The hammer sigil had been carved a hundred feet high into the mountainside, but time and warfare had cracked it like a skull. The woman traced the ancient fractures with her eyes as she approached the stone gates, feeling the weight of history pressing down on her shoulders. The silver in her hair caught the dying sunlight, threading gold through the strands—beauty amid desolation.
Behind her, a man crouched over a skeletal frame that crumbled under his touch, its remnants spilling like sand through his fingers. “Stonehaven,” he muttered, his deep voice laced with grim curiosity. “What would we find here, Eris?”
Eris ran her fingers over the jagged impressions of bloodied handprints on the stone wall. The stains had long since dried, but they told a story of terror that lingered in the air like a ghost. “Truth, Wilford. Truth lies in these ruins,” she said, stepping forward as if the gates had whispered her name.
Wilford straightened, casting a wary glance back toward the desolation they’d traversed. His wand was already in hand as he followed her through the half-open gates, his steps measured and his gaze sharp.
Inside, darkness swallowed them whole. Eris flicked her wand, and a sphere of light blossomed above her head, its soft glow pushing back the shadows. The cavernous hall came alive in fragments: towering pillars cracked and leaning, massive statues shattered into rubble, and the remnants of battle strewn across the ground. Rusted axes and splintered shields lay among heaps of bones and patches of dried blood that had blackened with time. The air was heavy with dust and the faint, metallic scent of decay.
A screech tore through the silence as a tide of bats erupted from the rafters, their leathery wings a chaos of sound and motion. Eris stood firm as the creatures swarmed past, her expression calm. Wilford ducked instinctively, cursing under his breath as the storm of wings passed. He rose, brushing his robes. “Still a damned marvel, how you cast without a word. Makes me feel like a novice at the College, not a professor.”
Eris’s eyes scanned the hall, her voice a murmur of quiet authority. “Chants are a crutch. Magic answers the will, not the words. If you stopped chasing perfection, you might see that.”
Wilford smirked, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “And yet, perfection keeps me alive.”
They moved deeper into the ruins. The pillars grew closer, their carved surfaces marred by age. Forging rooms lined the sides of the hall, their once-mighty anvils buried beneath webs thick as cloth. “It still bothers me,” Wilford said, his voice low. “Council’s sudden approval to explore the ruins of Stonehaven. They’ve guarded its secrets for years, but now they send us in? With conditions, no less.”
Eris traced the edge of a rusted forge, her fingers coming away blackened with soot. “Their conditions are fair. We clear rogue sorcerers; they grant access to this tomb of horrors. We need to know why this city fell in a single night.”
Wilford scoffed. “You need answers. Not ‘we.’ And the reason’s simple—the Witch. Her mark’s all over this place.”
Eris turned to him, her gaze cold and cutting. “Tread carefully, Bloodrose. I walk with the College for my answers, not for Syrus’s old wisdom. It’s he who needs me, not the other way around. And if ‘Witch’ is who I think she is, this massacre wasn’t mindless. It must have a purpose. I’ll find that out.”
Wilford raised a hand in mock surrender. “No offense meant, Valeria.” His tone softened. “Sometimes I forget the truth of you. The youngest master sorceress is just a facade... you’re older than the College itself.”
Eris allowed a faint smile, though it carried no warmth. “And who would think the bloodline of a house long extinct still runs through your veins?”
Before Wilford could reply, her ring pulsed with golden light. The air shifted around her, heavy and charged. “It’s glowing again,” Wilford said, his voice edged with unease. “What’s happening?”
Eris touched the ring, her breath catching as fear flickered in her crystal-blue eyes. She pressed her hand to the phoenix engraved on her bracelet, and its gem burned with radiant light. Her hair streaked gold, and her eyes gleamed like molten sunfire. She looked upward as if seeing through the walls of the ancient hall, her lips parting in a whisper. Her voice, thick with longing, carried an unfamiliar softness. “Follow my voice... My love.”
Her words were a thread in a storm, and then the light faded. She dropped to her knees, coughing violently, crimson blood spattering her trembling hand. Wilford rushed to her side but paused as she raised her hand, her posture still proud despite the tremor in her limbs.
“What was that?” he demanded, his voice low but sharp. His gaze fell to the blood staining the floor. “You’re coughing blood now? That’s not nothing, Eris.”
