Chapter Two – The Vorethin
A gust of wind howled through the cracks in the cabin walls, rattling the rotting wood like a warning. The storm outside masked the presence of something else, something unnatural. But Elyreina and Lyrien could feel it.
The moment stretched, silence thick and heavy, broken only by the steady drip of rain from the ceiling. Then—a sudden burst of movement.
The door exploded inward with a sickening crack. Shards of rotted wood splintered across the floor as a towering black mass lunged forward, its form writhing like smoke yet solid as flesh. Its eyes—if they could be called that—were slits of gleaming silver, reflecting the fire's dying glow.
A Vorethin.
Elyreina moved first. Instinct took over as she drew her dagger in one swift motion, the blade glinting in the dim light. Lyrien staggered to his feet, his fingers clutching the hilt of his sword, but his body was weak—too weak. The dream, the exhaustion, the creeping weight of his fate—it all slowed him down.
The Vorethin lunged, tendrils of darkness lashing toward them like whips of pure shadow. Elyreina twisted away, her movements sharp and fluid. She landed on the balls of her feet, crouched, ready.
A flick of her wrist, and her dagger ignited. Flames danced along the blade, the flickering light casting eerie shadows across her face. It was the only spell their mother had managed to teach her before… before everything had fallen apart.
The creature hissed as the firelight licked its form, recoiling slightly but not retreating. It was not afraid—only watchful, calculating. Then it struck again.
Elyreina moved with grace and precision, stepping around its attack like a dancer caught in the rhythm of battle. The dagger sliced through the air, each strike aimed at what she hoped was a vulnerable point. Sparks erupted where steel met shadow.
A near miss—a hair's breadth away from death. The Vorethin's claws raked across her shoulder, tearing fabric, flesh, and muscle. She let out a sharp gasp, stumbling back as warmth spread down her arm—her own blood.
Lyrien saw the crimson stain blooming across her sleeve. Something inside him snapped.
Pain didn't matter. Weakness didn't matter. The sight of his sister, bloodied, fighting alone—it was enough.
With a roar, he charged forward, swinging his sword with reckless abandon. The blade met resistance, cutting into the creature's form, but it wasn't enough. The Vorethin twisted, knocking him back with a powerful swipe. He hit the ground hard, breath knocked from his lungs.
Elyreina cursed under her breath. She needed to end this, fast.
She lunged again, her blade a streak of fire through the darkness. The flames seared against the creature's form, forcing it back, but it did not fall. It would take more than a single blade to kill it.
Then, the air changed.
A heat surged through the room—wild, untamed, dangerous.
Elyreina barely had time to react before flames erupted around them. Not from her dagger, but from Lyrien.
He stood there, eyes glowing like embers, flames licking up his arms, his hands, the very air around him. He didn't control it—he was consumed by it.
The fire spread—everywhere. The wooden walls ignited in an instant, the roof groaning as the heat devoured it. The Vorethin shrieked, its form writhing as the flames tore through it.
Elyreina shielded her face from the sudden blaze, staggering back toward her brother. "Lyrien!" she shouted, but he didn't hear her. He was lost in his own fury.
And then—he collapsed.
The fire did not die, but it no longer moved with aggression. It simply burned, untamed but directionless.
Elyreina rushed to him, her injured shoulder screaming in protest as she dropped to her knees beside him. His breathing was shallow, his body drained, the heat around him slowly fading.
The Vorethin—gone. Nothing but blackened ash remained where it once stood.
The storm still raged outside, but inside the cabin, everything burned.
Elyreina gritted her teeth. They had to move—now.
She grabbed Lyrien, struggling under his weight, and dragged him toward the door as the fire consumed what little remained of their shelter.
The night was far from over.
And they were far from safe.
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