The watchtower loomed ahead, its tall, dark silhouette piercing through the retreating mist like a grim sentinel. Weathered stone walls, battered by the elements, stood tall and defiant against the harshness of the Ghostlands. The closer they came, the more imposing the tower seemed, stretching toward the starless sky.
At the base, they stopped, casting their eyes up at the blackened windows. Night had fallen, leaving the interior in complete darkness.
“We’re here,” Godric muttered, craning his neck to take in the full height of the tower.
“It’s taller than I expected,” Erazon noted, weariness creeping into his voice.
Without a word, Solena raised her hand, conjuring a small flame that hovered just above her palm. Its warm glow pierced through the thick shadows, revealing their path as they stepped through the archway into the watchtower’s depths.
A musty, stale odor hit them immediately, like that of a long-forgotten tomb. The air was thick with dust, their footsteps echoing off the cold stone floors. In front of them lay a small, dimly lit room with a large spiral staircase winding upward. The room itself was sparse—just a small wooden table, a chair, and a desk pressed against the far wall.
In the chair sat a skeleton, hunched over, its bony hands clutching yellowed pages of parchment. The sight froze them in place, and for a moment, they half-expected it to spring to life.
“Do you think—” Erazon started.
Before he could finish, Lumi darted forward with a mischievous grin. “I got this! See, I can do magic too!” She unleashed a burst of purple fire toward the skeleton’s ribcage, though the flames fizzled out harmlessly against the bones. The group waited, tense, but the skeleton didn’t move.
Godric stepped forward, nudging the skeleton’s arm with the head of his hammer. The brittle bones shifted with a soft clatter, and the skeleton’s arm fell to the floor, landing with a dull thud. The parchment it had been clutching floated gently down.
“Well, that’s settled,” Godric said with a huff, bending to retrieve the pages. He squinted at the faded, worn writing. “We’ll be here all night if I try to read this,” he muttered, passing the pages to Erazon. “Here, you take a look.”
Taking the parchment, Erazon scanned the text, his eyes widening. “I... I can read this,” he said, surprise coloring his voice.
“What does it say?” Solena asked, stepping closer as her flame flickered softly, casting a glow on the faded script.
Erazon began to read aloud:
I am the Watcher. I sit here to observe, as I have been commanded. The days grow long and dark, and my heart is heavy with dread. The town below is overrun, its streets choked with the stench of death and decay. There is nowhere to go, no sanctuary left to seek.
Foul things now walk where men once did, coming from the cursed city of Magnatar. They crawl from the shadows, these abominations, summoned by forces I cannot comprehend. Their eyes burn with the hunger of the grave, and their hands—oh, their hands—are stained with the blood of the living.
Arzone, where are you? Why have you forsaken us? We worshipped you with fervor and faith as long as can be remembered, yet it seems you have turned your face from us in our hour of need. I can no longer feel your presence, no longer sense your divine hand upon this land. Have we angered you? The sky rained fire, the ground has split open. Shadows erase our farmland, and the screams can be heard at all hours of dawn and dusk.
The dead rise. Not just men, but beasts too, foul and twisted mockeries of life. The air itself has grown cold and hostile, thick with the stench of what should never have stirred again. I do not know how long I can hold out. Every hour they grow nearer, every moment I feel the weight of their eyes upon me, waiting for me to falter.
I hear them at night, scratching at the walls, their whispers carried on the wind. They are patient, but I fear my strength is waning. I do not know—
The script trailed off, the ink smudged and uneven, as though the writer’s hand had trembled in their final moments. Carefully, Erazon turned the brittle page, his heart pounding. On the last sheet, a single phrase was scrawled in desperate, jagged strokes:
If you find me, know that you are not safe. Run.
A chill crawled down Erazon’s spine as he stared at the final words. Glancing up, his breath grew shallow under the weight of the Watcher’s warning pressing on them. “What do you know about Arzone?” he asked quietly, not wanting to disturb the eerie stillness.