She wiped her mouth on her sleeve, her expression resolute. “The ring... It’s a tether. To another. A price was paid when I performed a forbidden ritual a decade ago. I thought it only took a piece of me as a sacrifice, but I later realized that it took much more than a piece of me. My divine essence core had shattered—” Her words faltered for a moment. “I have become no more than a mortal now. My life is on the thread half the time. I cannot summon my true power without it exacting a toll each time.”
Wilford frowned. “And you thought now was the time for that? In a ruin steeped in dark magic?”
“It was necessary. For the betterment of all races.” Her tone brooked no argument.
A faint sound reached them—a rhythmic tapping, faint but deliberate. Eris’s light vanished with a flick of her wrist, plunging them into darkness. Wilford stepped back into the shadow of a pillar, wand raised. Footsteps echoed from a nearby stairwell. Three figures emerged, their black robes and ready wands marking them as enemies.
One carried a torch, its flickering glow illuminating their cautious faces. “Nothing here,” the torchbearer said, his voice impatient. “Just rats and shadows.”
“No,” the second muttered, scanning the gloom. “I heard a cough. Someone’s here. You want to test our lord’s patience?”
The third, lingering by the stairs, hissed, “Both of you, enough. I’ll hold the stairs. You two, check for ‘rats.’”
Eris pressed her back against the cold stone of a pillar, her fingers curling tightly around her wand. Across from her, Wilford crouched low, his expression grim. His voice came in a whisper, low and rasping.
“Will you be alright?”
She nodded once, her crystal-blue eyes fixed on the faint torchlight flickering from the stairwell. “I’ll handle the one at the stairs,” she murmured. “Wait for my signal before you strike the others.”
Wilford’s jaw tightened as he gave a curt nod. “Understood.”
The three figures had spread out in the yawning chamber. The torchbearer moved ahead, casting the weak light across cracked stone and rusted remnants of an age long past. Eris’s steps were silent, her movements fluid as she circled toward the lone guard standing by the stairs. She was a shadow in the gloom, her cloak brushing the dusty ground as she moved with feline precision.
The torchbearer crouched, his torch revealing a streak of crimson smeared across the floor. His fingers dipped into the blood, smearing it between thumb and forefinger. “Fresh,” he muttered, sniffing it. “Human.”
His words hung in the air as a faint thud echoed behind the lone guard.
The stairwell sentry glanced over his shoulder, his brows furrowing as his grip tightened on his wand. His focus wavered for a moment too long.
Eris struck.
Her wand glowed with golden light as she stepped into view, her voice cutting through the still air like a blade. “Tch. Tch.” The sound was soft but deliberate, drawing the guard’s gaze.
He turned just as the arrow of light erupted from her wand, the golden missile streaking across the shadows and burying itself in his chest. His scream never escaped his lips. The impact threw him backwards, his chest reduced to a hollowed ruin of gore and shattered ribs.
The torchbearer spun, his eyes wide as Eris’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding. “Now!”
From the shadows, Wilford’s voice boomed, steady and sure. “Yolstravis!”
A bolt of flame roared across the chamber, slamming into the head of the second guard as he raised his wand. The explosion of heat and force sent fragments of skull and sizzling flesh spattering the stones.
The third guard stumbled back, his knees hitting the floor as panic overtook him. Eris’s wand shifted toward him, and another lance of light struck his chest. Though it lacked the lethality of the first, it was enough to send him sprawling, writhing on the ground with a groan of pain.
Wilford strode forward, his wand aimed at the fallen man. He grabbed the guard by the collar, dragging him up and pressing the tip of the wand to his temple. “What’s happening here?” he growled. “Why are black mages skulking in these ruins?”
Eris knelt beside the groaning man, tapping his face lightly with the tip of her wand. Her voice was calm, almost too calm. “Speak, or the next spell won’t be so kind.”
The guard’s gaze darted to the mangled corpses of his comrades, the gore staining the stones, and the faint torchlight casting flickering shadows of death. His breathing was shallow, his voice trembling. “Please… I beg you. Spare me.”
Wilford sneered. “We’ll see. Now start talking. Why are you here?”
