The blade ignites and the veil is torn.
The prophecy rattles through my mind—a reminder that this is my blade. My prophecy. My destiny.
Kael and Therion return, their weapons still drawn. Kael’s presence steadies me somehow, though his sharp ocean eyes give nothing away. I often feel as though there is a connection growing between us—something inexplicable, magnetic—but on the other side of our moments of connection, there is a wall. A guard that he pulls up and wraps around himself, as if shielding himself from...me.
“The perimeter is clear,” Therion says, his voice low. “But inside... there’ssomething. The enchantment isn’t on this level, but I can feel it below. The air shifts, like a ripple through the threads.” Aetherstride magic in action is a marvel—sensing that which cannot be seen is both eerie and mesmerizing.
“I feel it, too,” Seren says quietly, her gaze fixed on the temple’s looming archway.
She can feel it, too?
I nod warily, gripping my daggers. The hum in the air presses against my skin, heavier now, and I glance toward Kael. His smirk is already forming, and the infuriating curve of his lips is a familiar taunt.
“What approach are we going for?” I ask. “Stealth? Confrontation?”
“Stealth isn’t exactly your strong suit, Lightborne,” Kael teases, the smirk deepening.
“My stealth was fine, thank you. It was the magicked lock,” I remind him.
“Yes, well, stabbing it certainly disrupted the stealth, didn’t it, El?” Ronyn chimes in from above, his grin audible even from his perch.
I roll my eyes, refusing to take the bait.
“The plan,” Kael says, cutting through the banter, “is to approach with stealth. Once we’re inside, anything could happen.Therion believes the enchantment is below the temple, which aligns with the prophecy. No magic unless absolutely necessary. The last thing we need is to alert the entire realm to our presence here.”
His gaze sweeps over us, lingering on me for a fraction longer than necessary. “Stay close. Watch each other’s backs. And remember: if it moves and it isn’t us, stab it.”
I swallow hard, the weight of the prophecy pressing against my chest as I glance toward the temple. The tug grows stronger, pulling me forward, and I can’t help but wonder what awaits us inside. Whatever it is, it feels personal, like the temple knows who I am—and what I’m here for.
“Ready?” Kael asks, his voice steady but charged.
I nod, stepping forward as the others fall into place behind me. The temple looms ahead, its spires piercing the heavens, and I can’t shake the feeling that whatever lies within will change everything.
We climb the winding stairs and push through the oak door. Lyssar Temple is vast and cavernous, its ceilings stretching high above, adorned with murals that depict battles, rituals, and cosmic phenomena. The colors are impossibly vivid, as though painted only yesterday, yet there is an unmistakable sense of age. Columns line the walls, their bases carved with depictions of mortals and gods united, their tops disappearing into shadow.
The central chamber is dominated by a circular pool of water, its surface so still it resembles glass. The water glows faintly with an otherworldly light, as though reflecting Stars that do not exist in the sky above. Around the pool, an array of stone pedestals hold relics encased in crystal, their forms just barely discernible through the shimmer.
The acoustics of the temple amplify every sound—a whisper becomes a murmur, and a footsteps echo like a drumbeat. It’s as though the temple listens, every noise a conversation with the divine. At its heart, Lyssar Temple feels alive, a place that has seen the rise and fall of empires, the forging of oaths, and the unraveling of fates.
The air carries a faint scent of stone, metal, and something indefinable—perhaps magic itself. There is a weight here, as though the temple bears the collective history of all who have come before.It is not merely a structure; it is a testament, a memory, and a warning, all at once.
The pull in my chest grows stronger with each step, like a tether tightening, guiding me deeper into the temple’s embrace.
Seren moves beside me, her steps light but purposeful. Her wide eyes scan the intricate etchings carved into the walls, her hand brushing against them as if to steady herself. The golden light filtering through the crystalline fragments embedded in the walls makes her hair glow like a halo, but her expression is far from angelic—it’s intense, focused, as though the temple is speaking directly to her.
“It sings,” Seren whispers, her voice barely audible over the steady hum of magic in the air.
I glance at her, frowning. “What sings?”
She doesn’t answer immediately, her fingers tracing the patterns of constellations and symbols. When she speaks again, her voice is distant, as if she’s caught in a trance. “The walls. The etchings. They’re telling a story.”
“Have you read about them?” I ask.
Seren shakes her head, seemingly unable to speak.
Therion pauses ahead of us, his broad shoulders blocking part of my view as he turns back, his brow furrowed. “What do you mean, a story?”
Seren looks up at him, her eyes wide and shimmering with something between wonder and fear. “It’s a memory. A song. They were cursed by Eltheira, the Goddess of Balance and Harmony. These people—the ones on the walls—are forgotten. Lost. They sealed their blade here, hidden and enchanted, to be reclaimed only by their bloodline—or someone worthy who can restore balance and remember them. Find them.”