Lumi, who had been flitting about nervously, froze in mid-air. Her wings buzzed softly, mirroring the tension in the room. Solena’s flame brightened, casting long, wavering shadows as she answered. “He’s one of the Nine,” she said cautiously, her voice distant. “The god of reincarnation. A powerful figure... but slain by Lord Death’s scythe.”
The gravity of her words hung in the air as Erazon frowned. “I can’t believe... Wild-Wizard actually slew a god. If even he could fall... we’ll need a great deal of luck.” He set the parchment down, feeling the despair that clung to the fragile pages sink into him.
Silence followed, thick and suffocating. The final word—Run—replayed in their minds. Even Lumi, usually brimming with mischief, fluttered nervously near the walls, her jittery movements betraying her unease.
“We’re already in the thick of it,” came Godric’s low, gruff tone as he shifted his grip on the hammer. “But we’re getting closer to saving Elii. That’s all that matters.”
Though his words offered little comfort, they restored a sense of purpose. Erazon’s gaze drifted to the spiral staircase, where shadows coiled, heavy and oppressive. “We need to move,” he muttered, casting a glance at Solena. “That warning might be more serious than we think.”
Solena’s flame flared a bit brighter, cutting through the encroaching darkness as she motioned them forward. “We’re not safe here. Let’s get to the top.”
Adjusting his pack, Godric’s eyes lingered on the dark stairwell spiraling into the unknown. “Up we go, then.”
With a final glance exchanged between them, they moved forward. Whatever awaited them above was bound to test their limits, but staying here, surrounded by the remnants of the past, wasn’t an option. Solena took the lead, her flame casting a comforting light along the cold stone walls as they ascended the creaking stairs.
The ancient watchtower seemed to hold its breath as they climbed higher into its upper reaches. At the top, they stepped onto a small balcony overlooking the vast expanse of the Ghostlands. The view was both awe-inspiring and terrifying—thick mist below swirling like a living entity, concealing whatever horrors lurked within. Up here, though, they felt a fleeting sense of safety, a brief respite from the dread that had pursued them.
With a heavy sigh, Godric set his pack down, the sound deep and resonant, echoing his weariness. His large, calloused hands rummaged through its contents until he produced a small bundle of kindling and a flint. “Sometimes, you don’t need magic to make a fire,” he muttered, striking the flint until a small flame flickered to life. The warmth was a welcome comfort against the night’s chill, its glow casting shadows on his runic-marked face.
Unable to resist his curiosity, Erazon scratched his ear and stared at the shimmering runes. “Godric, how… did you and Elii get those runes? What do they mean?”
A brief flinch crossed Godric’s features before he smirked. “I forget you're not from around here. It’s no secret—these runes are a mark of honor.”
Solena, who had been setting down her belongings, chimed in. “I’ve read it’s like a rite of passage, isn’t it? I’m curious too, if you don’t mind sharing.”
Godric’s smile lingered as he shifted his focus back to the fire. “In the Mistwood, elves go through a rigorous education at the Academium Arcanum,” he began, his voice steady. “We study everything—plants, herbs, the stars, ancient languages, and history, especially the old wars and the rise and fall of our kind. There are classes on alchemy, where we learn to craft potions and poisons, and others that teach us about basic inscriptions—symbols you might find on forgotten relics or ruins deep in the forest.”
“We also study natural phenomena,” he continued, glancing at Erazon, who was listening intently. “How to read the changing winds, predict weather, understand the cycles of the moon. Then, of course, we learn magic—subtle magics at first, like illusions, enchantments, and the manipulation of small forces. Practical magic for everyday life: how to grow plants with a whisper or calm a wild animal with a touch.”
Godric paused, poking at the fire as it crackled. “But those with certain gifts, like Elii and myself, are chosen for secret training under the elders. Our lessons go beyond what most learn—ancient and forbidden magic, passed down only to a select few. No one outside of those chosen knows the full extent of what they’re taught. To be honest, I thought they chose me by mistake.”