“They were here before us,” the guard stammered, his words tumbling out in his desperation. “We’re just following orders—our leader’s orders!”
“How many?” Wilford demanded, his grip tightening.
“Five… maybe six. The leader’s below,” the guard sputtered. “Most of us were sent out weeks ago for supplies, for—”
“For what?” Eris interrupted, her voice cold.
“Subjects,” he croaked, his voice breaking. “Humans. Children, women, men… even elves and dwarves. Anything that breathes. Our lord… he needs them for his experiments.”
Wilford’s expression twisted with disgust. “Experiments? On people?”
“He’s researching,” the guard blurted. “Something ancient, something forbidden. I don’t know what. I swear! I just guard the halls!”
Eris’s voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “And your lord? Where is he?”
“Deep below,” the guard whimpered. “He’s always there. The creatures in the lower ruins—they keep him company. He’s not…” The guard trailed off, trembling.
Wilford narrowed his eyes. “What kind of creatures?”
The guard shook his head. “Things that shouldn’t exist. Things that hunt in the dark. He controls them—or they let him live. I don’t know.”
Eris stood, her gaze hard as steel. Without a word, she raised her wand and cast a final spell. The guard’s body convulsed as a golden bolt tore through his chest, silencing him forever.
Wilford grimaced, watching the blood pool beneath the lifeless body. “We’ll find these bastards and finish them,” he said, his voice low. He glanced at Eris, whose glowing orb lit the stairs descending into the black depths.
As they began their descent, the torch’s weak flame flickered behind them, casting grotesque shadows across the bloodstained walls.
“How should we play this?” Wilford asked, his wand at the ready.
Eris didn’t turn. Her voice was steady, unyielding. “We kill them all. And continue with what we came here for.”
Wilford sighed, his expression darkening. “So be it.”
————————————
The lower floor was a tomb of despair. Sand and broken stone carpeted the ground, each step muffled by the decay of time. The air was thick, carrying the acrid scent of sweat and faint spices, mixed with the unmistakable stench of unwashed bodies. Dwarven carvings adorned the cracked walls—depictions of great feasts, battles, and forges—but now they were fractured and faded, the glory of Stonehaven drowned in centuries of ruin.
Eris moved ahead, her wand in her hand, its pale silver surface catching the flicker of distant torchlight. Wilford followed, his robes brushing the stone, the crimson accents dull in the dimness. Ahead, faint voices filtered through the still air—low and coarse, carrying laughter, girl’s mourning, and the murmur of despair.
The hallway narrowed, leading to two rooms. One glowed with the light of a fire, shadows dancing across the walls. The other was dimmer, a faint wail echoing from within. Eris raised her hand, signalling to Wilford. Her voice, barely audible, was a blade in the silence.
“Four in the far room,” she whispered. “You take them. I’ll take the leader.”
Wilford gave a nod, his jaw tightening as his fingers curled around his wand.
Eris turned to the nearer room. Three men were visible inside, seated at a rough wooden table, their filthy hands clutching cards and mugs. A fireplace on the far wall cast a flickering glow, revealing the stains and rips in their bedrolls strewn about. The cries of a woman filtered through a doorway at the back of the room, underscored by guttural grunts and the creak of wood. Eris’s face was a mask of calm, but her eyes glinted with a dangerous light.
Wilford whispered, “On your mark.”
Eris raised three fingers, then two, then one.
They struck.
Eris stepped into the room, her wand flicking upward in a fluid motion. A golden bolt of energy blasted from its tip, slamming into the man closest to the leader. The spell hit his chest like a war hammer, shattering ribs and sending him crashing backward into the wall, his head snapping to the side with a sickening crack.
“Bastard!” the leader roared, kicking the table over as he grabbed his wand.
Eris ignored him, her wand turning toward the man by the fire. He had time to rise, a spoon still in his hand, before she unleashed another bolt. The spell sent him flying across the room, crashing into the hearth. Hot stew splattered everywhere, steam rising from the pooled liquid as he convulsed once and fell still.
From the other room, Wilford’s booming voice shouted a guttural incantation. Flames erupted, painting the hallway in bursts of light as screams of agony and rage rang out. The clash of spells followed, crackling energy and heat filling the air like a brewing storm.
