The chilling revelation of the "Ash-Eater" left Lyra unsettled. Rhydian offered no further explanation, merely closing the ancient bestiary with a soft thud that echoed in the silent library. He then turned and left, his departure as abrupt as his appearance, leaving Lyra alone with her swirling thoughts and the unsettling image of the monstrous creature.
The next morning, Lyra resolved to investigate Chancellor Thorne. Valerius's words, combined with Thorne's evasiveness, gnawed at her. She knew Thorne kept meticulous records in his private study, a room usually locked and guarded. But the chaos of the Blight attack had created opportunities.
Feigning a need to review royal decrees, Lyra managed to gain access to the outer antechamber of Thorne's study. While the junior scribe was distracted, she slipped into the main room, her heart pounding. The study was exactly as she imagined: orderly, filled with scrolls, ledgers, and maps.
She moved quickly, her eyes scanning for anything out of place. Most documents were official, mundane. But hidden beneath a stack of old tax records, she found a small, leather-bound journal. It wasn't Thorne's usual meticulous hand. This was a different script, hurried and almost frantic.
As she flipped through the pages, her breath hitched. It was a log of communications, not with northern lords, but with a shadowy group operating outside the kingdom's borders. The entries spoke of "deliveries," "payments," and "the acceleration of the process." The "process" was clearly the Blight.
One entry made her blood run cold: "The Drakhar Prince's arrival is... inconvenient. The final phase must be initiated before the alliance is truly cemented. The sacrifice must be made."
Sacrifice? Lyra's mind raced. What sacrifice? And who was this "Ash-Eater" Rhydian had mentioned? Was Thorne somehow connected to it?
Just as she was about to pocket the journal, a voice, calm and measured, spoke from the doorway. "Looking for something, Your Highness?"
Chancellor Thorne stood there, his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes devoid of their usual warmth. He hadn't just appeared; he had been waiting.
Lyra froze, the journal clutched in her hand. "Chancellor. I... I was merely reviewing some old treaties."
"Indeed." His gaze dropped to the journal. "A rather specific treaty, it seems." His voice hardened. "That journal is not for your eyes, Princess. It contains sensitive information."
"Sensitive, or treasonous?" Lyra challenged, her voice trembling slightly but holding firm. "It speaks of 'the final phase' and 'sacrifice.' What have you done, Thorne?"
A slow, chilling smile spread across Thorne's face. "I have done what is necessary for Serendahl. The King is weak. The Blight is a cleansing fire. And the Drakhar... they are merely a tool." He took a step into the room, his eyes glinting with a cold, fanatic light. "A tool to unleash the true power. The Ash-Eater will consume, and from its ashes, a new, stronger Serendahl will rise."
Lyra instinctively took a step back, her hand going to the small dagger she always carried. "You unleashed this plague?"
"Not unleashed, Princess. Guided. Cultivated." Thorne's voice was almost a purr. "The old ways must be restored. The blood of the weak must be purged. And the Drakhar Prince, with his ancient power, is the key to accelerating the transformation."
A sudden crash from outside the study made them both jump. Footsteps pounded down the corridor. Thorne's eyes narrowed. "It seems my preparations are complete. The final ritual begins now."
Before Lyra could react, Thorne lunged, not at her, but at a hidden panel in the wall. He pulled it open, revealing a dark, narrow passage. He slipped inside, sealing the panel behind him with a heavy thud.
Lyra hammered on the hidden panel, but it wouldn't budge. The sounds outside grew louder—clanging steel, shouts, and a familiar, terrifying roar. The Blighted were inside the palace, deeper than before.
She turned, desperate, and ran out into the corridor. The scene was pure pandemonium. Guards fought valiantly, but the Blighted were overwhelming. And then she saw him. Prince Rhydian, his dark cloak swirling, his golden eyes blazing, battling a horde of creatures near the main staircase. He was a beacon of fierce power amidst the chaos.
Their eyes met across the ravaged hall. His held a desperate urgency. He knew. He knew the ritual Thorne was speaking of. He knew the true danger.
Just as Lyra was about to call out to him, a massive, shadowy form detached itself from the encroaching darkness, its eyes burning with an ancient, malevolent light. It was the Ash-Eater, no longer a drawing in a book, but a terrifying reality, and it was heading directly for her.