There was a brief silence before he added, “But the elders saw something—a natural talent, they said. Blacksmithing, though I didn’t fully understand it until Orlithar explained the history behind my eyes. After our training, we face a trial—one I’m bound not to speak of. If you pass, you’re judged, and if found worthy, there’s a ritual. They mark you with these runes, symbols of honor and power. The next step is to discover their true nature on your own, then return for the final ritual. Elii’s already unlocked some of her hidden power through them, but these runes... they’re more than just marks. They carry ancient magic.”
Solena’s eyes widened as she stared at the runes. “That’s remarkable. I’ve seen those runes on other elves, but it felt too personal to ask. Thank you for sharing your story. I wouldn’t want to pry further and compromise your loyalty, but… truly fascinating. I’d love to see what you unlock as you continue your journey. You’re already a powerful warrior.”
A grin tugged at Godric’s lips as he shifted, clearly awkward with the praise. “I’m not great with compliments, lass, but I appreciate it. I don’t feel like a hero, but I do feel like a warrior. Maybe when this is over, I’ll continue on my path and see where it leads.”
Erazon, now seated more comfortably by the fire, looked thoughtful. “That is fascinating. You and Elii both... it makes me wonder what your father’s life was like. I’d love to hear his story someday—the places he's been, the things he’s seen. I want to learn more about this world.”
“There’s plenty to learn, lad,” Godric chuckled. “You’ll be needing the rest of those books the old dwarf keeps teasing you about.”
“You’re probably right,” Erazon replied with a smile, running a hand through his tousled hair, a gesture that always accompanied his deeper thoughts. Across from him, Solena adjusted her crimson robes, the fabric catching the firelight as though it had a life of its own. She tugged at the brim of her hat, looking contemplative as she warmed her hands.
For a moment, Godric stood with his back to the fire, scanning the mist below. His sharp red eyes pierced the haze, searching for any sign of danger. After a while, he turned back toward the group, his usually gruff demeanor softening when he saw the weariness on their faces.
A heavy silence filled the air. They all knew these quiet moments wouldn’t last.
Finally, Godric broke the stillness. Reaching into his pack, he pulled out a small vial, its deep blue liquid swirling inside. He turned it over in his hands, watching the firelight flicker against the glass. “Almost forgot,” he said, his voice steady but tired. “We’ve pushed our magic to its limits today.”
Solena nodded softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “We should share it.” She wrung her hands together, burns forming from the day’s efforts—a painful reminder of the trials they had endured.
The space around them seemed to shrink as the blacksmith sat beside them, his large armored frame filling the area. “Drink up,” he urged softly, a rare gentleness in his tone. Rubbing his neck, he winced slightly. “These damn twitches... I think it’s from using the hammer too much.” His attempt at brushing it off didn’t entirely hide the concern in his eyes.
Erazon uncorked the vial and took a small sip, feeling the mana surge through him, restoring his reserves. Handing the vial to Solena, he watched as she, too, drank, her energy visibly returning. As she passed it back, his attention drifted to something in the air—a whisper, perhaps—just beyond the edge of hearing.
“More Ghostland nonsense,” he muttered, fingers tracing absent patterns in the air as though trying to brush away the eerie sensation.
The fire crackled and popped, its warmth doing little to ease the tension in Godric’s voice as he spoke. “I can’t stop thinking about Elii. I can’t imagine the pain she’s going through... if the Nine care at all... gods, help her.”
He paused, the his words lingering in the air. His gaze drifted, growing dark and distant as memories surfaced. “When we grew up in the Mistwood, it was just me and the old man. My mother was gone, and he was barely getting by. Then one day, we met Aura—Elizza’s mother. She was an angel.”
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Godric’s voice faltered, and he swallowed hard, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “When Eli was born, my whole world changed. We were never apart. Even when we fled to Carlin, we stuck together... until now.” His voice cracked under the weight of emotion, trembling as he confessed, “There’s a hole in my heart. I’d give anything to save her. Anything.”
Solena’s voice came, softer than before, laced with empathy. “I can’t imagine how hard it is, Godric. But there’s hope. Elizza is strong, and we’re doing everything we can to bring her back. I promise.” She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, her intense green eyes showing rare compassion.
