The morning sun struggled to pierce the thick fog that clung to Blackthorn. Eleanor, Lena, and Seraphae gathered in the Thorncroft library, the Codex of Light and Shadow spread across the table like a battlefield map. Eleanor’s dark eyes scanned its cryptic pages, her mind weaving connections between the Five Core Gods and the Obelisk.

“We’ve been looking at this wrong,” Eleanor murmured, her voice barely audible. “The Obelisk isn’t just a bridge—it’s a lock. The shards… they’re the keys.”

Lena leaned closer, her auburn hair brushing her sister’s shoulder. “If the Obelisk is a lock, then what’s it holding back?”

“That’s the question,” Eleanor replied, tracing her fingers over an intricate illustration. It depicted the Five Core Gods standing in a circle, their divine forms radiating power. In their center, a dark void pulsed, tendrils of shadow snaking outward. Below the image was a line of text written in an ancient tongue.

Seraphae, standing near the window with her arms crossed, glanced toward the sisters. “Whatever it is, the cult thinks it’s worth unleashing,” she said, her tone cautious. “That makes them desperate—and dangerous.”

Before Eleanor could respond, a sharp knock interrupted them. Theodore entered, his face pale and tight with worry. “The square,” he said grimly. “The cult is making their move.”

The sisters exchanged tense glances before following Theodore into the village.

The square was a maelstrom of chaos. Hooded cultists surrounded a makeshift altar, where a shard sat, pulsating with ominous light. Villagers knelt or fled, their faces pale with terror. Above them, the air shimmered unnaturally, as though reality itself resisted the shard's presence.

Eleanor stepped forward, her voice cutting through the commotion. “Stop this! Whatever you think you’re doing, it’s going to destroy you.”

The cultist holding the shard turned slowly, their hood falling back to reveal a gaunt, pale face. Their lips twisted into a manic smile. “It’s already begun, Thorncroft. The Obelisk has chosen us. Do you think you can stand against destiny?”

“Destiny?” Eleanor snapped. “You mean destruction. You’re blind to what this thing truly is.”

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The shard’s light flared, a wave of energy rippling outward. Shadows coalesced, forming into a massive, amorphous creature that loomed over the square. Its edges flickered and warped, its cold, hollow gaze locking onto Eleanor.

“Get the villagers out of here!” Eleanor barked. Lena and Seraphae sprang into action, guiding the terrified villagers toward safety.

The beast roared, its voice a bone-rattling cacophony. Eleanor’s heart pounded, but she stood firm. The mark on her arm flared, searing with heat as Aeryth’s power surged through her. She raised her hand, the mark glowing brighter.

The creature lunged, its massive form moving unnaturally fast. Eleanor thrust her marked hand forward, a blazing arc of flame shooting out and striking the beast. It recoiled with an agonized roar, its form flickering.

The strain was immediate. Eleanor’s vision blurred, her knees buckling. She clenched her teeth, forcing herself to stay upright. The mark pulsed again, sending another searing wave of fire at the creature. It shrieked, its form destabilizing but refusing to dissipate.

The cultists began chanting, their voices rising in unison. The shard’s light grew stronger, feeding the creature. Eleanor felt the heat in her mark turn to a burning ache. The power was raw and wild, threatening to consume her if she didn’t control it.

“Damn it,” Eleanor hissed, falling to one knee as the beast advanced. She forced the mark to flare again, summoning a final burst of fire that engulfed the creature. It writhed, letting out a final, deafening screech before collapsing into a pool of darkness.

The square fell silent, the tension hanging heavy in the air. Eleanor’s mark dimmed, the heat fading into a cold ache that settled deep in her bones. She stared at the now-empty space where the beast had been, her breaths ragged.

Lena approached, her face pale with worry. “Eleanor, are you—”

“I’m fine,” Eleanor interrupted, though the tremble in her voice betrayed her exhaustion. She pressed a gloved hand over her mark, hiding the faint, flickering glow. “Just… get everyone back to safety.”

Seraphae’s gaze lingered on Eleanor, her expression unreadable. “That mark,” she said quietly. “It’s not just power—it’s something alive.”

Eleanor shot her a sharp look. “I don’t need your commentary, Seraphae. I need solutions.”

Seraphae held up her hands, backing off. “Fair enough. But that thing didn’t come out of nowhere. The cult is escalating.”

Back at the Thorncroft estate, the atmosphere was heavy. Eleanor sat by the library’s hearth, staring into the flickering flames as Lena fussed over her.

“You’re pushing yourself too hard,” Lena said, placing a warm cloth over Eleanor’s hand. “This power—it’s not natural. You need to stop using it.”

“I can’t,” Eleanor replied, her voice low. “If I don’t, who will? The cult isn’t going to stop, Lena. And that thing... that was just a shadow of what’s coming.”

Lena frowned, her frustration evident. “But at what cost, Eleanor? What happens when it consumes you?”

Eleanor didn’t answer. Her gaze remained fixed on the flames, the weight of Aeryth’s power pressing down on her like a chain. For now, she had held the darkness at bay. But she knew it was only a matter of time before the mark demanded more.