A vast, circular chamber stretched around them, ancient walls etched with runes that pulsed faintly in the dim light. Exhaustion weighed heavily on the trio—Godric, Erazon, and Elizza—as they stood in the suffocating gloom. On Elizza’s shoulder, Lumi glowed faintly, her light a welcome contrast in the dark chamber. In the center, the dwarven master sorcerer Orlithar had just been broken free from his crystal prison.

Power radiated from the sorcerer, but his shorter stature caught them by surprise. Wrapped in shimmering robes, Orlithar’s stout, barrel-shaped figure stood with an undeniable presence. His dark, piercing eyes swept over the group, a look of curiosity mingling with disdain. This was a legend that once stirred both fear and awe across the lands.

"Free, ye say?" he growled, his voice rough as grinding stone. "Aye, free at last, but don’t think fer a moment I owe ye any favors. Do ye have any idea how long I’ve been trapped in this godforsaken dungeon?"

"We nearly died breaking you out," Godric said, stepping forward despite his weariness. "Forgive me, Master dwarf… I am Godric Ashendale. My sister, and Erazon... we ask only for your ear, and aid, if you can spare it."

A smirk tugged at Orlithar’s lips. "Ye’ve got some spine, I’ll give ye that... though yer nose might be too big for yer face. Ye smellin’ a hint o’ pixie magic, are ye?" His eyes narrowed as he theatrically sniffed the air.

From the shadows, Lumi leapt into view, a mischievous grin lighting up her tiny face. "I THOUGHT HE WOULDN’T NOTICE!" she declared, raising her hands in mock fury, drawing quick chuckles from the group. The moment of levity faded just as quickly.

With a huff, Orlithar softened briefly toward the pixie before his expression grew serious again. "I’ll lend ye an ear, Ashendale, but ye’ve got bigger problems. Ye all feel that dark presence, aye?"

A low hum filled the air as Orlithar raised his hand, and the chamber responded. Small motes of light began to coalesce, swirling in the air like fireflies. They danced through the darkness, casting a soft, ethereal glow that illuminated the space. Slowly, the motes merged into larger orbs of radiant energy, floating just below the chamber’s high ceiling. The orbs pulsed in unison, sending patterns of light and shadow flickering across the ancient walls.

"More civilized now, aye?" Orlithar muttered with a smirk as the lights twirled lazily overhead, casting the room in a dreamlike glow.

He pointed to the stone floor beneath their feet. "Ye noticed the LARGE circle underfoot, right?" His eyes hardened, voice sharp with reproach. "Standin’ on this tickin’ time bomb—were ye born yesterday?"

Uneasy glances passed between the group.

"This circle," He continued, disdain creeping into his tone, “Was meant to summon me captor if I were freed." He gestured to a rune with clear irritation. "Mistakes. This one’s wrong, and this," he pointed to another, "Backwards. By the Nine, they only caught me through dumb luck."

Shaking his head, he sighed. "Ye lot need to be more careful," he added, casting a brief, softer glance at Erazon. "Magic’s a tricky business; it ain’t somethin’ to be taken lightly."

With precise, measured movements, he set about correcting the runes. His expertise showed in every motion, and as the last rune fell into place, the circle flared to life, glowing a menacing red that sent shivers through the group.

Alarmed, Erazon spoke up. "Why are you fixing them? We don’t have the strength to fight—"

"Aye, ye don’t," Orlithar interrupted with a wicked grin. "But I do. I’m summoning the shade of Nyxis—got some words I need to settle." With a final flick of his wrist, he completed the last rune.

A tremor coursed through the chamber as the summoning circle erupted with a violent burst of energy. Shadows tore through the air, twisting and coalescing into the outline of a figure cloaked in darkness. The aura of menace deepened, pressing down on the group, nearly driving them to their knees.

From the darkness, the figure stepped forward—Nyxis, the elder wizard of Magnatar, his eyes gleaming with devilish intent, moving with slow, deliberate menace.

"Nyxis," Orlithar spat, his voice thick with contempt. "Ye’ve got some nerve. Imprison me, would ye? After all we’ve been through?"

A cold chuckle escaped Nyxis' lips, his grin dark and cruel. "Delightful to see you again, only for you to be imprisoned once more. You cannot stop what’s already begun."

Thunder rumbled in Orlithar’s voice as fury ignited within him. "Ye dare speak to me of prison? Ye turned yer back on the balance, on the oath we swore to Lord Death!" His fist clenched, and Nyxis’ shade crumpled under an invisible force, brought low.

