rift. "It's growing again."
She followed his gaze. The swirling vortex of magic had expanded, creeping further into what remained of Eldarath's ruins. It wasn't just consuming the city—it was bleeding into the world beyond. The lands beyond the rift were beginning to fracture, and soon, it would spread beyond their reach.
"We don't have time to dwell on the past," Dain continued. "If we don't act soon, the rift will swallow everything."
Seraphine nodded, forcing herself to focus. Alaric's words still lingered in her mind, but she pushed them aside. There were greater battles ahead.
"Gather the others," she said, turning away from the rift. "It's time to move."
The Gathering
The makeshift war camp was set up a safe distance from the rift's expansion. It wasn't much—tattered tents, supply crates stacked haphazardly, and weary soldiers resting wherever they could—but it was what they had.
Seraphine entered the largest tent, where her closest allies waited. The fire in the center flickered, casting shadows on their faces. Dain had already arrived, along with Liora, a powerful mage whose abilities were crucial in stabilizing what little magic they could still control. Next to her sat Garran, a former knight who had once served Eldarath's royal guard before the kingdom fell. Others were scattered around the room, some sitting in silence, others murmuring amongst themselves.
"We don't have much time," Seraphine began, stepping forward. "The rift is expanding faster than we anticipated. If we don't act now, we'll lose our chance to stop it."
Liora sighed, running a hand through her auburn hair. "And what exactly is our plan? We've tried everything—binding spells, sealing rituals, even blood magic. Nothing has worked."
Seraphine hesitated. She knew what they needed, but saying it aloud would only bring more resistance.
"We need to find Alaric's heir."
Silence fell over the room.
Garran's brows furrowed. "What are you talking about? Alaric had no heir. He was the last of his line."
"That's what we believed," Seraphine said. "But it isn't true. There is someone out there—someone who carries his blood and, more importantly, his magic. If we can find them, they might be the key to sealing the rift for good."
Dain crossed his arms. "And how exactly do you know this?"
Seraphine hesitated for a moment before answering. "Alaric told me."
Liora scoffed. "Alaric is dead."
"I know," she snapped. "But I saw him—his spirit, his essence, whatever you want to call it. He spoke to me through the rift. He told me his bloodline still exists."
Garran leaned forward, his expression unreadable. "And you believe him?"
Seraphine met his gaze without hesitation. "I do."
Silence stretched between them. Then, finally, Dain sighed. "If you're right, and there is someone out there, how do we find them?"
Seraphine took a deep breath. "There are old records—kept in the ruins of the Eldarathian archives. If there's any trace of Alaric's lineage, it will be there. We need to go back into the ruins and find them."
Liora frowned. "That place is a death trap. The closer we get to the rift, the more unstable the magic becomes. We'd be risking our lives."
"We're already risking our lives," Seraphine countered. "This is our only chance. If we don't do this, we lose everything."
For a moment, no one spoke. Then, one by one, they nodded.
Garran stood. "Then we leave at first light."
Seraphine exhaled, tension easing slightly from her shoulders. This was only the beginning, but it was a step forward.
Still, as the meeting dispersed and she stepped out into the cool night air, her mind drifted back to Alaric's words.
"Was it worth it?"
She didn't have an answer. Not yet.
But soon, she would.
And she feared she wouldn't like it.