Chapter 24
Shadow of vengeance:
In the heart of the kingdom of Trigoh, the towering spires of the archmage's citadel cast ominous shadows across the land. The archmage, a symbol revered even across the realm, stood before the council of the 13 elder mages. His eyes were like cold fire as he recounted the tale of King Edmund's invasion of their kingdom walls, leaving scars that still festered in their memories.
"The time has come," the archmage declared, his voice echoing through the chamber. "Albion will pay for their transgressions. Their blood will flow, and their royalty will kneel before us, broken."
The elder mages nodded in unison, their faces veiled in a mixture of resentment and anticipation. With ancient tomes and dark incantations, they began the ritual of death and blood summoning. The air grew heavy with magic, and the room seemed to pulse with malevolent energy.
As the ritual reached its climax, a rip in the fabric of reality tore open, and from the hades emerged the Abysstreadder. A skeletal figure draped in black armor and scarves, it exuded an aura of dread. Its sword gleamed with a malevolent hunger, and its eyes burned with an eerie light that held the secrets of the underworld.
"You shall be our harbinger of doom," the archmage hissed, his fingers tracing the outline of the summoning circle. "Go forth, Abysstreadder, and sow chaos in Albion's heart."
The creature nodded, its hollow sockets fixing on Malachor before it vanished into the shadows, leaving only a whisper of death behind.
Meanwhile, in the tranquil kingdom of Albion, Queen Talisa and Prince Eamon walked the palace gardens, discussing matters of diplomacy and alliances with lands afar. Little did they know that the darkness they had left behind in Trigoh was about to engulf them.
As the Abysstreadder materialized in Albion, its presence caused the air to chill and the stars to dim. It moved with unnatural swiftness, its form flickering like a nightmare. Villagers who crossed its path fell in a spray of crimson, their lives extinguished as if snuffed by a malevolent gust of wind. The snow underfoot turned crimson, the red contrasting starkly against the purity of the landscape.
Later that night In Poseidon's Watch, Prince Eamon felt a shiver crawl down his spine. His instincts screamed danger, and he drew his sword just as the Abysstreadder emerged from the shadows. Their clash was a dance of death, the creature's blade whistling through the air as Eamon fought to defend himself.
"Who summoned you?" Eamon growled between parries, the force of their clash shaking the very ground beneath them.
"You are but morsels for the abyss," the Abysstreadder hissed, its voice a chilling whisper that seemed to echo from the grave.
Their battle raged on and they find themselves on the citadel's roof, fire and shadow clashing in a deadly ballet. Just then did vehmyr intervene spewing fire around, causing the creature to falter and retreat momentarily. It stood there as the night sea breeze passed through, the dragon's fire surrounding Eamon as a mean of protection, it vanished into the night.
As the moon cast an eerie glow over Albion, Prince Eamon's heart raced with urgency. His steed galloped through the darkened forest, the sound of hooves echoing a desperate rhythm. His sword was a reassuring weight in his hand, the blade a symbol of his determination to protect the kingdom. His thoughts were consumed by Queen Talisa's safety, the fear of losing another monarch gnawing at him.
Arriving at the castle walls, Eamon's heart sank as he learned that Queen Talisa was not within. A whisper of unease swept through the air—why would she leave the castle at such an hour? The kingdom's five kingdoms rarely interacted, making her nocturnal absence all the more puzzling.
Inside the castle walls, the Abysstreadder's presence lingered like a haunting specter. The skeletal creature had claimed the lives of two esteemed knights before retreating into the shadows, biding its time until the night's veil would once again grant it freedom to wreak havoc.
Eamon's relief was palpable as he discovered that Queen Talisa was unharmed, her absence from the castle traced to a clandestine meeting with a group of envoys from a distant land. Accusatory murmurs swirled among Albion's courtiers, fingers pointing toward Trigoh as the orchestrator of the malevolent magical force.
