Chapter 43
Whispers of a Forgotten Heir
The archives were a sanctuary of silence, untouched by the chaos outside. Dust swirled in the dim torchlight as Seraphine's fingers traced the worn leather binding of the ancient tome she had discovered. Bloodline—the title alone sent a shiver down her spine.
Dain and Garran stood behind her, weapons still drawn, their breaths heavy from the battle outside. The air smelled of old parchment and lingering magic, a reminder that knowledge was as powerful as any blade.
Seraphine flipped through the fragile pages, her heart pounding. Then she found it—the entry she had feared and hoped for.
Alaric's bloodline did not end with him.
Her breath hitched as she read further. He had a child. A descendant hidden from the world.
She turned to Dain and Garran, eyes wide. "Alaric had an heir."
Dain stiffened. "That's impossible. He never spoke of a child."
"He wouldn't have," Garran said grimly. "Not if he was trying to protect them."
Seraphine's hands tightened around the book. The passage revealed little about the heir's whereabouts, only that they had been taken far from Eldarath to keep them from the Eternal Flame's grasp. But one thing was certain—the heir existed, and they alone possessed the dormant magic capable of sealing the rift.
Garran peered over her shoulder. "There's no name?"
"No." She shook her head. "Just confirmation that they survived."
Dain cursed under his breath. "So what now? If the Eternal Flame is already looking for them—"
Seraphine closed the book with a determined snap. "Then we find them first."
A Trail of SecretsThey didn't have much to go on, but Seraphine trusted the magic of Eldarath. The archives held more than just history—they held power. She moved to the center of the chamber, where an ancient scrying mirror stood, its silver surface rippling like water.
"This mirror is enchanted," she said. "It shows glimpses of lost things."
Dain eyed it warily. "And you think it'll show us the heir?"
"I hope so."
Seraphine placed a hand against the cold glass, closing her eyes. She focused on the bloodline, the magic, the legacy left behind. A shiver passed through her as the mirror reacted, swirling with shifting colors.
A vision took shape.
A forest—deep, untouched, surrounded by mountains. A small village nestled within, its people living in quiet secrecy. And in the center of it all, a lone figure—a young man, no older than twenty, standing beside a well, staring into its depths as if searching for something unseen.
Then, just as quickly as it appeared, the vision vanished.
Seraphine gasped, stepping back. "I saw him."
Garran steadied her. "Where?"
"A village in the mountains, hidden deep within the forests." She clenched her jaw. "We have to go now."
A Reluctant Heir
The journey took days. Through war-torn roads, past ruins of forgotten kingdoms, and into the untouched wilds. The deeper they traveled, the more the air changed—magic hung thick, as if the land itself resisted intrusion.
Finally, they found it.
A village hidden between towering trees and mist-covered peaks. It was small, humble, untouched by war. People moved cautiously, their eyes wary as Seraphine and her group approached. They were outsiders, and outsiders were not welcome here.
At the village center, they found him.
The young man from the vision stood near an old stone well, just as before. He was tall, lean, with dark hair that fell in untamed waves. His eyes—striking silver, the same as Alaric's—locked onto Seraphine's the moment she stepped forward.
"You shouldn't be here," he said quietly.
Seraphine took a steady breath. "You are Alaric's heir."
His expression darkened. "I don't know who you think I am, but I have no claim to whatever legacy you speak of."
Garran crossed his arms. "Your eyes say otherwise."
The young man—Orin, as the villagers called him—glared. "I'm just a hunter. I don't have magic. I don't have power."
"You do," Seraphine insisted. "It's dormant, but it's there. And if you don't embrace it, the world will fall into darkness."
Orin's jaw clenched. "And if I don't want that power? If I don't want to be part of your war?"
Silence stretched between them.
Seraphine knew his fear. She had once been in his place—thrust into a destiny she had never asked for. But choice was a luxury that time no longer afforded them.
She took a step closer. "I know what it's like to be afraid of power. To fear what it might cost you. But the rift is growing. The Eternal Flame will come for you. You don't get to hide forever."
Orin's fists tightened at his sides. "I never asked for any of this."
"No one ever does," she said softly. "But this isn't just about you. It's about the world. About the people who will die if we don't stop this."
Orin hesitated, conflict flashing in his silver eyes.
Then, a distant horn sounded. A warning.
The Eternal Flame had found them.
The Battle for the Heir
Shouts rang through the village as dark-cloaked figures emerged from the trees. Their torches burned with unnatural fire, their weapons humming with corrupted magic.
Orin's breath hitched. "No…"
Seraphine turned to him. "It's time to decide. Run, or fight."
For a moment, Orin looked like he might flee. But then his gaze hardened. He turned to face the advancing soldiers, his body rigid with newfound resolve.
Seraphine drew her sword. "Then let's fight."
The first wave of soldiers charged, their blades striking fast. Seraphine met them head-on, her sword singing through the air. Dain fought at her side, moving like a shadow, while Garran's broadsword cut through their ranks.
But the Eternal Flame was relentless. More and more of them poured into the village, setting fire to homes, forcing the villagers to flee.
Orin stood frozen in the chaos, torn between fear and something deeper—something stirring within him.
Seraphine cut down another soldier and turned to him. "Orin! Now is the time!"
He didn't respond. Not at first. But then—something shifted.
A burst of raw energy surged through the air, a force so strong it sent ripples through the battlefield. The Eternal Flame's soldiers staggered, their torches flickering.
Orin's hands trembled as he looked down at them, glowing with pale silver light.
Seraphine's eyes widened. "You can control it."
Orin exhaled sharply. "No. It's controlling me."
Before he could collapse, she caught his arm. "Then let me help you."
He met her gaze, and for the first time, there was trust.
Together, they turned to face the enemy.
Orin raised his hands, and a pulse of magic exploded outward. The flames consuming the village snuffed out. The soldiers staggered, their weapons failing them.
And then, just as quickly as it had begun, it was over.
The remaining soldiers, realizing they had lost the advantage, fled into the woods. The village, though wounded, still stood.
Orin swayed, exhaustion claiming him. Seraphine caught him before he fell.
"You are your father's son," she whispered.
Orin let out a weak chuckle. "Great. That means I'm in for a lifetime of trouble."
She smiled. "You have no idea."
But there was no time for rest. The Eternal Flame would return. The real battle was only beginning.
And now, they had their key to winning it.