The sun had not yet risen over Alsira, but the Soulwarden Citadel was already alive with unease. Whispers passed from guard to servant like cracks threading through ice—silent, spreading, inevitable. Beneath the city, in tunnels long abandoned by mapmakers and memory, Asher, Emilia, Liaen, and Elira moved in silence.
Toward the last throne.
"It's buried under the oldest part of the capital," Elira whispered. Her glow grew fainter with every level they descended. "Before Alsira was a city, this place was a temple."
"A temple to what?" Emilia asked.
Elira drifted ahead, her voice low.
"To silence," she said.
The path ended at a sealed archway of blackstone, its surface etched in soul-script that shimmered faintly in the dark. At its center was a circular lock composed of three interwoven sigils, each one pulsing like a resting heart.
Liaen studied the symbols. "This isn't just a door. It's a prison."
Asher drew his blade and swept it across the lock. The sigils flared in response—brighter, hungrier.
"The throne's behind this," Emilia murmured. "I can feel it. Like it's... breathing."
Elira nodded slowly. "It isn't just a relic. It's alive, in some way. The Choir embedded their will into it centuries ago. If it wakes, it will summon what sleeps beneath the earth."
With slow precision, Emilia pressed her palm to the lock. Soul-light radiated from her fingers, weaving into the sigils. The stone groaned. Dust fell from the ceiling.
Then—click.
The door opened with a sigh.
The chamber beyond was vast and circular, its obsidian walls glistening like oil in low light. The floor, cracked silver, reflected them in jagged fragments. And in the center stood the throne.
Bone and crystal, laced with restrained power. It pulsed—slow, deep, and ancient—like something buried but dreaming.
But they weren't alone.
From the shadows stepped four figures—cloaked, armored, each one emanating corrupted soul energy thick as tar. Cult enforcers. S-rank. Killers of legend.
"You came," one rasped. "Good. The awakening must be witnessed."
Asher stepped forward, blade drawn. "Over my dead body."
"Gladly," said the tallest, drawing a jagged soul-blade.
The battle ignited in an instant.
Liaen met the first cultist with a roar, flame clashing against void. Sparks flew with every strike. Elira darted between enemies, her shields of soullight pulsing to protect Emilia, who circled the throne, searching for any sign of weakness—any tether she could break.
But the throne responded. Its pulse quickened. The chamber began to hum, the air vibrating with ancient resonance. Voices—countless, dissonant—filled the room like static.
"The Choir is waking!" Elira cried.
Asher fought like a man possessed, but the exhaustion from their last battle slowed his every movement. One of the cultists struck true, sending him crashing into a pillar with a sickening crack.
"Asher!" Emilia screamed.
Elira's light blazed violently—she struck the cultist back with a burst of radiant force, but the cost nearly unraveled her form.
Emilia reached the throne and pressed her hands to its cold armrests. A scream tore from her lips as visions poured into her mind—cities ablaze, skies sundered, voices chanting names that were never meant to be remembered.
"Elira," she gasped. "Help me—channel it, seal it again!"
Trembling, Elira placed her spectral hands over Emilia's.
Their lights merged—soul and memory, life and death—burning against the throne's black heartbeat.
The Choir screamed.
And the chamber went white.
When the blinding pulse faded, the cultists were gone—reduced to ash scattered across the silver floor. The throne was cracked and quiet. The air was still.
Asher crawled to Emilia's side. She was unconscious—but breathing.
"She did it," Liaen whispered. "You both did."
Elira hovered nearby, barely a glimmer. "Not for long," she said weakly. "That wasn't the full awakening. Just the first ember."
Asher's jaw clenched as he scanned the broken chamber. "Then we smother the rest before they catch flame."
He lifted Emilia gently into his arms.
Elira floated closer, voice a whisper. "They'll come harder next time. Stronger."
Asher met her gaze, steady and sure.
"So will we," he said.