Back in her room, the leader crouched behind the overturned table, his breathing heavy as his eyes darted for an opening. “Who the hell are you?” he snarled, his voice thick with panic.
Eris gave no answer, stepping closer, her wand trained on the makeshift barrier.
The leader grabbed a broken bowl from the floor and hurled it at her. She batted it away with a flick of her hand, but the action gave him just enough time to chant.
“Karnaes Mortis!”
Black tendrils of energy erupted from his wand, wrapping around Eris like chains. The dark magic pulsed, tightening, and for a moment, she stilled.
The leader’s lips curled into a triumphant sneer. “Got you now, bitch.”
Eris’s crystal-blue eyes gleamed, her voice calm and cold. “Do you?”
Her bracelet pulsed with golden light, and the black tendrils disintegrated into smoke. The leader staggered, his confidence shattering as she raised her wand again.
“Umvis!” he shouted, firing a bolt of dark energy at her.
Eris deflected it effortlessly, the collision of their spells sending sparks and heat rippling through the room. The man chanted again, desperate, but his movements were clumsy, frantic. Her next spell struck true, piercing through his defenses and slamming into his chest. He crumpled to the floor, coughing blood as he clutched at the wound.
Eris stepped over the rubble toward him, her wand steady. “Your lord,” she said, her voice quiet but unyielding. “Where is he?”
The man groaned, his lips trembling. “Below... Left stairs... The creatures guard him...”
Eris nodded once, her face devoid of emotion. The glow at her wand’s tip brightened.
“Wait, no—”
Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.
The spell hit him with deadly precision, his head exploding in a spray of blood and bone. The silence that followed was heavier than the air, broken only by the faint crackling of the fire.
Eris turned toward the back room, the muffled cries drawing her forward. The sight within was bleak. A girl, no more than twenty, sat curled against the wall, naked and trembling. Her body bore fresh wounds—cuts, bruises, and scratches etched like a ledger of suffering.
Eris knelt before her, her tone softening. “Do you want to live, child?”
The girl flinched, her hollow eyes lifting to meet Eris’s. Her lips parted, but no sound came.
Eris’s hand hovered over her head, hesitating. “I can end this for you or give you a chance to leave this behind. Tell me.”
The girl’s whisper was faint, a thread of sound. “Help... me.”
Eris touched her head, her eyes glowing golden for a brief moment. The girl gasped, her body stiffening as vitality returned. The scars remained, but there was strength in her frame now, a light where darkness had settled.
“Find something to wear,” Eris said, her voice tight. “Wait here.”
The girl nodded, clutching a torn blanket as Eris stepped into the hallway. She stumbled slightly, coughing into her hand. Blood stained her palm, but she wiped it away, her expression hardening.
In the other room, Wilford stood amidst scorched corpses, his wand at his side. He carried another girl, this one limp and silent, her eyes devoid of anything human.
“What do we do with her?” Wilford asked, his voice heavy.
Eris touched the girl’s forehead, closing her eyes. When she opened them, her tone was steel. “Finish it.”
Wilford’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t argue. A moment later, a spell hummed through the air, and silence reclaimed the hall.
Without a word, they moved toward the stairs, their steps echoing into the depths below.
————————————
The cave swallowed their breath, the cold air stinging like needles against their skin. Bioluminescent herbs clung to the jagged limestone walls, their eerie green glow casting flickering shadows. Each step stirred the thick scent of blood and decay that clung to the air, forcing Wilford to press his sleeve to his nose.
“This was a mining site,” he muttered, stepping over the rusted remains of a pickaxe. “If the dwarves were here, they wouldn’t have let us get this far.”
Eris gave a curt nod, her expression sharp as her eyes flicked to every dark corner. The faint groans grew louder with each turn, guttural and animalistic.
The path narrowed, bending sharply to the left. As they rounded the corner, a wave of cold hit them, carrying the unmistakable stench of death. The source was unmistakable: hounds or something like that. Too many of them, hunched and snarling, their glowing red eyes like embers in the dark. Their hides gleamed like polished obsidian, spikes rising along their spines, and drool pooled at their feet as they crouched low, ready to pounce.
“Demons? There are multiple of them.” Wilford hissed, his grip tightening on his wand.
