The trio—Kael, Eryndor, and Lyra—rested in the shadow of a crumbling ruin, the blood-red sun casting long shadows across the cracked earth. Kael stared at the shard in his hand, its faint glow a constant reminder of the power he now carried—and the danger it posed.
"We can't stay here," Eryndor said, their voice low and urgent. "Drakthar will regroup, and he won't stop until he has the shard."
Lyra leaned against the wall, her blade resting on her shoulder. "He's not the only one after these shards. There are others—warlords, mercenaries, even monsters—who'd kill for a piece of the Ashen Throne."
Kael frowned, his fingers tightening around the shard. "Then we need to find the next one before they do. Where is it?"
Eryndor's gaze shifted to the horizon, where the jagged silhouette of a massive structure loomed. "The Shattered Citadel," they said. "It's a fortress built during the height of Eryndor's power. The second shard is hidden there, guarded by traps and creatures even Drakthar wouldn't dare face."
Lyra raised an eyebrow. "And you think we can?"
"We don't have a choice," Kael said, his voice firm. "If Drakthar gets his hands on another shard, we're all dead."
The journey to the citadel was fraught with danger. The wasteland was alive with monstrous creatures, their glowing eyes and twisted forms a testament to the Sundering's corruption. Kael's cursed chain flared more than once, its dark energy driving the creatures back but leaving him drained and shaken.
As they approached the citadel, the scale of the structure became clear. It was a towering monolith of black stone, its walls cracked and crumbling but still imposing. The air around it was thick with an oppressive energy, and the ground was littered with the bones of those who had tried—and failed—to breach its defenses.
"Stay close," Eryndor warned as they stepped through the citadel's shattered gates. "The traps here are ancient and deadly."
The interior was a maze of crumbling hallways and shadowed chambers. The walls were lined with intricate carvings, their meanings lost to time. Kael's chain hummed faintly, its glow growing brighter as they ventured deeper into the citadel.
The first trap was triggered by Lyra, her foot brushing against a hidden pressure plate. The walls shifted, revealing a barrage of arrows that would have skewered them if not for Eryndor's quick reflexes. They moved cautiously after that, their progress slow but steady.
In the heart of the citadel, they found the shard. It was suspended in a beam of light, its glow casting eerie shadows across the chamber. But as Kael reached for it, the ground trembled, and a massive creature emerged from the shadows—a guardian, its body made of stone and its eyes glowing with malevolent light.
The battle was fierce. Kael's chain flared with dark energy, but the creature was relentless, its stone fists shattering the ground with every blow. Lyra's blade struck true, but the creature seemed immune to her attacks. It was Eryndor who finally found its weakness, their magic striking at the glowing core in its chest.
As the creature crumbled, Kael grabbed the shard, its power surging through him. But the victory was short-lived. The citadel began to collapse, the ancient structure unable to withstand the strain of the battle.
"Run!" Eryndor shouted, their voice barely audible over the roar of falling stone.
The trio barely made it out alive, the citadel collapsing behind them in a cloud of dust and debris. As they caught their breath, Kael looked at the two shards in his hand, their combined glow casting an eerie light on his face.
"Two down," he said, his voice grim. "How many more are there?"
Eryndor's expression was unreadable. "Too many. And the next one won't be so easy to find."