"And for what!?" Orlithar’s voice cracked like a whip, vibrating with anger. "To serve that wretched god of shadow, Nox!? Ye turned farmlands to graves! I’ll be damned if ye do the same to Carlin!"

The shade laughed again, cold and bitter, even as he struggled against Orlithar’s hold. "You are blind to the truth. Nox is power. You were a fool to follow Lord Death’s dreams of balance. Darkness will consume everything. You’re on the wrong side."

Orlithar's sneer deepened as he stepped closer, forcing the shade down with a flick of his hand. "Wrong side?" His voice dropped dangerously low. "What is a world of shadow without light? What is a world of death without life? Enough of yer madness. I’ll see to it ye never betray anyone again."

With a bellowing roar, he unleashed a torrent of magic. The summoning circle cracked under the immense pressure, stones beneath the shade’s form shattering as the it flickered and dissolved into nothingness.

"You may have erased this shadow," Nyxis’ voice echoed, fading into the void, "but you cannot stop us!" His words lingered ominously, leaving behind a chilling darkness.

The silence that followed was heavy, the chamber still crackling with lingering energy. Orlithar exhaled, his anger still palpable. "Been holdin' that in for too long." He paused, glancing around, as if sensing something off. "Now... what in the Nine Hells is goin' on in Carlin?"

As they filled him in, Orlithar’s expression darkened. Guards enforcing decrees, wands banned, chaos caused by the Wild Wizard—each word deepened the furrows on his brow.

Erazon shifted, preparing to speak of his visions, but Orlithar’s gaze snapped to the side, his jaw clenching as if sensing a new threat. Anger flickered back into his eyes.

"Ye’ve let this madness fester in me city!?" Orlithar roared, his voice crashing through the chamber like a storm. "I’LL BE DAMNED IF I LET CARLIN FALL TO THE KING’S INSANITY!"

The very ground beneath them seemed to tremble from his fury. A grinding sound interrupted the tension as a hidden door high above slid open, revealing a descending figure.

"Right on cue," he muttered, his tone as dry as ancient stone, without bothering to look.

A figure descended from the shadows—her eyes blazing with fierce, unnatural light. Solena’s fiery robes clung to her like a second skin, adorned with patterns of flame that shifted as though alive. Long auburn hair billowed behind her, framing a face both beautiful and terrifying.

Without uttering a word, she raised her outstretched fingers. Swirling orbs of fire ignited in the air above, crackling with violent energy. The blazing barrage hurtled downward. Erazon’s heart pounded, knowing they couldn’t withstand the blast in their current state. Elizza instinctively raised her arms, eyes clenching shut against the fiery assault.

A mocking smile played on Orlithar’s lips. He didn’t flinch as he raised his hand, effortlessly absorbing the flames into his palm, as if the inferno were child’s play. The fiery onslaught vanished into nothingness, leaving only faint tendrils of smoke in the air.

"Still got some o’ my power left in ye, eh, lass?" His voice oozed condescension, cutting through the fading tension.

Anger twisted her features. Flames licked up her robes again as she prepared another attack, but before her spell could take form, Orlithar snapped his fingers. A shimmering magical bubble sprang up around her, trapping her inside. She pounded her fists against the barrier, her screams muted by the shimmering prison.

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He flicked his wrist, and the glowing sphere obeyed, drifting to the ground like a feather before settling softly at his feet. The group watched in silence as her fury crumbled into agony and helplessness, her expression shifting with the weight of her torment.

A sudden clench of Orlithar's fist sent a red aura spiraling from her body, siphoning into his hand. His form began to transform—the wrinkles on his face smoothed, his frame thickened, and his strength visibly returned as the stolen power flowed back into him.

Solena writhed under the strain, the pain overwhelming her. Defiance turned to weakness as her knees buckled. Clutching her stomach, she collapsed, sobs breaking the tense silence. The once-proud sorceress lay broken within her shimmering prison.

“Stop!” Erazon’s voice trembled, desperation thick in his tone as he stepped forward. “You’re hurting her!”

For a moment, Orlithar hesitated. His gaze flicked from Erazon to Solena, who continued to suffer within the magical bubble. His expression unreadable, he finally relented, softening the flow of magic, though the spell wasn’t fully undone.

“I’ve felt every spell ye cast with me stolen power,” he growled, voice laced with disdain. “Portals? Hellfire? Demon magic?” The magic slowed to a trickle, though Erazon couldn’t tell if it was out of mercy or because Solena had little power left to give.

The fire in her robes dimmed, leaving only a shell of her former self. Her hair, once wild with energy, now hung limp, her defiant spirit crumbling under the weight of his awesome power. Her breathing became labored, and she trembled.