“Night Hounds,” Eris replied, her voice low. Her wand was already in her hand, steady despite the tension. “Each carries the soul of someone damned. This is the worst punishment for my people. But they shouldn’t be here. Something is not right.”
The hounds moved in unison, their claws scraping against the stone floor. One lunged forward, a blur of black and red. Eris stepped aside with grace, flicking her wand toward it. A pulse of light shot from the tip, sharp and controlled, striking the beast in the side. The hound let out a snarl but didn’t falter.
“Their hides are thick!” she barked. “Don’t waste spells on power. Go for precision.”
“Understood.” Wilford raised his wand. “Yolscoria.”
A whip of flame erupted from his wand, snapping toward one of the hounds. The beast dodged, its speed unnatural, but Wilford anticipated the move. He flicked the whip sideways, catching its leg mid-leap. The hound yelped as the flame burned through its tough skin, its body crumpling to the floor.
Another hound charged from the side, its jaws wide, aiming for Wilford’s neck. He twisted, narrowly avoiding the bite, and drove his wand downward. Flames burst at the tip, scorching the beast’s head as it fell to the ground, twitching.
The others began to circle, their growls reverberating off the stone walls. Eris stood tall, her eyes locked on the pack leader. It was larger than the rest, its spikes longer, its eyes burning brighter.
“They’re stalling,” she said. “I hate them, their intelligence is like humans. The leader’s testing us.”
Wilford scoffed, wiping a smear of blood from his cheek. “Then let’s not disappoint.”
The hounds attacked in waves, coming from every direction. Eris moved like water, her silver hair glinting in the faint light as she dodged and weaved. She cast spells with precision, each bolt of light striking exposed joints or soft underbellies. One hound snapped at her arm, its teeth brushing her cloak. She spun, bringing her wand upward. A focused blade of light cut through its neck, leaving the body to collapse in a heap.
Wilford, meanwhile, fought with brute efficiency. His lash coiled around a hound’s leg, dragging it into the air before he released a burst of heat that set its body aflame. Another beast lunged, its claws raking his side, but his wand was already pointed. “Yolfira.” The spell blasted the creature backward, its charred body slamming into the cave wall.
“They’re too fast! Any plans? I have never faught something like this.” Wilford growled, his breath coming hard.
Eris didn’t respond. Her focus was unbroken, her movements precise. She flicked her wand upward, creating a dome of golden light that briefly pushed the hounds back. “We split their attention,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “Draw them toward the equipment. We’ll use it against them. Detonate them with the spell.”
Wilford nodded, stepping back toward a pile of rusted mine carts. He grabbed one with his free hand, pushing it into the path of an oncoming hound. The creature leapt, but Wilford’s wand was already trained on the cart. “Yolvara.” The cart exploded in a burst of molten shards, taking the hound with it.
Eris capitalized on the chaos. She darted forward, her wand tracing arcs of light that lashed at the remaining hounds. One by one, they fell, her spells slicing through joints, eyes, and throats with surgical precision.
The pack leader growled, low and menacing, before charging. Its speed was unmatched, a blur of black and red hurtling toward Eris. She stood her ground, her wand steady. At the last moment, she dropped low, spinning to avoid its snapping jaws. Her wand shot upward, and a concentrated beam of light pierced the beast’s chest.
The creature staggered but didn’t fall. Blood dripped from the wound as it snarled, preparing for another charge. Eris didn’t give it the chance. With a flick of her wrist, she unleashed a flurry of smaller bolts, each one striking with pinpoint accuracy. The leader collapsed, its body twitching before going still.
The last of the hounds fell moments later, Wilford’s flames consuming it in a final burst of heat.
Silence returned to the cave, save for the sound of their labored breathing. The stench of burnt flesh and blood was suffocating, mixing with the cold air.
Wilford leaned against a wall, his wand hanging loosely at his side. “There were too many of them,” he said between breaths. “I hope it’s all worth it.”
Eris didn’t reply, her gaze fixed on the closed door at the back of the cave. Her grip on her wand tightened, her knuckles white.
Wilford straightened, wiping sweat from his brow. “What now?”
Eris turned to him, her eyes hard as steel. “Let’s give him a visit.”