Still staring into the fire, Erazon nodded. “She’s right. We’ve come this far, and we’re tougher now because of it. She’s counting on us to keep it together.” Running a hand through his hair, he tried to shake off the doubts that still lingered in the back of his mind.
A soft whisper broke the moment. “You’re right, Erazon. We have to be strong for her.” Solena’s voice wavered as she continued, “I know it’s not the same, but when I lost my parents... it was unbearable. Ever since the fire, it’s felt like I’ve been watching my own life from the outside, trapped in grief. I tried to burn it all away.” She paused, catching Godric’s gaze. “But your sister is different. She’s a beacon of hope, and we can’t give up on her. And... for what it’s worth, I’m sorry about Mistwood. I burned it. I was part of why you had to leave, and I don’t expect forgiveness for that.”
A heavy sigh followed, as Godric’s gruff voice cut through the tension. “I won’t lie, I fought with it. I didn’t want to talk to you, didn’t want to help. Then, when you showed up at the battle, I thought I was right all along. But you proved yourself to us all—you gave it everything you had. The things he made you do, lass, it wasn’t your fault. It was Wild-Wizard’s. He’ll pay for what he’s done. It won’t be easy, but don’t keep punishing yourself for those dark days.” His eyes softened as he looked at her. “I forgive you. You’re risking everything to set things right.”\
Tears welled in Solena’s eyes, though she fought to keep them from falling. “That means more to me than I can say. There are so many things I’ve done... things I don’t want to remember. But I’m glad to have you two with me. You’re my first... real friends.” Her voice cracked, the weight of her past creeping into the present.
The flutter of wings broke the somber moment as Lumi zipped over and wiped a tear from Solena’s cheek. “It’s ‘kay, miss. You’re beautiful. Don’t shed tears. We’re a team!” She flashed her trademark smile, her tiny form buzzing with energy.
Erazon couldn’t help but smile as well. “We’re here for you, Solena. We’re not going anywhere. Together, we’ll take down that monster.” He shifted his gaze toward Godric, his voice softening. “Your sister doesn’t deserve to be in the clutches of that demon. We’ll get her back, brother. You’re the rock that holds us together.”
A tired chuckle escaped Godric’s lips. “We’ve got something special here. I can feel it. Today was hard. These twitches... I think they’re from the hammer. We’ve got to figure out how to move forward without draining our magic, but it feels impossible.”
Leaning back, Erazon twirled his wand between his fingers, deep in thought. “Orlithar’s been around for centuries. He commands five types of magic. There’s got to be a way to ease the strain.”
Pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders, Solena nodded. “There are rites, items, and even blessings that help lessen the toll. I perform them regularly, but out here... it’s harder. Even with this wand, I’m feeling it. My hands are blistered.” She glanced down at her palms, exhaustion etched into her features. “I might have used too much today, testing out this lovely wand.”
Erazon rubbed his temples, his expression clouded. “Ever since we got here, I’ve been hearing whispers. It’s like something’s pulling me away, like I’m not fully... here.” His voice faded as he stared into the darkness, trying to make sense of the strange sensations creeping through his mind.
A sudden caw pierced the night, jolting them all from their thoughts. Lumi shot into the air, wings fluttering wildly. “I WAS JUST GETTING COMFORTABLE!” she shouted, her small form glowing as she prepared for a fight.
Low groans echoed through the mist, eerie and distant, sending chills through the group. Godric’s grip tightened on his hammer as he stood. “We should rest. I’ll take first watch. There’s more ahead of us than we realize.”
Lumi, hovering over Solena’s lap, narrowed her eyes. “You lot talk too much,” she muttered before curling up and declaring, “It’s time to sleep!”
The soft smile that crept onto Godric’s face was rare. Despite everything, Lumi’s playful nature brought a welcome levity to the moment. Gently, he patted her head, earning a contented hum from the pixie.