Meanwhile, on the Redwater Shore, Lord Erevan and his Sylverian fleet regrouped with renewed purpose. Their plan was meticulous: strike the citadel's furthest tower, cutting off any means of communication that would alert the Sea Citadel to their impending assault. The sea breeze carried the weight of their anticipation as they set their sights on the citadel looming on the horizon.
As the journeying trio of Lysanna, Alara, and Ikky once again embraced sleep, Lysanna's dreams became a haunting tapestry of shadows. Night after night, the same terrible vision played out, leaving her waking with a sense of foreboding. Unbeknownst to them, Lord Alista's dark magic had woven a web of deceit into Lysanna's mind, blurring the lines between reality and illusion.
Each dream led them further into the grasp of the Shadow Coven, a malevolent force that had long slumbered, waiting for the right catalyst to awaken it. The trio's path grew ever more perilous as their journey took a sinister twist, and even the dragon mark that Lysanna bore as a sign of destiny seemed powerless against the encroaching darkness.
In the shadow of uncertainty, alliances shifted, secrets unraveled, and destinies intertwined. As dawn broke over Albion and the Sea Citadel's towers, the kingdom held their breath, awaiting the next chapter in this intricate tapestry of magic, treachery, and the unbreakable spirit of those who dared to stand against the shadows.
The weight of the trio's newfound knowledge hung heavy in the air, mingling with the scent of pine and the rustle of leaves. Lysanna's dreams had become a torment, her nights plagued by visions that refused to release their grip. Alara, ever the scholar, poured over ancient tomes, her brow furrowed in concentration as she sought to unravel the enigma that plagued them.
"I don't understand," Alara muttered, frustration lacing her words. "This magic... it's like nothing I've ever encountered before. It's as if it's woven from the very fabric of darkness itself."
Lysanna gazed into the distance, her eyes reflecting the turmoil within her soul. "These dreams... they're relentless. I can't shake the feeling that they're leading us somewhere, but to what end, I do not know."
Ikky, in his wolf form, returned to the campsite, his mouth filled with a bounty of fresh game. Dropping the meat at their feet, he transformed back into his human form, his amber eyes meeting Lysanna's.
"We cannot let fear dictate our path," Ikky said, his voice steady. "We must forge ahead, face whatever darkness awaits us, and uncover the truth."
Days turned into nights, and nights into days, as the trio pressed on. Alara's frustration grew, but her determination burned brighter. Her fingers traced ancient runes as she delved into the ether realm, seeking answers that remained stubbornly out of reach.
"Maybe... maybe there's a key," Alara mused aloud one evening. "A way to weaken Lord Alista's magic, to break its hold on Lysanna's mind."
Lysanna's eyes met Alara's with a mixture of hope and uncertainty. "If such a key exists, we must find it. I can't bear the thought of being a pawn in someone else's game."
In the forest, the wind whispered secrets, and the moon's glow cast long shadows. The trio's campfire flickered, illuminating their faces as they grappled with the darkness that loomed over them.
"You know," Ikky began, his voice quiet yet resolute, "sometimes, the answers we seek lie not in the magic of others, but within ourselves. Lysanna, the dragon mark you bear is not just a symbol; it's a part of you. Maybe it holds the power to shatter this curse."
Lysanna's gaze drifted to her wrist, where the mark pulsed with a faint light. "But how? How can I tap into its power when I don't even know how it works?"
"Perhaps the answer lies in understanding its origin," Alara suggested. "There are records of dragon marks being linked to ancient prophecies. If we can find those records..."
Their voices trailed off as the night deepened, the stars casting their brilliance upon the trio. "We set course back to Albion" Alara stated. The journey ahead remained treacherous, but with each conversation, each shared moment, their bonds grew stronger. They were not alone; they were a force to be reckoned with.
As they drifted into sleep, the forest whispered secrets, and the path ahead remained uncertain. But one thing was clear: they would face the darkness together, armed not only with their skills but with the unbreakable bond of friendship that would light their way through the shadows.