The tunnels beneath Drenvar twist like veins in a dying body, their walls slick with moisture and etched with runes that pulse faintly in the dark. Mira leads the way, her staff's glow casting eerie shadows that dance like Shades waiting to strike. My breath comes in shallow bursts, the air thick with the scent of earth and decay. The war drums from above are muffled here, but I feel them in my chest—a relentless beat mirroring my guilt. Every step drags up memories: my squad's laughter turning to screams, their faces vanishing into the mists. I failed them, and now, with Mira at my side, I'm terrified I'll fail again. But the voice in my head whispers, You are not alone, Kaelis. Press on.
We round a corner, and a low growl echoes ahead. Mira freezes, her staff flaring brighter. "Shades," she murmurs. "More than one."
She's right. Three of them materialize from the shadows, their forms coiling like smoke, eyes gleaming with hunger. The runes on my blade ignite as I draw it, the warmth pushing back the cold dread in my veins. "Stay behind me," I say, but Mira steps forward, her staff spinning in a arc that sends a pulse of light crashing into the nearest Shade. It shrieks, dissolving, but the others lunge.
I meet the first with a slash, my blade biting deep, the creature's essence fraying under the runes' power. Pain lances through my shoulder as its claw rakes me, the numbness spreading like poison. The voice surges: Fight, Kaelis! For them! I roar, twisting to strike the second Shade, my movements fueled by years of buried rage. Mira chants something ancient, her staff weaving a barrier of light that pins the third against the wall. I finish it with a thrust, the tunnel falling silent except for our ragged breaths.
"You're wounded," Mira says, eyeing the gash on my arm.
"It's nothing," I lie, tying a strip of cloak around it. But it's more than the wound—it's the doubt creeping in. Who is she, really? A scholar who knows too much, appears too conveniently. "How did you find me at the ruin?" I ask, my voice sharp.
Mira meets my gaze, her scars stark in the rune-light. "The Veil killed my sister. I've been tracking them for months. Your name came up in whispers—you're the one who survived the mists. The one with the visions."
Visions. She knows about the voice. My suspicion deepens, but there's no time to press. The tunnel widens into a chamber, the air humming with energy. In the center, a crystal pulses like a heart, its surface cracked and glowing—the Rift's heart, just as Mira said. Cloaked figures surround it, chanting, their hands raised. Runes spiral across the floor, identical to Joren's, drawing shadows from the walls.
"The Veil," I whisper. At the crystal's base kneels a man I recognize: Elder Harlan, one of Drenvar's council, his face twisted in fanaticism. The traitor. He's the one pulling the strings, using the Rift to drain lives, to summon Shades for his own power. Rage boils in me—Harlan, who preached unity while the city bled, now betraying us all.
We charge in. Mira blasts a figure with her staff, and I cut down another, my blade singing through the air. The chants falter, and Harlan spins, his eyes widening. "Kaelis? You should be dead!"
"Like my squad?" I snarl, advancing. "You sent us into that ambush. Why?"
Harlan laughs, a sound like cracking stone. "The Rift demands sacrifice. Your squad fed it, made me strong. With this heart, I'll control the Shades—crush Caleth, rule Velnar!"
A Shade erupts from the crystal, larger than the others, its form solidifying into claws and fangs. It slams into me, pinning me against the wall. The cold surges, visions flashing: my squad dying, Joren's empty eyes, the war consuming Drenvar. Give up, it whispers in my mind. You're broken.
But the woman's voice cuts through: No, Kaelis. You are the key. Remember who you are. Her words ignite something deep, a spark of hope amid the dark. I push back, my runes blazing, and drive my blade into the Shade's core. It howls, shattering into fragments.
Mira fights beside me, but a cloaked figure strikes her down, her staff clattering away. Harlan grabs the crystal, its light intensifying. "Too late!" he shouts. Above, the war drums peak—Caleth's army breaching the walls. The chamber shakes as the Rift's power surges, Shades pouring in.
I lunge at Harlan, our blades clashing—his a twisted dagger etched with siphon runes. "You can't stop this," he hisses. "The Rift chose me!"
"No," I growl, parrying. "It broke us all. But I won't let it win." Flashbacks hit: leading my squad, their trust in me, my failure. The guilt nearly cripples me, but the voice urges, Forgive yourself. Save them now.
With a cry, I disarm Harlan, my blade at his throat. "Who is she?" I demand. "The voice—the guardian?"
Harlan sneers. "A ghost from the old world. She sealed the Rift once, but I'll unmake her." He lunges for the crystal, but I strike true, his body crumpling. The crystal cracks further, energy exploding outward.
Shades swarm, but the voice fills the chamber, manifesting as a luminous figure—a woman in ancient armor, her eyes sad yet fierce. "Kaelis," she says aloud, her presence warm. "You've done it. Now, seal the heart."
I grab the crystal, its power burning my hands, but I chant the runes from my visions, the ones she taught me in dreams. The chamber quakes, Shades dissolving as the Rift's scar above begins to mend. Mira stirs, helping me, her hands on mine. The energy peaks, a wave of light washing over us.
As it fades, the war drums silence—Caleth's forces retreating, the Shades weakened. Harlan's body lies still, the Veil broken.
But the guardian fades, her form flickering. "Who are you?" I ask, voice breaking.
She smiles mysteriously. "A memory of Velnar. Your ancestor, Kaelis. I chose you because you survived—to redeem us all." She vanishes, leaving questions, but also peace.