As the fire crackled softly, Erazon shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a spot where the smoke wouldn’t blow into his face. He sighed and moved closer to Solena, who arranged her robes to make space for him. Her hand rested protectively on his shoulder, a simple touch that conveyed much more than words.
“Try to rest,” she whispered, her voice barely louder than the crackling flames. “We need our strength.”
Nodding, Erazon tried to settle, though his mind wouldn’t quiet. He pulled his worn spellbook from his pack, resting it on his lap as he propped his head against his backpack. The old tome seemed heavier tonight, as though the knowledge inside was pressing to be revealed. Solena, sensing his restlessness, glanced over at the book.
“Don’t stay up too late,” she murmured, nestling into him for warmth. “We all need rest.”
Wrapping an arm around her, Erazon pulled her closer. The firelight danced on the stone walls, casting flickering shadows, as he opened the book. The pages, as usual, were blank, but tonight felt different. He closed his eyes, focusing on the energy inside him—the mix of the power from Lord Death, fire from Pyridion, and his own golden light. Each part fought for control, swirling in chaos, but he began to harmonize them, pulling the forces together.
A soft glow illuminated the first page as Erazon opened his eyes to the familiar runes. His shield spell, the one that had saved him countless times, stood out first. Then came the words for his golden bolt and disintegrating touch. He smiled as chaotic flame revealed itself—finally, the name of the spell that had eluded him. But something was different about the mist spell. New elements danced within it—disintegration... and a portal? The meaning flickered just out of reach.
He flipped to the next page. Fire magic lit the text in crimson light—fireballs, flame bolts, and a fire shield. These spells felt like old friends, but new ones intrigued him: a floating ball of fire, floating daggers. His grin widened. Burning hands? That he could manage. He sighed, disappointed at the absence of chains and walls of flame, but the power in the pages was undeniable.
As he turned further, the energy shifted. Death magic stirred within him—reaper’s touch, drain life, and death’s embrace glowed ominously. His pulse quickened as he saw the greyed-out spells: soul forge, spirit sword, raise undead, death blast, and abyss. They required a soul to cast. The idea of summoning the abyss stirred something dark in him, and he closed the page, his mind buzzing with the possibilities.
More pages were blank, and his thoughts drifted to the codex Orlithar had given him. Skimming past the author’s notes, a section on the Nine caught his attention: Arzone. The god of reincarnation. The text revealed more than Erazon had known. Arzone oversaw the passage of souls, offering second chances. He maintained the balance of magic, preventing wizards from lingering as ghosts. There was mention of an ancient city founded by Arzone, though its location had been lost to time. He was one of the oldest of the Nine, thought to have emerged alongside Lord Death and Pyridion. Erazon’s respect deepened as he wondered who, if anyone, was watching over the world now that Arzone was gone.
His curiosity pulled him to the next section: Aeolex, the Windstorm. Erazon read about the time when the planet, Ao, had been entirely engulfed in flames. A mysterious entity had controlled this fire until some unknown event caused a chasm to split the world. Out of the divide came wind and energy, battling the oceans of lava. Over time, this storm condensed into Aeolex, the force that eventually cooled the planet enough for life to take shape.
But fatigue crept in, and his eyes began to droop. Erazon barely had the strength to finish the passage. He wondered about the deeper implications of Aeolex’s power. Was Aeo truly the King of the Gods? The thought made him reconsider the power of Pyridion, wondering if such forces were truly safe to wield. His thoughts turned back to Arzone. Perhaps he should start there in his next study.
As he drifted into sleep, his thoughts softened, his eyes falling on Solena beside him. Her steady breathing, the warmth of her presence—there was nowhere else he’d rather be. His heart felt lighter, and the crackle of the fire lulled him into a peaceful, dreamless slumber.
Across the fire, Godric stood silently, his eyes scanning the mist that swirled outside the tower. The night pressed against them, but inside, the warmth of the fire and the quiet breathing of his companions held the darkness at bay. Godric glanced at Erazon and Solena, curled up together. The mage had drifted off, his head resting lightly on Solena’s shoulder, and her arm draped protectively over him, her hand resting on his chest.