“Always had a fire in ye, didn’t ye?” Orlithar’s voice dug into her memories. “From the time ye were a wee lass, always playin' with flames, weren’t ye? Non-magical parents, eh? They punished ye hard for it, aye?”

Her eyes widened, painful memories bubbling to the surface against her will. “They punished me… I didn’t mean to… I loved fire, I could...speak to it,” she whispered.

"And what did that love o' flames bring ye?” His voice hit like a hammer. “What happened when ye spoke to them demons?”

Tears streamed down her face as the truth tore through her. “I was hiding… the voice offered me power… but the flames spread. Our house... it burned. Everything. Gone. I was the only one left.” Her voice cracked, trembling with guilt.

Erazon’s heart clenched. Solena’s sobs cut through him like a blade. “Stop this!” he pleaded, his voice breaking with desperation. “You’re torturing her!”

A trembling hand covered Elizza's mouth, her eyes wide with empathy and sorrow. Lumi, perched on her shoulder, dimmed her glow and buried her tiny face in Elizza’s hair, as if trying to shield herself from the painful scene.

Orlithar didn’t flinch. “And after ye lost everything, who took ye in? Who did ye turn to?”

Solena’s sobs deepened, each word choking her as she tried to speak. “Wild-Wizard,” she managed to whisper. “But he... used me.”

“Aye, used ye,” he growled. “Fed ye off me power, didn’t he? Molded ye into his pawn. Ye took me place as master sorcerer.”

A heavy step broke the silence as Godric surged forward, fury blazing in his eyes. “Ask her about the Mistwood,” he snarled. “Did she burn my home?”

Solena recoiled, trembling. “I... I tried to run...” she whimpered, shaking her head in despair. “Before we went... I tried... but he—Wild—he did it...”

Her voice shattered into sobs, energy draining with every breath. “He used... the Scythe... forced me to... the curse... I couldn’t stop it... couldn’t fight it... I didn’t want to... I’m so sorry...” Her body collapsed within the bubble, hands trembling uncontrollably.

“Godric, she didn’t mean to—” Erazon’s voice broke through, pleading, his steps urgent as he moved forward.

A bitter edge hardened Godric’s face. “She meant to. She enjoyed it.”

“No,” he shot back, his voice desperate but firm. “I’ve seen the real Solena. She’s in there. She didn’t want this!”

Fists clenched tightly, Godric’s frustration surged. “She burned our home! She helped Wild-Wizard! She got you killed!”

Elizza’s voice, soft and trembling, broke the heavy tension in the chamber. “She’s not our enemy... she’s been cursed. She’s suffered enough. Aurelia would want us to show mercy.”

Before Godric could respond, Elizza stepped closer, her light blue hair disheveled from the battle to free the master sorcerer, strands falling loosely around her soft, dirt-smeared face. Her eyes, bright with unshed tears, pleaded silently as she gently grasped his arm. He stiffened at first, but then his gaze dropped to his sister. He couldn’t help but notice how tired she looked, how vulnerable. Her delicate features—so different from his own rough edges—stirred the protective instinct he always had for her. Despite his anger, a part of him softened as her trembling hand clutched his arm.

“Please” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath, “show mercy.”

For a long moment, Godric’s posture eased, the hardness in his stance relaxing. But the bitterness in his voice still lingered. “She didn’t show us mercy.”

Orlithar’s cold gaze remained fixed on Solena, his voice sharp. “I ain’t finished yet. I’ll get the full tale before I pass me judgment.”

Tension hung thick in the room, broken only by her faint, labored sobs.

His voice dropped, quieter but still carrying judgment. “Did ye enjoy burnin' the Mistwood? Why did ye seek out Erazon? What was Wild’s plan?”

The magic’s grip loosened, giving her just enough breath to respond. “I... didn’t want to harm the elves... I was forced to... I had no will... I couldn’t fight it...”

Magic thickened in the air as Orlithar's hands moved with precision, fingers tracing patterns that shimmered with dark energy. "Hold still" he commanded, his voice low but firm, his concentration unwavering. The tension in the chamber was palpable as he began to unravel the ancient curse embedded deep within her.

A sharp gasp escaped from her as her body convulsed violently. Dark tendrils of shadow poured from her mouth and eyes, thick and suffocating like smoke. Her eyes widened in terror as the curse fought back, resisting Orlithar's efforts. Her skin flickered briefly with a golden shimmer, the air around them humming with raw, dangerous energy.

