The city was cloaked in an eerie stillness. The remains of the obsidian spire lay scattered in jagged pieces, a grim reminder of the battle that had just ended. Aethren's breathing was shallow, his body weighed down by fatigue and the lingering pull of abyssal energy. Elyra knelt beside him, her face etched with concern.

“Aethren, are you with me?” Her voice was soft, but there was an edge to it—a fear she couldn’t quite hide.

He opened his eyes slowly, the glow of abyssal power fading from his irises. “I’m here,” he murmured. The shadows in his mind were quieter now, though he knew they were never truly gone. They lingered, waiting for a moment of weakness to reclaim him.

Elyra brushed a lock of damp hair from his forehead. “We need to move. There’s no telling how long we have before something else comes through.”

He nodded, pushing himself to his feet with a groan. His muscles screamed in protest, but he couldn’t afford to rest. Not now.

A Broken City

They walked through the streets in silence, the destruction around them a testament to the chaos they had barely contained. Buildings lay in ruins, windows shattered, and the air was thick with the scent of smoke and scorched stone. A few survivors peered out from behind debris, their eyes hollow with fear and confusion.

Aethren’s chest tightened. These people didn’t know the true extent of what had happened. They only knew that their world had cracked, and the pieces no longer fit together.

A young boy, his face smudged with soot, clutched a broken toy as he stared at Aethren and Elyra. His eyes, wide with fear, seemed to plead for answers.

Aethren’s throat tightened. How many more lives will be shattered because of me?

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Elyra placed a hand on his shoulder. “We can’t save everyone. But we can keep fighting.”

He nodded, though the weight of guilt pressed harder against his ribs.

Suddenly, the boy’s eyes went blank, his body stiffening. A cold shiver raced down Aethren’s spine.

The boy’s mouth opened, but the voice that emerged was not his own.

“You think you’ve won, Vessel?”

Aethren’s blood ran cold. The voice was smooth, laced with venom and amusement—the unmistakable tone of the Shadow Sovereign.

Elyra stepped between Aethren and the boy, her daggers flashing. “Get out of him.”

The boy’s lips curled into a cruel smile. “Oh, I’m not here to fight. I’m here to remind you that this world belongs to the shadows now. You delay the inevitable.”

Aethren clenched his fists, his teeth grinding together. “Get out of him!” he shouted, his voice shaking with rage.

The boy’s eyes flickered with shadow, and for a moment, his true self surfaced—a frightened child trapped in darkness. Then the shadows released him, and the boy crumpled to the ground, sobbing.

Elyra scooped him up, whispering soothing words as his cries wracked his small body.

Aethren felt a fury rise within him, the edges of his vision darkening. The Shadow Sovereign’s taunts were more than just words—they were a promise of continued torment. The abyssal forces wouldn’t stop until they had consumed everything.

“We can’t keep running,” he said, his voice low. “We have to end this.”

Elyra looked up, her eyes narrowing. “What are you thinking?”

“We need to strike at the heart of the Abyss. If we keep playing defense, more people will suffer.”

Elyra set the boy down gently, making sure he was stable. “And how do we do that?”

Aethren turned to her, the faint glow of determination in his eyes. “We find the Abyss Gate. And we close it.”

The Old Library

They needed information—something that could point them toward the Abyss Gate. The ancient library on the eastern edge of the city was their best hope. The Archivists had stored countless tomes there, records of dark magic and ancient pathways between worlds.

The library was a crumbling relic, its once-grand walls overtaken by ivy and decay. Statues of forgotten scholars watched over the entrance, their faces weathered by time.

Aethren pushed open the heavy wooden doors, the scent of mildew and old parchment washing over him. The interior was dim, the only light filtering through cracked stained glass windows.

Rows of bookshelves stretched into the shadows, some toppled over, others still standing like stubborn sentinels.

Elyra’s footsteps were cautious. “I don’t like this place. It feels... wrong.”

Aethren nodded. “The knowledge here is dangerous. But it’s what we need.”

They moved deeper into the library, the silence oppressive. The shadows seemed thicker here, clinging to the corners and whispering just out of reach.

Aethren’s fingers traced the spines of old books, their titles worn and faded. He muttered to himself, searching for something—anything—that could give them a clue.

A faint scrape sounded behind them.

They froze.

Elyra’s hand went to her daggers, her muscles tense. “We’re not alone.”

From the darkness between the shelves, a figure emerged. Clad in tattered robes, its face obscured by a hood, it moved with a slo