A smile tugged at Godric’s lips. Their bond was clear, even without words. They moved together naturally, their connection forged in fire and hardship. He respected it, admired it, and hoped with all his heart that they would survive the trials to come. That fool, he thought with a quiet chuckle. He died for her once, and I’d wager he’d do it again. And me... on my honor, I’ll protect them both.
A sigh escaped him as he turned back to the mist, the weight of their journey heavy on his shoulders. Though the mission to save Elii remained his focus, the dangers ahead constantly gnawed at the edges of his thoughts.
Yet, watching Erazon and Solena, he allowed himself a rare moment of hope. Their strength, their bond—it gave him faith. Maybe they could survive this. Maybe they could all make it through together.
With a quiet breath, Godric resumed his watch, his eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of danger. The fire’s warmth kept the night’s chill at bay, but his senses remained sharp, ready for whatever the darkness might bring. In the distance, just beyond the mist, the jagged spires of Magnatar’s chapel seemed to emerge like shadows, looming over the cursed landscape. His heart clenched at the thought of Elizza, trapped somewhere in those forsaken towers.
Elizza... His mind lingered on her. Every breath felt like a tether, pulling him toward her, across the miles of mist and ruin. His eyes narrowed as he strained to see beyond the mist, as if staring hard enough might reveal her. We’re coming for you...
Slumping against the rough stone wall, Elizza felt her body ache from the iron chains that had bound her for what felt like an eternity. A narrow slit in the window offered only a thin beam of moonlight, barely cutting through the suffocating gloom that hung thick in the air. Beyond the window, the ruins of Magnatar stretched out like a skeletal hand, twisted and broken under the reign of ancient, malignant magic.
Her knuckles whitened as her fingers tightened around the cold iron bars. The walls seemed to hum with the remnants of power—an ominous vibration that seeped into her skin. Weak and drained, she clung stubbornly to the flicker of hope that still burned inside her.
Moonlight crawled across the sky, casting its indifferent gaze on the horrors below. Godric... Her thoughts wandered to her brother. Are you out there? Are you coming for me?
A faint smile tugged at her lips. She knew he wouldn’t rest until he found her. Her brother, their companions—they wouldn’t leave her to this nightmare. I just have to hold on... a little longer.
A soft shuffle in the corridor sliced through the fragile peace, making her breath catch. Her heart raced as her eyes snapped open. Something moved outside the door, its presence felt long before it appeared. The torchlight from the hallway twisted around it, casting jagged shadows that warped along the cold stone walls.
From the darkness emerged a twisted creature, its yellow eyes gleaming with malice. Its skin stretched tight over a gaunt, skeletal frame, and long, spindly limbs hung grotesquely from its body. A cruel grin revealed rows of sharp, needle-like teeth.
“It’s time, girl,” the shadowbound rasped, its voice like metal scraping against stone.
Shivering with terror, she recoiled. “No... not again. I can’t—I’m too weak. I can’t do it again,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
Pressing its bony fingers through the bars, the creature's nails scraped against the iron with an eerie screech. “Then perhaps... back into the Pit for you,” it hissed, its grin widening. “Or maybe... we could bring your father here. Wouldn’t you love to see him suffer in our grasp?”
Her heart pounded, a wave of nausea gripping her at the thought. Father... no. Not him.
“Please,” she whimpered, tears threatening to spill. The shadowbound only chuckled, a hollow, mocking sound that echoed through the cell. With a flick of its wrist, the chains binding her wrists and ankles crashed to the floor.
“You will heal the master,” it sneered, yanking her to her feet with unnatural strength. “Or you’ll suffer far worse than you can imagine.”
Dragged through the winding halls of Magnatar’s chapel, Elizza stumbled over the icy, jagged stone beneath her bare feet. Once a place of reverence, now a twisted reflection of its former glory, the chapel’s towering arches seemed to claw at the sky. Grotesque gargoyles perched on crumbling pillars, their faces contorted in eternal screams, while faded murals of saints were smeared with black stains like dripping tar. The air reeked of decay, the stench clinging to her skin and filling her lungs.