“It’s... stronger than I thought,” he growled, his face contorted with strain. Pouring more power into the spell, the dark magic swirled, growing heavier. Shadows lashed out within the bubble, forming a monstrous figure that roared, clawing at the edges of its prison.

A guttural grunt escaped him as he raised one hand to steady her bubble, while the other wrestled with the dark shadow, gripping it with tremendous force.

Muscles taut and veins bulging, he roared, “A thousand-year seal!” The shadow writhed in agony as Orlithar tore it free from Solena’s body, drawing it into a glowing cube that pulsed before collapsing into nothingness.

She crumpled to the floor, her body limp but peaceful. The agony that had contorted her face melted away, her breathing now slow and steady. Though fragile, she radiated a quiet serenity, finally freed from the curse.

Panting heavily, the master sorcerer wiped the sweat from his brow and turned to Erazon. “Lad, pick her up. We need to get her outta here.”

Without hesitation, he knelt beside Solena, his hands trembling as he gently scooped her into his arms. The warmth of her body against his stirred something deep within him. He inhaled her faint scent—ashes mixed with a sweetness that tugged at his heart. Fragile as she looked in his arms, her peaceful expression spoke of the inner strength that had endured.

With a wave of his hand, Orlithar summoned a sturdy wooden door that creaked open in the middle of the chamber. “This way,” he ordered, gesturing toward the guest room he had conjured within the guild’s sanctuary.

The air shifted as Erazon stepped through the doorway. The scent of herbs and incense greeted him, wrapping him in a sense of calm as he entered the modest, warm space. A simple bed stood waiting in the center, but it felt too plain, unworthy of someone like Solena. She deserved comfort, peace—something far from all this pain. He laid her down carefully, feeling her warmth slip away as he placed her on the bed. The loss of that contact sent a pang of emptiness through him, as though a part of her had been taken from him.

Brushing a stray strand of hair from her face, his fingers trembled. He lingered, his eyes tracing the soft lines of her face—her delicate features, lips slightly parted as she breathed in a peaceful rhythm. She looked so serene, no longer twisted in agony. The fierce sorceress who had once commanded fear and respect now appeared fragile, vulnerable. His heart ached, torn between sorrow for the pain she had endured and the overwhelming tenderness that filled his chest.

I’m sorry, he thought, heart heavy with regret. I’m so sorry for all you’ve been through.

His eyes lingered on her, taking in every detail—the curve of her lips, the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the soft, even breathing. She seemed at peace now, but he couldn't shake the memory of the terror in her eyes, the way her body had convulsed moments earlier, fighting the curse that had ravaged her. He wished he could have taken that pain on himself, sparing her the suffering.

Resting his hand briefly against her cheek, he imagined a future where the battle was over, where they were free from the darkness surrounding them. He wanted to see her again, hear her laugh, feel her warmth in his hands again. When this was all over, he promised himself, he wouldn’t let her go.

But now, standing over her, the weight of duty pulled him away. He didn’t want to leave her alone, vulnerable, but he had to. The war wasn’t over yet. There was still a fight ahead, and she needed time to recover.

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering longer than they should have. "Rest now," he whispered, barely audible, his voice thick with emotion.

Behind him, Godric’s sneer pierced the quiet, arms crossed tightly over his chest. Clearly unimpressed, he remained unmoved. Erazon didn’t care. His focus stayed on Solena—her steady breathing, her peaceful face. Elizza stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, her blue hair still disheveled from the earlier battle. Lumi, the tiny pixie perched on her shoulder, dimmed her glow, as if she, too, shared in the quiet sorrow.

Straightening, Erazon forced himself to take a step back, his heart heavy with the weight of leaving her behind. He had no choice. They had to fight. But as he turned to follow Orlithar, Elizza, and Godric, he cast one last glance at Solena, a silent promise echoing in his heart: I’ll come back for you. Wild will pay for this.

“She’ll survive,” Orlithar’s voice broke the silence, his gaze fixed on the horizon through the chamber’s small window. His brow furrowed as he scanned the distant scene. “But there’s no time to rest. A battle’s brewin’, and Carlin won’t defend itself.”

With a swift gesture, he summoned another door. The heavy wooden frame groaned as it swung open, revealing the chaos outside. Guards swarmed the streets, mages poised on rooftops, and the unmistakable tension of impending violence hung thick in the air.

“Come on, then,” he grunted, urgency sharpening his deep voice. “We’ve got work to do.”

Erazon hesitated, his heart heavy as he glanced back at her one last time. With a silent promise forming in his mind, he turned and followed the others into the midst of chaos.