————————————
The grinding sound of stone echoed as the heavy door rose, its ancient mechanism groaning in protest. A foul stench hit them immediately—blood, rotting flesh, and human waste mingled in a nauseating cocktail. The dim light from the room beyond spilled out in a sickly orange hue, illuminating the dungeon-like chamber within.
Eris stepped in first, her expression a mask of composure despite the oppressive air. Rows of cages lined the walls, each filled with desperate faces. Children huddled in the corners of their cells, their hollow eyes darting toward her as they whimpered. Men and women reached through the iron bars, their cracked voices begging for release. The elves stood silent, their gazes a mixture of defiance and resignation. A dwarf sat slumped against the back of his cage, his breathing shallow, his beard matted with blood.
“Please… food, water, anything,” a woman rasped, her face gaunt.
“He’s taken her,” a young elf muttered, his hands gripping the bars. “A few hours ago. My sister... he took her into the back.”
Wilford crouched by one of the cages, speaking with measured patience. “How long have you been here?”
“Days,” the woman replied. “Maybe weeks. Time means nothing in this hell.”
Eris studied the captives, their glares and desperate pleas bouncing off her silence. “Wait here,” she said coldly. Her gaze didn’t linger. She strode toward the wooden door at the far end of the room, her movements sharp and deliberate.
Wilford gave the prisoners a last glance before following. “They think we’re going to leave them,” he muttered.
“They can think what they like,” Eris replied. “We’ll deal with them after.”
Pushing the wooden door open, they entered the next chamber—and the source of the stench became horrifyingly clear.
————————————
The room was a macabre workshop. Torture racks stained with blood sat in one corner, tools of pain scattered across the floor. Basins of dark liquid stood against the walls, their surfaces rippling faintly with the stench of decay. Chains hung from the ceilings and walls, some holding unrecognizable remains. One cell contained a werewolf, its half-transformed body hanging limply from shackles.
Wilford’s breath hitched as he passed the next cell. “That’s… a vampire,” he said, his voice low. The pale creature dangled from the wall, its throat slit, a pool of blackened blood beneath it.
Eris stopped suddenly, her eyes fixed on a cell at the end of the room. Her hand trembled as she reached for the bars. The creature within was barely recognizable as human. Its pointy ears jutted from a head covered in patches of scales, its single dragon-like wing hanging at an unnatural angle. Horns crowned its head, though one had been sawed halfway through, and its chest was hollow, the heart long gone.
Wilford approached cautiously, his voice uncertain. “What… is this thing?”
Eris didn’t answer immediately. Her fingers brushed the bars, her face pale, her eyes wet with unshed tears. “A Drakon,” she whispered. “Ancient beings… my people.”
Wilford stared at her. “Your people?”
Eris nodded, swallowing hard. “We come from Mythoria, the land of dragons. It’s far beyond any human’s reach. Even I don’t know how he was brought here.”
Her voice broke, but she steadied herself, clearing her throat. “Lowborn,” she continued, her tone bitter. “Their blood isn’t as pure as mine, but every Drakon is precious to gods like their children. This one comes from Zerathu’um’s blood, our god’s blood, the purer the blood they have, the higher their status. But it’s far different than peasants and nobles. Our signifies teachings, not their social status.”
Wilford asks with curiosity. “What about you? Are you different from him?”
Eris nods. “My clan follows the teaching of Serelith. But that doesn’t make me different from Zerathu’um, for them, we are just children. We were meant to be protectors, not cattle.”
She lingered a moment longer before turning away. The next door loomed, heavy and foreboding. She pushed it open without hesitation.
The sight inside froze her in place.
An old man stood over a bloodied elf woman sprawled on a wooden table, a knife in his gnarled hand. Her chest was flayed open, her lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling. The man turned at the sound of the door, but before he could react, Eris raised her wand.
A blast of light shot from the tip, slamming him against the wall. Wilford surged forward, grabbing the man by his collar and dragging him upright.
Eris moved to the table, her hands trembling as she touched the elf’s pale face. Her neck had been sliced clean through, and the deep cut on her thigh revealed the bone beneath. The anger that rose in Eris burned cold, her breaths shallow and controlled.
Wilford shoved the old man to his knees. “Why?” he growled. “Why are you doing this?”