Ghostly figures drifted between the shadows, specters of lost souls whispering faint, mournful cries that barely stirred the air. Elizza’s legs trembled, her strength fading with each step, her magic a distant ember in the sea of dark energy that surrounded her. The ancient wooden doors groaned as they passed, creaking as though alive, shuddering at their approach.
Massive iron doors creaked open at last, revealing a cavernous chamber drenched in sickly green light. Torches sputtered and hissed in their sconces, casting long, flickering shadows that made the chamber feel claustrophobic, despite its high, vaulted ceilings. The space seemed to pulse with an ancient rhythm, like a living beast drawing breath.
At the far end of the room, a jagged black throne loomed, its surface lined with faintly glowing cracks. A demon stood guard beside it, its massive frame towering like two wagons stacked on top of each other. Its molten crimson skin was riddled with cracks that bled faint embers, and its eyes burned like twin furnaces. Twisted horns curled back from its skull, and in its huge hand, it gripped a double-headed axe, its chipped blade stained with dark, dried blood.
Elizza’s knees buckled as the demon’s gaze fell upon her, its raw, brutal power nearly crushing her spirit. The heat radiating from its body distorted the air, warping everything around it.
Beyond the throne, Wild-Wizard floated in a pool of glowing liquid, his skeletal frame submerged except for his face, his eyes glowing with stubborn pride. The Reaper’s Scythe, its blade gleaming wickedly, rested against the edge of the pool, casting jagged reflections across the stone floor.
A sharp voice cut through the tension. “You almost got sealed,” Nyxis said, his tone filled with disdain. The elder necromancer of Magnatar stood near the throne, his calculating gaze fixed on Wild-Wizard. “You can’t keep risking everything by going out in this state. It’s reckless.”
Wild-Wizard’s voice, dry and brittle, rasped through the chamber. “Sealed?” He scoffed, though his arrogance faltered, barely masking his weakness. “I was nowhere near defeat.”
Nyxis’s lip curled into a sneer. “You underestimate the danger. We had to sacrifice many of our forces to summon Nox and save you. You’re teetering on the edge, and you know it. What’s your plan to control the Mistwalker? You need his artifact, and you’re running out of time.”
A shove sent Elizza to her knees, her body trembling with exhaustion. Nyxis’s dark gaze shifted toward her, a cruel smile curling his lips. “Ah, our little healer,” he said softly, malice dripping from every word. “Bow before your master.”
Her body gave out, collapsing onto the cold stone, her forehead brushing the floor. Every part of her felt drained, her magic barely a flicker, too weak to do more than comply. The very walls seemed to close in, pressing down on her, as though the chapel itself was squeezing the life from her soul.
“Heal him,” Nyxis commanded, his voice as sharp as a dagger.
“I... I can’t,” she whispered, barely able to form the words. “I haven’t been fed... I haven’t seen the sky. I can’t regenerate... I’m too weak.”
A sudden burst of energy lashed across her back, pain surging through her like molten iron. She cried out, her voice echoing off the high ceilings as she crumpled onto the floor.
“You will heal him,” Nyxis hissed, his voice devoid of mercy. “Or you’ll wish you were still in that cell.”
Tears blurred her vision as she struggled to lift her trembling hands. A faint green light flickered around Wild-Wizard’s skeletal form, barely enough to sustain the spell. Her healing magic sputtered, struggling to hold its shape.
Godric... Erazon... where are you?
Her magic faded, and another pulse of dark energy shot through her, harsher than before. She whimpered, her sobs breaking as she gasped, “I can’t... please...”
“Continue,” Nyxis commanded, his voice like ice.
She sobbed as she forced the spell to return, the weak green light flickering once more around Wild-Wizard. Every part of her felt as though it was unraveling, her strength slipping away. But even as her body screamed in agony, her thoughts clung to one desperate hope. They’re coming... I just have to hold on...
As her vision blurred and her magic flickered, Elizza’s final thoughts lingered on her brother and Erazon—the only light in her suffocating darkness.