Dawn's first sickly light crept through the shattered windows of the palace keep as Franklin led the small company up the spiral staircase. His muscles ached from the crypt's trials, but there was no time to rest. The two freed children clung to Brenda's skirts, eyes wide at the new world beyond the keep's walls, though for them, wonder was quickly replaced by dread as they sensed the miasma rolling in from the horizon.
Outside, Evergrave lay half‑drowned by the Black Marsh. Fog coiled over stagnant waters like pale serpents hunting prey. The ruined battlements dripped of moss and slime. Banji stood at the edge of a broken drawbridge, the chains rusted through in places, his crimson armour dulled by grime. Rebecca hovered beside him, her wrist now free of the serpent's glow but still trembling with the echo of the second seal's destruction.
"We cross here," Franklin said, voice low. He surveyed the rotting timbers. "Be ready. The marsh changes everything."
Brenda eased the children onto the first plank. "Stay close," she warned. The wood creaked ominously beneath her boots. Each step unleashed clouds of greenish mist that swirled around their ankles. Franklin followed, sword sheathed but fingers brushing the hilt. He felt the swamp's pull, a whisper of Solorth's power seeking to drag him under.
Halfway across, a tremor rattled the bridge. The timber splintered behind them. Banji darted forward, bracing the next section against the swell of water. "Hold!" he barked, magic crackling in his palms as he reinforced the beams with necrotic iron bins. The wood groaned but held firm.
On the far side, they stepped onto soggy ground. The marsh's breath was rank of rotting reeds, stagnant water, and something foul. The children whimpered as Brenda gathered them beneath her cloak.
Rebecca drew a steadying breath. "Father always feared this place. Said the marsh remembered every death."
Franklin nodded. "It does. "We must make our mark, not become part of its history." He led them along a narrow causeway of half‑submerged stones, each engraved with runic glyphs long since eroded. He pressed a hand to one, feeling the faint pulse of abandoned wards. "These were protective charms," he murmured. "Now they're spent."
They pressed on in silence, the only sounds the drip‑drip of water from overhanging vines and distant croaks. As the sun climbed, the fog thinned into streaks of light and shadow. Suddenly, a banshee wail cut through the air, a high, keening cry that shook the bones.
Brenda spun, lantern raised. "What was that?"
From the reeds, a pale figure emerged, a half‑rotted corpse robed in tattered ceremonial garb. Its mouth hung open in a silent scream, and eyes like empty wells stared at them.
Franklin drew his sword. "Stay back."
The creature lurched forward, limbs snapping like dead wood. Banji responded with a blast of black flame that sent the wraith reeling. Franklin advanced, blades flashing in the morning light. With one swift stroke, he severed the creature's head. It slumped to the ground, its body dissolving into ash.
"Undead of the Blood Tithe," Franklin growled. "Their souls cannot pass without release." He sheathed his sword. "We're not just breaking seals; we're freeing the damned."
Rebecca knelt by the ash, her voice soft. "Forgive me." She whispered a short prayer, and the air seemed to brighten.
They moved on, deeper into the fen. Water pooled around their ankles. At one crossing, Franklin tested a submerged stone and found it weighted by a corpse of an old soldier's armour studded with barnacles. He hauled it free, giving the bones a respectful nod before he heaved them aside.
Hours passed. The sun burned high, then began to wane. The causeway ended at a weathered archway half-sunk in black water. Beyond it, a narrow channel twisted into deeper fog.
"This leads to the temple island," Banji said, peering across the water. On the far shore, jagged spires of dark stone pierced the sky. The silhouette of Solorth's temple was unmistakable, towering above a field of drowned columns.
Brenda knelt, pressing her fingers into the mud. "We need a boat."
Franklin scanned the bank. A half‑rotted skiff lay beached beneath a dead willow. He waded to it, water seeping into his boots. The wood groaned under his weight. "It'll hold us if we're careful."
Banji and Franklin dragged the boat into deeper water. Brenda guided the children inside. Rebecca boarded last, trailing droplets of muddy water from her boots. Franklin pushed off.
The skiff glided over black water that reflected the sky's bruised colour. Each oar's stroke sent ripples through stagnant pools. The closer they drew to the temple, the heavier the air grew, oppressive and electric, as if charged with ancient wrath.
Rebecca shivered. "I can feel the seal from here."
Franklin leaned forward, his voice muted. "The final seal lies beneath those obsidian gates. We break it, and Solorth's hold on this realm shatters."
Banji's jaw tightened. "Then we end this."
But the marsh was not silent. From the water's depths came a rasping hiss. A dozen skeletal arms breached the surface, wrapped in slimy vines. Dead children's clothes trailed from their wrists.
Brenda screamed. Franklin shoved her aside as the arms writhed around the boat's prow. He grabbed an oar and hacked at the nearest limb. Banji set the wood ablaze with a black fire, sending charred limbs sinking back into the mud.
The boat rocked as more arms emerged. The children huddled beneath Brenda's cloak, silent now.
Franklin gripped the oar. "We have to row faster."
Banji plunged both hands into the water, summoning a swirling vortex that sucked the flailing corpses under. The water boiled and churned before calming.
"Go!" he shouted.
Franklin strained at the oars as Banji crouched at the stern, warding off the emerging horrors with blasts of necrotic flame. Each time a hand reached for the boat, he incinerated it.
At last, the channel narrowed, leading under a stone arch carved with coiling serpents. Beyond lay the island's shore, a beach of cracked black obsidian.
They beached the skiff and leapt ashore. The marsh's boundary ended abruptly, the ground firm beneath their boots. Franklin paused, inhaling the cooler air. The temple's gates stood a dozen paces ahead, towering doors of black iron etched with Solorth's sigil.
Brenda ushered the children back, placing them against a ruined wall. "Stay here," she whispered. "No matter what, don't leave this spot."
Rebecca stepped beside them. "I'll hold them if they come."
Franklin shook his head. "No. You need to recover."
Rebecca met his eyes. "I'm ready. We go together."
Banji sheathed his blade. "Then let's finish this."
Franklin drew a deep breath. He stepped forward, each footstep ringing on obsidian stone. The iron gates seemed to pulse with dark life, whispering promises of power and despair.
With a single push, he forced the doors open. The air inside was colder than the marsh, and a wind of pure darkness blew out, extinguishing torches in their hands.
The four figures, two kings, a sister, and a bride, stood at the threshold of Solorth's domain. Beyond them lay the final trial: the heart of the pact, the last seal that bound the ancient entity's soul to the realm.
Franklin's voice rose above the silence. "For Evergrave."
Together, they stepped into the temple's shadowed halls, where the ultimate reckoning awaited.