Chapter 42
The Gathering Storm
The morning air was thick with the scent of damp earth and smoldering embers from last night's fires. The sun had barely begun its ascent, casting faint golden rays over the ruined landscape of Eldarath. Seraphine stood at the edge of the war camp, watching as her allies made their final preparations. They would leave for the Eldarathian archives soon, a journey that promised danger at every turn.
She tightened the strap of her leather gauntlet, suppressing the unease in her chest. This mission was crucial—if the heir truly existed, they were Eldarath's last hope.
Behind her, Dain approached, his boots crunching against the hardened dirt. "The others are ready," he said, his voice steady as always. "We leave within the hour."
Seraphine gave a small nod, her gaze lingering on the distant ruins. "Good. We can't afford any delays."
Dain hesitated, then added, "You didn't sleep last night, did you?"
She let out a quiet exhale. "I couldn't. Too much on my mind."
Dain studied her for a moment before offering a half-smirk. "You're thinking about him, aren't you?"
She stiffened but didn't deny it. "Alaric's heir could be the key to ending this war. If I fail to find them—"
"You won't." Dain's voice was firm. "You always find a way, Seraphine. That's why we follow you."
She appreciated the reassurance, but doubt still gnawed at the edges of her mind. Alaric had trusted her once before, and she had failed him. Could she be trusted to guide his heir now?
A distant horn sounded, breaking her thoughts. Their scouts had returned.
She turned swiftly, making her way toward the camp's center, where Liora and Garran were already waiting. The scout, a wiry man named Tobin, dismounted his horse and bowed slightly before speaking.
"We've scouted the path ahead," he reported. "The archives are still standing, but they're heavily guarded."
Seraphine frowned. "Guarded by whom?"
"Remnants of the Eternal Flame," Tobin said grimly. "Their forces are stationed within the ruins, likely searching for the same thing we are."
A tense silence fell over the group. If the Eternal Flame was already seeking the heir, it meant they, too, understood the significance of Alaric's lineage.
Liora crossed her arms. "Then we have no choice. We have to get there first."
Seraphine nodded. "We move immediately."
The Journey to Eldarath's Archives
The expedition set out within the hour, a small but determined force moving swiftly through the remnants of Eldarath. The path was treacherous—crumbling streets, shattered buildings overtaken by twisted magic, and shadows lurking in the corners of their vision.
As they moved through the ruins, Seraphine couldn't help but feel the weight of history pressing upon them. Once, Eldarath had been a thriving city, the heart of magical knowledge and power. Now, it was nothing more than a ghost of its former self.
Dain, riding beside her, glanced toward the distant spires of the archives. "I grew up reading about this place," he murmured. "Hard to believe it's all gone now."
Seraphine looked at him. "Do you regret fighting for it?"
Dain was quiet for a moment, then shook his head. "No. Eldarath may be gone, but its legacy isn't. If there's even a chance we can restore what was lost, it's worth fighting for."
She nodded, though the thought weighed heavily on her. Could Eldarath truly be restored? Or was she chasing a dream that had already died?
Before she could dwell on it further, Garran signaled for the group to stop.
"We're close," he said, motioning toward a partially collapsed bridge ahead. "The archives are just beyond this point."
Seraphine dismounted, gesturing for the others to do the same. "We go on foot from here. Stay quiet. If the Eternal Flame is already inside, we can't risk alerting them."
The group moved cautiously, weaving through the remnants of once-grand structures. The closer they got to the archives, the stronger the magic in the air became. The very ground seemed to hum beneath their feet, as if the ruins themselves still carried echoes of the past.
Then, they saw them.
The Eternal Flame's soldiers stood at the entrance to the archives, clad in dark armor engraved with crimson sigils. Their weapons glowed with an unnatural light, pulsating in rhythm with the corrupted magic surrounding them.
Seraphine exchanged a glance with her allies. They were outnumbered, but not by much. If they struck swiftly, they could take the guards before reinforcements arrived.
She drew her blade, its silver edge catching the faint light of the morning sun. "On my mark," she whispered. "We take them down."
The Battle at the Archives
The first arrow flew, striking one of the guards through the throat before he could raise an alarm. The silence lasted only a second before chaos erupted.
Seraphine lunged forward, her sword meeting steel as she clashed with the nearest soldier. Sparks flew as their blades met, and she twisted sharply, using her opponent's momentum against them. The guard stumbled, and she drove her blade through his chest.
Dain fought beside her, his twin daggers moving with deadly precision. He struck down one enemy, then another, his movements fluid and calculated. Nearby, Liora chanted an incantation, fire blooming in her palms before she hurled it toward a cluster of enemies. The explosion sent them sprawling, the scent of burnt flesh thick in the air.
Garran, wielding his massive broadsword, cleaved through the enemy ranks with sheer brute force. Despite their superior numbers, the Eternal Flame's soldiers were falling fast.
Then, the air shifted.
A deep, guttural chant filled the battlefield, and the ground trembled beneath them. The remaining soldiers backed away, forming a protective barrier around the entrance to the archives.
From the shadows emerged a figure clad in dark robes, their face hidden beneath a hood. The moment they raised their hands, the very magic of the ruins seemed to come alive.
Seraphine barely had time to react before the air around them crackled, and the battlefield was engulfed in darkness.
The Sorcerer of the Flame
The oppressive magic pressed against Seraphine's chest, suffocating and cold. She struggled to stay on her feet as a low, disembodied voice echoed through the air.
"You should not have come here, Guardian."
Seraphine's grip tightened on her sword. "And yet, here we are."
The sorcerer chuckled, the sound hollow and unnatural. "You seek the heir. So do we."
Seraphine's heart pounded. If they had already uncovered something, she needed to act fast.
With a flick of her wrist, she sent a burst of her own magic outward, shattering the veil of darkness surrounding them. As the light returned, she caught a glimpse of the sorcerer's face—pale, almost skeletal, with burning red eyes that held no humanity.
"You are too late," the sorcerer whispered. "The child is already in our grasp."
Seraphine's blood ran cold.
"No," she breathed.
The sorcerer smirked, raising a hand. "You will not leave this place alive."
The ruins trembled violently, and the very ground beneath them split apart. From the chasm rose twisted creatures—beings forged from raw, corrupted magic. Their forms shifted and flickered, eyes burning with an unnatural glow.
Seraphine barely had time to shout a warning before the creatures lunged.
The battle was far from over.