“You came!” Lonan’s voice echoed as he stumbled into the hexagonal chamber. His steps were uneven, and his left arms hung on his side, covered in blood. His messy hair was untied, covering the left side of his face. “I knew it! I knew you wouldn’t let me down!” He exclaimed with glee in his voice.
A red-hot beam shot off the crystal staff in Ilya’s hand, passing through the cultists’ flesh like it was nothing, and hitting the wall on the other side of the chamber, leaving melted stone as it faded away.
“Step aside, historian.” Ilya’s voice was cold as ice as she turned the tip of the staff towards the next three cultists. Despite witnessing the fate of their allies, they continued their charge at her. Another beam turned them to ashes and melted another section of the wall on the other side of the chamber.
“For the Old Gods!” The cultists screamed, seemingly emboldened further by the loss of their allies. Ilya threw the staff back at Arwen and stepped forward. As she brandished the blade in her hand, the gem embedded in its hilt glimmered before it burst into flames.
Midhir winced as the blade cut through them with no resistance. The flames burned hot, leaving streaks with each strike she swung. Screams filled the room, and the air grew thicker with smoke, accompanied by the disgusting smell of burnt flesh.
Smoke rising from burning bodies mixed with the mist, obscuring their view further. In a way, it was a blessing as it hid Ilya’s massacre from them somewhat. Though it was also dangerous as Lonan and a few of the cultists were impossible to see through it all. “Cait,” he muttered as he squinted. “Find their leader.” The man wearing the over-the-top helmet had backed off enough to be fully obscured by the mist and the smoke.
Cait simply nodded before breaking into a dash. She snatched her dropped weapons off the ground as soon as she left the protective barrier, then ran into the mist and smoke. Her silhouette quickly faded from his sight.
With a tight jaw, he watched the mix of smoke and mist, trying to see further than just a few steps. From time to time, silhouettes became visible, usually accompanied by the bright light of Ilya’s flaming blade. The screams echoing the chamber began to grow rarer, until eventually he couldn’t hear them anymore. Ilya’s massacre was done – she had either killed or knocked out every one of the cultists. At least those who didn’t escape.
A hand reached out from the mist, bloody and covered in grime. It touched the barrier Willow was maintaining. “I knew I could trust you!” Lonan’s voice echoed. The man stepped out of the mist. His hand pushed against the barrier.
Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.
“Lonan-“ Midhir began to talk, but his voice faded as he noticed the cracks beginning to appear under the man’s palm. They spread throughout the barrier. “What are you – how are you doing that?” he exclaimed, instinctively taking a step back.
“It’s ok,” Lonan pressed further. “They won’t hurt you anymore – the princess took care of them. You don’t need this anymore.”
Willow gasped. “No-“ A loud, crystalline crack echoed in the chamber, followed by a sharp ring as the barrier shattered. A small scream escaped Willow’s lips when the crystal embedded into the stake broke into two distinct pieces.
Lonan stumbled forward. His left arm dangling to the side, he stepped closer to Midhir. “Thank you.” He whispered as he placed his right hand on his shoulder. His pale lips curled up with a genuine smile, and a tear rolled down his right cheek. “I knew you’d believe me.”
“What are you talking about?” Arwen snapped at him. Her fingers clenched around the shaft of her staff as she spoke through gritted teeth. “We’ve been looking for you-“
Lonan’s smile shattered as soon as she spoke. He shot her a cold, almost hostile glance. “Shut up.”
Midhir flinched. “Lonan-“
“Don’t trust her, friend!” Lonan cut him off. “She’s just like that woman – a self-serving liar! Don’t trust a word she says, don’t trust anything she does!”
“Midhir, let’s hurry.” Arwen ignored his words, though her fiery gaze remained locked on Lonan. “We’re done with our mission here.”
Lonan’s grip on his shoulder tightened. “Shut up, witch!” He hissed, then turned his gaze at Midhir. “You’ll help me, won’t you? It’s right there – the source of it all.” He turned his gaze beyond Midhir, through the doorway to the chamber where the broken altar, and the rift through the Veil was. His eyes widened as his gaze lingered on something there. “What?” His voice was but a whisper. His shoulders dropped. “It’s broken? Why? When did that happen?” He stammered; his right hand fell off Midhir’s shoulder.
“It’s always been broken.” Midhir gently placed his hand on the man’s shoulder and tried to lead him away from there. “Willow, find Ilya please.” He quickly spoke before turning his attention back to Lonan. “We’ll find some other way, alright?” He suggested, trying to step away from the door.
“There is no other way.” Lonan shook his head, distraught. “No other, safe way.” He gulped, clenched his fists, and took a deep breath. “We can’t repair these altars. They…” he audibly gulped again, and sniffled. Was he about to cry? “They used the power of the Old Gods to create them. We can’t do that. We shouldn’t do that.” He almost sounded like he was trying to convince himself.
“Come on,” Midhir once again tried to lead him away from the doorway. Where was Ilya? What was taking Willow and his sister so damn long to get back here? Worry gripped his heart – had something happened? Had the mist taken them? He shot Arwen a glance, but she didn’t seem concerned about her classmate or the princess at all – her fiery gaze lingered on Lonan as her knuckles were white from her tight grip around the shaft of her staff.
Lonan shook his head again. “No, I have to stop this.” He muttered, his gaze darting between the altar and the rift at the back of the chamber. “If the altar here is broken…” his voice faded. His gaze turned to Midhir. “There is only one option left, isn’t there?” His voice trembled.
Midhir furrowed his brows. “What are you talking about?”
“We’ll meet again.” Lonan nodded. “I promise I will fix this, once and for all.”