The man coughed, his bloodstained lips curling into a smile. “Why? What question is that? Why would a child learn to walk? Why would men learn magic? Why does anyone do anything? Curiosity. It's the same reason you picked up a wand. It's the same reason she casts spells without a chant. How can it be different for you? We’re not so different.”
Eris’s head snapped toward him. “Not so different?” she hissed, her voice icy. “You torture innocents. You take the precious lives of these innocents.”
“How can killing someone for research… be different than you killing with your magic,” the man retorted, his voice growing stronger. “Every spell you know, every bit of magic you wield, someone bled for it. They have been tested on innocents. Someone suffered so you could stand here, self-righteous and blind.”
Wilford’s grip on the man tightened, but Eris stopped him with a gesture. “What are you trying to achieve?”
The old man laughed, his voice rasping. “Equality. That’s what my research is for. A world where anyone can wield magic—where no bloodline is greater than another. No gods, no lords, no barriers. All men, women, and creatures are equal under the same power.”
Eris didn’t answer. She moved to the barrels lined against the far wall. Opening one, she recoiled as a sickeningly sweet smell wafted out. Floating in the viscous fluid were severed limbs—arms, legs, and half a torso, all stripped of skin.
The next barrel was worse. Wings, unmistakably Drakon wings, floated near the surface. She clenched her fists as her breath quickened. Barrel after barrel revealed more horrors: hearts, scales, horns, bones—each belonging to her people.
Her voice cut through the old man’s ramblings like a blade. “What did you do to my people?”
The man paused, his eyes narrowing. Then he laughed. “Your people? Ah. I get it now. That anger. Of course. You are one of those creatures with wings: Drakons. A living one at that. How interesting. You might be the key I’ve been searching for. Imagine what I could learn—”
Eris flicked her wand, and a blade of light severed his hands. His screams filled the room, echoing off the stone walls. “Agh!! My hands!!”
She crouched before him, her voice calm but venomous. “Tell me where you found them, and I will… restore your hands. You will need them… for your research. My kind can heal what others cannot.”
The man trembled, his blood pooling on the floor. “Swear it upon your essence,” he hissed through the pain. “A vow on your kind’s sacred essence. Otherwise, I’ll take my secrets to the grave.”
Eris hissed. “Where did you hear that?”
The old man slumped against a barrel, his once-proud defiance eroding with every drop of blood pooling beneath him. His face was ashen, his breaths shallow and wheezing. “Swear it.”
Eris touched the bracelet in her hand, and the stone on it glowed. Her hair turned golden, and her eyes followed suit. The air around her changed.
“I, Valeria Aetherion,” She began, her voice steady despite the trembling in her limbs. The golden thread from her bracelet flickered faintly as she recited her vow, “daughter of Sylavrine Aetherion, Priestess of Serelith, and Karissa of the Red. I vow to heal you in full. Should I fail, my divine essence will shatter, leaving me mortal.”
With the last word leaving her mouth, her eyes and hair turned normal. The tears of blood flowed from her eyes as she dropped to the floor while coughing blood from her mouth. The golden thread formed by the bracelet on her hand broke before vanishing into thin air.
The man’s pale lips twisted into a smile, though his eyes reflected doubt. “Those are bold words for someone who stumbles over her own strength,” he rasped.
Wilford rushes at Eris’s side instantly, his hand steadying her shoulder. “Why push yourself so far?” he asked, his tone harsh but not unkind. “You’re no use dead.”
Her gaze remained on the old man, but her words were for Wilford. “If they were your people,” she said quietly, “you’d do the same.”
The old man coughed wetly, a bitter laugh forcing its way from his throat. “Your vow... It’s real, then? You’d risk your… divinity on a wretch like me?”
Eris’s breath hitched, but she nodded. “It is real.”
The man sneered, leaning against the barrel for support, though his strength was failing fast. “Good. Because… you’ll need it to keep your end of the… bargain.”
The man spoke through labored breaths, his words disjointed but deliberate. “My name... Darcan Thrace,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “I was a scholar. A member of the council of magic, decades ago. Back then, they sought to… amplify the power of noble bloodlines. It was a noble idea at first... until greed crept in. They wanted to awaken dormant magics. The purest of bloodlines only, like Storm, Salvador…”
Wilford’s eyes narrowed. “And you?”
