Chapter Eleven: The Sanctum Beckons
The sky above the forest was still dark when Elena left Lucien behind.
He hadn't wanted her to go alone — but his wounds needed time, and she couldn't afford to wait. Not with Valen closing in. Not with the Veil growing thinner by the day.
She followed the map Isolde had left behind, its markings barely visible, the ink faded with centuries of wear. But somehow, she knew the way. Her blood knew. Like a whisper beneath her skin, it pulled her forward, guiding her through woods that seemed older than the world.
The trees grew taller the deeper she went, their roots like claws rising from the earth. Mist swirled around her feet. The wind no longer spoke in breezes but in voices — fragments of memory, warnings, forgotten names.
She didn't flinch.
By the second night, she reached the edge of the valley.
Before her stood a mountain split clean down the center, as though cleaved by a god's blade. At its base lay a lake shaped like an eye, just as the map had drawn. Its surface reflected not the sky, but flickers of memory — visions dancing like flames.
She saw Lucien, young and blood-drunk, kneeling before Valen.
She saw Isolde, radiant in silver, standing before the mountain with sword in hand.
And then… she saw herself.
Not as she was, but cloaked in shadow and fire, eyes glowing like stars drowned in blood. Her voice echoed through the image:
"If you open it, there is no undoing."
Elena staggered back from the lake, heart pounding.
What am I? she wondered.
But she already knew the answer.
She was the key.
The last Virelli.
The blood that could bind or break the world.
She turned toward the mountain path, where ancient stones formed a staircase that spiraled into the cleft. Her feet moved before her mind could catch up.
With every step, she felt the air grow colder, heavier. The earth itself groaned beneath her. The further she descended, the more her blood burned — not in pain, but in recognition.
When she reached the Sanctum, she found a chamber carved in forgotten script, runes glowing dimly beneath layers of moss and ash. At its center stood a stone altar wrapped in black chains, pulsing faintly with life.
The Veil.
It shimmered in the air above the altar — a thin membrane of energy, delicate as silk, stretching into nothing.
She stepped forward.
And then—
"You've come far, Elena."
The voice behind her stopped her cold.
She turned.
Valen stood at the mouth of the Sanctum, smiling as if he had never left.
But this time, he was not alone.
Lucien knelt beside him, his arms bound in crimson sigils, blood dripping from his mouth.
"I gave him a choice," Valen said. "He chose you."
Elena's hands trembled at her sides.
Valen's smile widened. "Now you must choose in return."