By Victor Simdrix
Chapter 27 – The Silver Hand
The battle below raged on—fire twisting into storm, shadow slicing through both. But in the bell tower, the watcher finally stirred.
A gloved hand pulled back the silver hood, revealing sharp features framed in pale hair. Their eyes glowed faintly, like moons reflected in still water. This was Seraphine Vale, the last surviving emissary of the Silver Hand.
She had waited years for this moment.
"Storm. Flame. Shadow," she whispered, her voice carrying on the smoke curling skyward. "The prophecy stirs again."
With deliberate grace, she raised her staff—silver etched with runes that shimmered faintly. A pulse rippled through the night, a wave unseen but felt. The flames flared higher. The storm crackled louder. Even Nox faltered, his grin breaking into a frown as something shifted in the air.
Down in the square, Nyra froze mid-strike, her fire coiling restlessly as though it recognized the presence above.
Kael staggered back, clutching his bleeding side, eyes narrowing at the sudden pressure in the air. "What is this?"
From the shadows, Nox hissed. "Old power. Very old."
And then the bells tolled.
Not by ropes or hands, but by magic. The chimes shook through the night, carrying across every rooftop, every alley, every sleeping home in Valebridge. People awoke, hearts pounding, as if some ancient memory had been called back to life.
Seraphine's voice rose, resonant, commanding.
"Children of flame. Heirs of storm. Keepers of shadow. The time has come. The Ember Within must awaken—or the world will burn without purpose."
Nyra's fire flared wildly, spilling out of her control, her eyes wide. Kael's lightning surged along his blade, though he hadn't willed it. Even Nox's dagger hummed, as though echoing some hidden truth.
"Who are you?" Nyra shouted, her voice breaking.
The silver figure looked down, eyes locking onto hers. "I am Seraphine Vale, last of the Silver Hand. And you… you, Emberchild, are more than a curse. You are the spark that will decide the end of all things."
The words struck Nyra like a blade to the heart.
Kael's storm faltered. "This—this is madness."
Nox only laughed, but uneasily now. "Oh, this just got interesting."
The fire in Nyra's chest surged—burning, alive, defiant. For the first time, she felt not cursed but chosen. And it terrified her.
High above, Seraphine lowered her staff, her eyes cold.
"The war has already begun. You must choose your side."
And then, as suddenly as she had appeared, she was gone—vanishing into the silver mist.
The bells' echoes lingered in the night, like the heartbeat of fate itself.