The ground beneath Kaelen trembled, sending ripples through the glassy expanse of the Threshold. A deep, resonant hum filled the air, not heard but felt, vibrating through his bones. The shadows at the edge of the sky stretched and twisted, shifting unnaturally, pressing in like grasping fingers.
Aelith’s expression darkened. “They come.”
Kaelen’s pulse pounded. “Who? What are they?”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she lifted her hand and drew a symbol in the air. The glowing runes on the archway flared brighter, casting a silver light that cut through the encroaching darkness. The mist that had curled lazily around Kaelen’s feet now surged outward, forming a protective barrier around them.
A whispering sound rose in the distance—low at first, but growing louder, closer. Voices speaking in a language he didn’t understand, layered over one another in a ceaseless murmur.
Then, he saw them.
Figures materialized from the shifting dark. They were tall and thin, draped in flowing obsidian robes that seemed to bleed into the air itself. Their faces were hidden beneath featureless masks, smooth and pale like polished bone. But their eyes—if they could be called that—were empty voids, swirling with something deeper than darkness, something ancient and hungry.
Kaelen swallowed hard. “Those… those are the ones from the well.”
“No,” Aelith corrected, her voice tight. “These are worse.”
The figures halted at the edge of the archway’s light. One of them stepped forward, raising a spindly hand. When it spoke, its voice scraped against Kaelen’s mind, a soundless whisper that curled through his thoughts like tendrils of smoke.
Vessel… You are incomplete.
Kaelen flinched, his head throbbing. A sharp pain lanced through his chest, the same place where the Moonfire’s power had stirred. The silver glow flickered beneath his skin again, brighter this time.
Aelith moved between him and the creatures. “He is not yours.”
The lead figure tilted its head, the motion inhuman, too smooth. The whispering grew louder.
The Pact is broken.
Aelith’s fingers twitched. Kaelen saw the energy building around her, a faint silver aura pulsing at her fingertips. “He was never part of your Pact.”
The figures didn’t react—at least, not in any way Kaelen could recognize. But the air grew heavier, pressing down on him. The mist around them wavered. The archway’s runes flickered.
The shadows were pushing through.
Kaelen gritted his teeth. “I don’t understand any of this! What do they want from me?”
Aelith turned to him, her glowing eyes fierce. “To claim what is inside you. To make you theirs.”
A cold dread curled in Kaelen’s gut. He looked down at his hands, at the silver light stirring beneath his skin. The power he had never asked for. The power that had brought him here.
He lifted his gaze back to the figures.
“No.” His voice was steadier than he felt. “I don’t belong to them.”
The creatures hissed, a sound like wind through dead leaves. The lead figure raised its hand again, and the whispering turned to a roar.
The darkness surged forward.
Aelith reacted instantly. She thrust out her hand, and a barrier of silver flame erupted between them and the advancing shadows. The creatures recoiled, their forms flickering, but they did not retreat.
“Kaelen!” Aelith called over the rising noise. “The archway! You must cross—now!”
He turned toward it, hesitating. “Where does it lead?”
Her voice was urgent. “Away from here! To a place where you might survive!”
That wasn’t exactly reassuring. But the shadows were closing in, pressing against Aelith’s barrier, warping its edges. The archway pulsed, its runes flaring in time with his own heartbeat.
The choice was clear.
Kaelen ran.
The moment he stepped through, the world split apart.
Chapter 5: The Forgotten Citadel
The shift was instant. One moment, Kaelen was in the Threshold, his ears filled with whispers and the roar of Aelith’s magic. The next, silence swallowed him whole.
He stumbled forward, disoriented, his knees hitting cold stone. The air here was sharp, dry, tinged with something metallic. He forced himself to his feet, his breath coming fast.
He was in a massive hall, its walls lined with towering pillars of black stone veined with silver light. Above him, an arched ceiling stretched into darkness, punctuated by floating motes of pale luminescence. The floor beneath him was polished obsidian, reflecting his image like a mirror.
A vast, empty space.
And yet, it did not feel empty.
Kaelen turned, searching for any sign of Aelith—but she was gone. The archway had vanished. There was no way back.
Something stirred in the silence. A presence. Watching.
Then, a voice—low, measured, filled with the weight of centuries.
"You have come at last."
Kaelen whirled toward the sound.
At the far end of the hall, seated upon a throne of dark stone, was a figure unlike any he had ever seen. Draped in flowing silver robes, their face was obscured beneath a mask of deep obsidian, smooth and featureless except for two slits where their eyes should have been. But within those slits, twin lights burned—a cold, ancient silver, the same glow that flickered beneath Kaelen’s skin.
The figure leaned forward slightly.
"You carry the Moonfire, but you do not yet understand it."
Kaelen’s fists clenched. “Then tell me what I am.”
The figure was silent for a long moment. Then, they spoke a single word.
"Chosen."
The hall darkened.
And Kaelen knew his journey had only just begun.
---
(Still to be continued…)
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