The protective seal had barely settled before the skies darkened unnaturally—no longer nightfall, but a suffocating black curtain cloaked in malice.
Inside the Sanctuary, peace still held. Alaric stood by the window of the war tower, his eyes narrowed as a sudden chill slipped through the reinforced glass. Behind him, Carlos finished reinforcing the final rune circle.
"Feel that?" Carlos asked.
Alaric nodded slowly. "The air changed."
A beat later—boom.
A tremor rumbled beneath their feet. Birds scattered from the treetops in violent flocks. A pulse of dark energy slammed against the warding dome like a fist against a shield. The magical barrier shimmered red for a moment, strained but intact.
Then came the sound.
Screams—not from inside, but from the outskirts. The watchmen stationed at the outer border.
Alaric vanished in a blink.
By the time Carlos reached the courtyard, Alaric was already hovering midair, cloak billowing like wings, eyes glowing like twin suns. What he saw made even his immortal blood boil.
Shadows with limbs.
Dozens—no, hundreds—of malformed, smoke-like wraiths surged forward from the forest beyond the Sanctuary. Their shapes twisted and flickered, neither alive nor dead. Creatures summoned from beyond the veil.
"Spectral Hounds of the Forgotten," Alaric muttered.
From the highest cliff, standing proud and unafraid, Malrik watched through his horned mask, his silver eyes glowing. His voice slithered into the wind.
"Come, old friend. Let us see if your fatherhood has made you weaker."
The Spectral Hounds smashed into the Sanctuary's bloodbound ward.
BOOM!
BOOM!
CRACK!
The dome pulsed under the pressure. Not breaking—but weakening.
Alaric raised his hand, summoning a flurry of blood-red sigils. He hurled them like stars into the sky. They burst into flaming chains, searing into the attacking spirits.
Below, Carlos joined the front line, blades drawn. The moment one of the hounds broke through a soft spot in the dome, he was there—slicing, ducking, parrying, his human body moving faster than thought.
More hounds slipped through.
Maika appeared beside him, eyes burning silver, hands glowing with ancestral spells.
"Protect the inner halls!" she shouted.
"Where's Seraphine?!" Carlos yelled.
"In the garden with Caelum!" Maika responded, blasting a hound into smoke with one swipe.
Alaric teleported midair—straight to the gardens.
There, Seraphine clutched Caelum, whose eyes now glowed with unchecked energy. The boy was levitating, his tiny hands clenched into fists, the ground beneath him cracking from the weight of his power.
Seraphine turned at the exact moment Alaric landed beside her.
"He's reacting—he knows the darkness!" she cried.
Alaric knelt before his son, placing a firm hand on Caelum's chest. "Look at me, Caelum. Look only at me."
Caelum's eyes widened. "Father?"
"Yes. I'm here. And I will always be here."
With a breath, Alaric poured calming energy through his hand. The boy's powers flickered, flared… then softened. His feet touched the ground. He blinked, no longer a raging star, but a child again.
Just then—
The ground exploded behind them.
A larger beast broke through the dome—unlike the others, it was corporeal. A twisted stag with flaming eyes and bones like daggers. A Dire Wraith, born of ancient curses.
It roared and charged for Caelum.
Seraphine screamed.
But a blur of darkness intercepted.
Alaric.
He met the beast mid-charge, eyes burning. The impact shattered trees, stone, and sent a shockwave through the valley.
The stag snarled, but Alaric grinned. "You think you can touch my son?"
He snapped his fingers. A sword forged from his own blood and flame burst into existence.
"Now you die."
In a series of strikes too fast to see, Alaric dismantled the Dire Wraith—limbs, spine, skull—until it vanished into ash.
Silence returned, momentarily.
Then horns sounded in the distance.
Malrik's voice echoed like thunder:
"That was only the beginning."
The echoes of battle had faded. The sanctuary stood—for now—but the unease gnawed at Seraphine like a splinter under her skin.
Something wasn't adding up.
Why had Malrik targeted Caelum specifically?
Why had Alaric, one of the strongest beings alive, flinched when he whispered Malrik's name?
And most of all—why had Malrik been imprisoned in the Council's deepest dungeon for centuries?
With Caelum resting under the protective spells cast by Maika and Carlos watching over him, Seraphine slipped into the ancient wing of the Sanctuary—travel to the ruins of the former Council chambers.
Vines had long devoured the once-grand marble halls. Dust clung to broken sconces and shattered pillars. Yet deeper within, untouched and heavily sealed, lay the Archives.
She whispered a spell taught by Maika, and the stone doors creaked open with a hiss.
Torches flared to life on their own, recognizing her elite blood.
Scrolls and records lined the shelves—thousands of years' worth of secrets and betrayals.
Her fingers trembled as she pulled open the ledger marked with a sigil of forbidden knowledge—the black eye of the Council. Only top officials could access it. And yet, something compelled her. Her hands moved on instinct.
Then she saw it.
A folder sealed in obsidian wax.
"Subject: Malrik Beurie"
She broke the seal with a whisper of flame.
The parchment inside was old, the ink faded, but the truth struck her like a blade.
> "Marlik of the Beurie. Born of the ancient witch clan that once served the royal Elven family. A soul-binder—gifted with the rare and cursed magic to tether one's spirit to another being. The Beurie swore loyalty to the Elves… until betrayal came."
Seraphine's heartbeat quickened.
> "Greed overtook loyalty. The Beurie discovered they could steal not just the souls of their enemies, but inhabit them—using elven bodies as vessels, claiming their magic, youth, and immortality."
A cold wind swept through the chamber, though no doors had opened.
Seraphine kept reading.
> "The Beurie were executed in the Elven Purge. Only one survived. The boy—Marlik—spared by Princess Sylvanna Vaelthorne, believing he could be redeemed. He was taken in, raised within the capital… Until he murdered her."
> "He attempted to bind her soul to his own. Failed. His body rejected the full merge, and he descended into madness—no longer man nor witch nor elf, but something… beyond."
Seraphine's throat tightened.
Princess Sylvanna… Alaric's aunt.
The same blood that flowed in Caelum.
She turned the last page and froze.
There was a painting—a portrait, faded by time.
A young boy with white-blond hair and pale eyes. Innocent.
But beneath the painting was a sketch—what Malrik had become in the dungeons. Horned. Fanged. Hollow eyes filled with shadow.
She dropped the scroll as realization dawned.
He wants Caelum not just for power. He wants him as a vessel. A second chance. A perfect host. With elven blood pure and untarnished…
He could finish what he began centuries ago.
Seraphine stood trembling, her hand over her heart.
"What have you done…" she whispered to the long-dead Council. "You buried the truth—and left us blind."
Behind her, the torches flickered. A voice whispered in the dark.
"Now you see," it breathed. "Now you remember what was hidden."
She spun, heart in her throat, but no one was there.
Just the dust of history—and the sound of a mother's resolve hardening.