Darcan chuckled bitterly. “I disagreed. My vision was... different. Why should magic belong to the few, the chosen? Why not give it to everyone? The farmer, the beggar, the orphan? The High King believed in me... in my dream of equality. He gave me this place. Stonehaven. A haven for my work.”
Eris crouched before him, her golden ring glinting faintly in the torchlight. “And he funded you?” she asked, her voice edged with suspicion.
“He did. But his vision… wasn’t mine,” Darcan admitted. “He wanted control. A way to subjugate. He introduced me to Kronos. Some shadow like human.”
Eris froze at the name. “Kronos Dostros...” she whispered. “Once a protector of Mythoria. Banished after the King of Flames fell. He was turned into being of shadows, cursed to not be able to touch anyone directly.”
Darcan’s eyes gleamed with faint amusement. “So, you know of him. Unique fellow. He brought me creatures from the forbidden lands—your kind, too. Dead, always dead. He never told me why. But I learned much from those bodies.”
Wilford crossed his arms, his voice low. “Did his... generosity end?”
Darcan’s breath grew slower. “Yes. Fifteen years ago. After the Battle of Devil’s Gate. Kronos vanished. And with him, the High King’s favour. I found a new patron. Lord Islar Valar.”
Wilford’s head tilted slightly. “Fifteen years... That’s when Edward Leonhart was accused of treason.”
Eris nodded grimly. “A scapegoat. The breach of Devil’s Gate was blamed on him to hide something larger. A cover-up for greed, feud and something else.”
Darcan’s laugh was faint, his voice strained. “Lord Valar... oh, he was ambitious. He sent his… men. Subjects came in droves. I didn’t care… where they came from. He promised me freedom for my research. And then...” His gaze drifted to the far wall, to the massive stone door at the edge of the chamber. “I found something buried in the stones... beyond that door.”
Wilford leaned closer, his brow furrowed. “What did you find?”
Darcan’s lips twitched into a grim smile, his voice no more than a rasp. “A truth... dwarves weren’t just miners. They dug too deep, into places they shouldn’t have. The place was hidden very well... and the place…”
His voice faltered, his breath shallow. Eris stepped forward, her hand resting on the mechanism of the door. “Tell me,” she demanded, her tone sharp. “What lies beyond?”
Darcan’s head lolled slightly. “Heal… Heal me... as you vowed.”
Eris raise and move towards the stone door, they have carving on its edges. Wilford followed her, looking behind at the man. “What about your vow?”
Eris didn’t turn to look, her fingers gripping the mechanism as the stone door began to lift. “No magic can restore severed hands, Bloodrose. Not without a forbidden cost. And my ‘divine’ essence shattered long ago.”
Wilford stiffened. “You lied?”
Eris’s gaze didn’t waver from the door as it creaked upward. “I don’t lie, Bloodrose. I speak only truths—selectively.” Her voice softened, tinged with a bitter edge. “He failed to catch that nuance.”
Darcan’s body slumped, his final breath rattling in his chest. Wilford muttered a curse under his breath, looking at the man’s lifeless form. “So much for his answers.”
As the door lifted fully, a narrow corridor came into view. The stones were broken, the ceiling broken like forcefully done, and beyond all this was a door at the far end. The wind coming from the gate was fresh, with the smell of salt and fish. The door lifted with the same type of mechanism and a wave of cold air rushed past them, carrying the scent of storms and salt. Eris stepped forward, her breath catching.
The sight before them was otherworldly. A barren desert stretched far into the horizon, its cracked earth glowing faintly under an ominous red sky. To the left, a churning sea of black waves crashed violently against jagged cliffs. In the distance, a city rose—a spire of black stone piercing the blood-red clouds, its castle an imposing silhouette against the horizon.
Wilford’s voice was low, almost reverent. “What is this place?”
Eris’s eyes widened, her voice barely audible. “The Forbidden Land. My people called it... the Land of Demons.”
Wilford exhaled slowly, the weight of realization heavy in his voice. “There are more passages to this cursed land? The Devil’s Gate is already enough to worry about. So, the massacre of Stonehaven... she didn’t kill them out of malice. She turned this place into ruins for a reason.”
Eris nodded, her gaze locked on the distant spire. “And now we know why.”
————————————