The glare of the spear of light that had struck the prisoner still burned in Elyria's vision, like a faint scar on the fabric of reality. The scream that escaped her lips blended with the clang of metal and Kaelith's howls in her mind—a chorus of chaos that filled the underground chamber. Dust and fragments of stone fell from the vaults, and the chains that bound her mother shook violently, like serpents enraged by an invisible flame.
"Elyria!" Rhaevan roared, pulling her back as a dagger flew close to her neck. His arms, strong as iron, wrapped around her body, but she struggled, her eyes fixed on the motionless figure behind the bars. The woman—her mother—now lay slumped, blood streaming from her shoulder where the spear had struck.
"Is she…?" Elyria whispered, her voice trembling.
"Alive," replied Kaelith, his voice a thread of ecstasy and pain. "But not for long. The spear was bathed in purging light—a poison for souls like hers. You must act, or you'll lose the truth forever."
Lysarion, crouched behind a cracked column, shouted, "The key, Elyria! Use it on the chains! It's the only chance!"
Rhaevan gripped her arm with brutal force. "No! That's exactly what they want! If you free her, who knows what demon you'll unleash?"
Elyria felt the weight of the silver key against her corset, now hot as a living ember. Her mother—the woman she had buried in memory twelve years ago—was there, wounded and on the brink of death. Her face, a distorted mirror of her own, was pale, eyes half-closed in agony.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Elyria whispered, tears burning like acid. "Why did you let me believe I was alone?"
The prisoner opened her eyes, a faint gleam of recognition flickering in them. "Elyria… my love… they forced me… the pact…" Her voice was a thread, cut by a cough that spat black blood.
The guards of the Order of the Veil advanced, their black armor adorned with Nyxara's symbol glinting under the blue torches. They moved in deadly synchronicity, and among them was a hooded figure wielding an ebony staff that emitted a sinister light—the same one that had cast the spear.
"Hand over the key, Varnholt," the leader bellowed, his voice echoing like metal on stone. "And perhaps we will spare your life. The Order is merciful to those who submit."
Rhaevan released Elyria and drew his longsword, a wild grin cutting across his face. "Then come, dogs of the Veil. Show me if you know how to die with honor."
Lysarion appeared beside Elyria, his face—usually marked by sarcasm—now grave, his eyes fixed on the key. "Elyria, listen to me. The key isn't just to free her. It's to reveal what lies beyond the Veil. Your mother is the centerpiece of the conspiracy that killed your family. If she dies, the truth dies with her."
Elyria looked at Rhaevan, who fought three guards at once, his body a whirlwind of brute strength and fury. He was protecting her—but why? Out of obsession? Out of a love he dared not name? Or because she was a piece in his game of power? And Lysarion, with his secrets and guilt—he knew more than he admitted. Was his offer of help genuine or another cunning manipulation?
Kaelith laughed within her, a sound that clawed at her soul. "Everyone uses you, my blade. Even I. But at least I offer power. Free her, and you'll have the answers you seek. Let her die, and you'll live forever in darkness—as I promised on the night your world collapsed."
Elyria swallowed her fear and doubt. She was no longer the frightened child who had fled the flames of the massacre. She was a woman forged in pain, and she would do whatever it took—even if it meant dancing with demons.
With sudden determination, she seized the silver key, now pulsing with a faint, rhythmic light, like an ancient heart. Ignoring Rhaevan's cry of warning, she ran toward the cell.
The chains trembled at her approach, hissing like serpents recognizing their mistress. Elyria inserted the key into the lock on the bars, which hissed and opened with a supernatural creak, as if the very metal were awakening from a profane slumber.
Inside, her mother reached out a weak hand, thin fingers brushing Elyria's face. "My daughter… you've become so strong. Stronger than I ever could have imagined."
Elyria knelt beside her, trembling hands touching the warm blood that stained the prisoner's torn dress. "Mother… what happened? Who are you really? Why did they keep you alive?"
Before the woman could answer, the hooded figure raised the staff again, and a bolt of dark energy shot toward them—faster than thought.
Rhaevan leapt into its path, blocking the bolt with his sword, but the magical force hurled him against the wall with a dull thud. He cried out in pain—a hoarse sound that echoed through the chamber—but quickly rose, his face contorted in fury.
Lysarion wasted no time; he hurled a dagger that struck the hooded man's arm, making him scream and drop the staff. "Quick, Elyria! The chains that bind her! Use the key!"
Elyria turned to the black iron chains shackling her mother's wrists. The key fit perfectly into a hidden lock on the shackle, and with an audible click, the chains sprang open, crashing to the floor with a clang that seemed to shake the chapel's foundations.
At that very moment, a sudden silence fell over the chamber. The energy shifted—the air grew cold and heavy, like the moments before a storm. The blue torches flickered and nearly went out.
Her mother rose, her weakness seemingly vanishing like smoke. Her eyes glowed with an intense violet light—the same one Elyria saw reflected in her own gaze—and she smiled, a smile no longer broken, but filled with ancient, unquestionable power.
"Thank you, my daughter," she said, her voice now strong and resonant, as if a thousand voices spoke through her. "Now, I can fulfill my destiny—and yours."
She raised her hands, and shadows emerged from the walls—living entities that twisted and hurled themselves upon the guards of the Order. Screams of terror echoed as they were consumed by darkness, their bodies disintegrating into black dust.
Rhaevan and Lysarion backed away, stunned by the transformation. Rhaevan gripped his sword with both hands, his eyes locked on the woman who now seemed like a reborn deity.
"What have you done, Elyria?" Rhaevan whispered, his face pale under the dim light. "What have we released?"
Kaelith laughed in triumph, an explosion of pleasure within Elyria's mind. "She is not merely your mother, fool! She is Aelinor Varnholt—the incarnation of Nyxara! And you have freed her from her millennial prison!"
Elyria felt a chill run down her spine. She had freed not just her mother, but a dark deity? What did that mean for her vengeance? For the empire?
Aelinor—her mother—turned to her, eyes filled with a love that terrified. "Come, Elyria. There is much to be done. The throne of Vyrnathar awaits us, and those who betrayed us must bleed."
Elyria hesitated, glancing at Rhaevan—wounded but still imposing—and at Lysarion, whose face now bore a flicker of fear and awe. She had found the truth, but at a cost she could never have imagined: unleashing a force that could devour the world.
And deep within her mind, Kaelith whispered, his voice a lingering seduction: "The game has changed, my blade. And now you are the most important piece—the queen who can crown or destroy an empire. Choose wisely."
To be continued...