The wind howls like a living thing as Elorin and Rhylen race through the forest, their footsteps swift and unrelenting. The ground trembles beneath them, and the sky above is darkening, filled with swirling clouds of magic and shadow. Behind them, the Order's cloaked figures fade into the distance, but their presence lingers in Elorin's mind, like a dark weight pressing down on her.

The relic pulses faintly in her satchel, its light no longer as vibrant as before, but still present—still powerful. Elorin's thoughts race as they move through the forest, dodging branches and roots in their frantic escape. The door is opening. The Order had said it was inevitable, but Elorin refuses to believe that. There has to be a way to stop it.

"We need to move faster," Rhylen says, his voice tight as he glances over his shoulder, scanning for signs of pursuit. "If the Order catches up to us, we won't stand a chance. Not after what we just saw."

Elorin nods, her breath coming in short gasps. "I know. But if the door is opening, we can't just run forever. We need a plan."

Rhylen's jaw clenches as they push deeper into the forest. "The plan is Lorithas. If there's any knowledge left that can help us stop this, it's there."

The name of the ancient city feels heavier now, laden with hope and dread. Lorithas is their only chance to uncover the relic's true purpose before it's too late. But the weight of uncertainty presses down on Elorin—what if they're already too late?

Branches scrape her arms as they run, the forest growing denser, more difficult to navigate. The light from the twin moons above is swallowed by the thick canopy, leaving only the faint glow of the relic to guide them. The world around them feels like it's closing in, as if nature itself is reacting to the magic being unleashed from the fissure behind them.

They run for what feels like hours, the forest a blur of shadows and twisted branches. Rhylen's movements are precise, his training evident in the way he navigates the rough terrain, but even he is starting to slow, exhaustion pulling at his every step.

"We should be nearing the outskirts of Lorithas by dawn," Rhylen says, his voice strained but steady. "We need to keep moving, no matter what."

Elorin forces herself to focus, pushing through the exhaustion. She knows he's right—they can't afford to stop now. Not when the fate of the world is at stake.

Suddenly, the ground shifts beneath them, and Elorin stumbles, her heart leaping into her throat. The forest floor quakes violently, and a deep, thunderous sound echoes through the trees. Rhylen catches her arm, pulling her upright as the ground trembles again, more violently this time.

"Elorin, move!" he shouts, urgency in his voice.

They push forward, but the quaking intensifies, and the trees around them sway dangerously, their roots straining against the shifting earth. Dark energy crackles through the air, filling the forest with an oppressive weight. Elorin can feel it—magic, old and powerful, rippling through the ground like a wave.

The door is opening.

The realization sends a jolt of fear through her, and she grips the relic tightly, willing its power to respond. But the relic remains dormant, its glow faint and distant. Whatever connection she had felt to it before is weakening, and with it, her hope of controlling the situation slips further away.

They break through the dense underbrush, emerging onto a narrow ridge that overlooks the valley below. Elorin gasps at the sight before her. The valley stretches out for miles, and in the distance, she can see the ruins of Lorithas, its ancient stone towers crumbling and overgrown with vines.

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But that's not what steals her breath.

A massive crack splits the valley in two, running like a jagged scar through the land. Dark energy pours from the fissure, swirling into the sky in thick, writhing tendrils. The air is heavy with the weight of ancient magic, and the sky above the valley is dark, the twin moons obscured by swirling clouds of shadow.

"The door…" Elorin whispers, her voice barely audible. "It's opening."

Rhylen's face is grim as he takes in the sight. "We're running out of time."

The ground shakes again, and the crack in the valley widens, the dark energy pouring out faster, more violently. Elorin stares at the fissure, her heart pounding in her chest. This is it—the moment they've been dreading. The door between worlds is opening, and whatever lies beyond is already starting to spill through.

"We need to reach the heart of Lorithas," Rhylen says, his voice low but urgent. "There might be something there—something that can help us close the door."

Elorin tears her gaze away from the fissure and nods. They have no other choice.

They descend the ridge quickly, their movements cautious as the ground continues to tremble beneath them. The valley is eerily silent, the only sound the faint hum of dark energy crackling in the distance. The air grows colder the closer they get to the ruins, and Elorin can feel the relic growing heavier in her satchel, its warmth fading.

By the time they reach the outskirts of Lorithas, the ancient city is bathed in a strange, unnatural light. The ruins stretch out before them, the remains of stone towers and crumbling walls casting long shadows over the ground. Vines and moss cling to the ancient structures, and the air is thick with the scent of decay.

Rhylen moves ahead, his sword drawn as he scans the ruins for any signs of danger. Elorin follows closely behind, her eyes darting between the towering ruins and the swirling energy in the sky above. The city is massive, its maze of crumbling streets and towering buildings a testament to the knowledge it once held. But now, it feels empty, forgotten, a place where time itself has come to a halt.

"We need to find the central tower," Rhylen says, his voice low. "That's where the scholars kept their most valuable texts—the ones dealing with old magic."

Elorin nods, though a sense of unease gnaws at her. The door is opening, and whatever dark force lies beyond it is already starting to influence the world around them. The fissure in the valley is a reminder that they are running out of time, and every second wasted brings them closer to the end.

They move deeper into the ruins, the air growing colder with every step. The relic pulses faintly, but it no longer guides them the way it had before. Elorin's connection to it feels distant, as if the relic itself is being pulled in two directions—one toward the door, and the other toward something else.

Finally, they reach the central tower, its stone walls cracked and covered in moss. The tower looms over them, its top obscured by swirling clouds of dark energy. The door to the tower is ajar, the heavy stone creaking as Rhylen pushes it open with a grunt.

Inside, the air is colder still, and the faint glow of ancient symbols flickers on the walls. The central chamber is filled with crumbling shelves, covered in dust and forgotten texts. Elorin's heart skips a beat—this is it. The knowledge they need might be here, hidden among the ruins.

"We need to find something—anything—that tells us how to close the door," Rhylen says, moving toward the shelves.

Elorin rushes to one of the nearby shelves, her fingers brushing over the dusty books and scrolls. The symbols etched into the stone walls pulse faintly, responding to the relic's presence, and for a brief moment, Elorin feels a spark of hope. Maybe the knowledge they need is here. Maybe they can still stop this.

But before she can pull a book from the shelf, a cold voice echoes through the chamber, sending a chill down her spine.

"You're too late."

Elorin freezes, her heart pounding in her chest. She knows that voice. Slowly, she turns, and there, standing in the doorway, is Varkos.

His dark cloak billows around him, and his eyes gleam with a cold, malevolent light. Shadows twist and coil at his feet, writhing like living creatures. He takes a step forward, his presence filling the chamber with an oppressive weight.

"The door is already opening," Varkos says, his voice low and dangerous. "And you cannot stop it."

Elorin's pulse races as she clutches the relic tightly. The time they feared has arrived, and Varkos stands between them and any chance of stopping the end.