Victor approached cautiously, his steps echoing on the stone floor. He reached out, fingers trembling, and lifted the book from the statue's grasp. The cover felt strange beneath his touch, alive with a faint hum. He opened it, eyes widening as unfamiliar symbols filled the pages, glowing faintly as though the text itself resisted being forgotten.
The words blazed across his mind as if they were being spoken aloud:
A war approaches, savage and unrelenting, destined to cleave the world into two. The heavens will unleash their celestials, and the earth will raise its bearers, clashing in fire and drenched in blood. Amid the storm, a boy born with the strength of a demigod shall rise. He will gather the bearers beneath his banner and strike back against his oppressors when the hour comes.
******
✦IN ASHVALE✦
Dead bodies littered the snowy ground outside the gates of Ashvale. The cold wind howled like it mourned the dead. Horses snorted nervously, their hooves stained red.
Torin passed through the gates, boots crunching over the frozen corpses of warriors. His gaze swept the carnage, frantic at first, then narrowing with dread.
Two Vanilor soldiers dismounted nearby, swords drawn. They followed him in silence, their faces grim, steps measured despite the sea of bodies before them.
Torin stormed through the corridors, each step heavier than the last. Bursting into the throne room, he froze.
At the center of the chamber, Ethan lay in a widening pool of blood. His chest still rose, shallow and ragged.
Torin collapsed to his knees. "No! No, no, no!" he cried, dragging Ethan into his lap. His hands shook violently as he cradled his brother's head. "Ethan…"
Ethan coughed, blood bubbling on his lips. His eyes fluttered open, cloudy with pain.
"Little brother," he whispered. "You came."
Torin broke apart, sobs tearing through him. Tears and snot ran unchecked as he pressed his face into Ethan's shoulder. "Darkness, forgive me. I should have come sooner."
Ethan flinched, his body wracked with agony. "It was… never meant to end like this."
Torin lifted his face, eyes streaming yet hard with grief. "Who did this to you?" His voice cracked under the weight of rage.
Ethan gave the slightest shake of his head.
Torin's voice thundered through the chamber. "Darkness! Who did this? Tell me!"
Ethan coughed again, crimson spilling. "Torin…"
Torin swallowed, forcing his tears down. He leaned closer. "You must tell me. Please. Who was it?"
Ethan's gaze locked on his, words spilling out like a final confession. "Your son… Noah."
Torin froze, every muscle rigid.
"Born of Lyra," Ethan whispered, his strength failing. "Lilith told me. She bore them both after leaving you. I had never seen them until today. But I knew. I saw you in him, the same fire, the same power."
Torin's eyes widened in disbelief, his breath caught in his throat.
"I thought Lilith despised you, because of what you did to me, because you never came, because you took the throne," Ethan rasped. "But it was not me. It was Lyra she hated." His mouth filled with blood again.
Torin's jaw locked. He gripped his brother tighter, his eyes blazing. "Noah?" he whispered, the name both curse and prayer.
Ethan's voice grew faint. "Lyra, after she left you, married the heir of Nightveil, just after their king died. He too fell before the twins were born, leaving her to rule as queen."
He gasped, each word a battle. "I tried my best to prevent her from waging war against Vanilor… not until your son appeared."
Torin's face twisted, pain carved deep into his features.
"Save them… from Ereb'Dar. Please, I beg you," Ethan pleaded, his eyes locked on Torin's, tears streaking his bloodstained face.
A faint smile touched his lips as he raised a trembling hand, trying to touch Torin's cheek. "I love you, brother," he breathed. His hand fell lifeless to the ground before it reached its mark.
The chamber fell silent, heavy with grief.
Torin threw back his head and released a cry so raw it shook the walls. He clutched Ethan's body to his chest, his whole frame trembling, grief consuming him like fire.
******
✦IN THE CAVE OF EREB'DAR✦
Torin emerged from the forest into a place thick with dread. Before him rose the temple of Ereb'Dar, ancient and foreboding.
Suddenly, the air twisted violently. A whirlwind erupted at the cave's entrance, spinning with unnatural force until it coalesced into the shape of a woman cloaked in shifting shadows.
"Torin…" Her voice was ancient, sharp as broken glass, cold enough to raise goosebumps along the soul. "Your request carries the weight of death."
Torin's eyes narrowed. "Who are you?"
"Ashkaroth," she replied, her form flickering like smoke. "Guardian of the Forbidden Gate."
Torin's jaw tightened. "This journey was meant to take seven days, yet it took me nine. I have come to claim what is mine."
"Death awaits beyond what you can see, and its price is sacrifice," Ashkaroth warned, shaking her head. "Sacrifice for redemption."
"At any cost, I will pay it," Torin said, his gaze fixed on the cave.
A blinding flash split the sky, sharp as thunder, and in an instant, Ashkaroth vanished.
Torin stepped forward, and the cave's mouth creaked open with a groan. Inside, darkness stretched endlessly. Without hesitation, he walked in.
The cave slammed shut behind him, a sound like the wail of a witch.
Torin continued, steady and fearless. After a few steps, green flames flared along the walls, illuminating his path.
He pressed on without looking back until he entered a wide hall, its walls carved with terrifying, ancient designs, exactly as Noah had described.
At the center stood an altar. Upon it rested an upright coffin, dark and threatening.
Torin approached the coffin. The lid creaked open on its own, releasing thick black smoke that spread through the chamber. The statues lining the hall began to chant.
"Lord of Shadows, Ruler of the Void, Master of the Darkness Before Light, He who Commands the Deep Gloom, Ereb'Dar…"
Torin looked around, but the statues' mouths did not move.
He lifted his voice, strong and unwavering. "I call upon the Hollow One."
Darkness rolled across the altar like thick mist. Bloodstains marred the floor.
A powerful voice rumbled through the hall. "Descendant of Jerubaal…"
Before him, the ground split open, revealing a swirling void. From within rose a figure chained and wreathed in shadow, barely human in form.
The entity's voice resonated with ancient power. "Torin… Why have you come?"
Torin clenched his fists, steadying his resolve. "Great Ereb'Dar… A woman and a child belonging to my brother are in your custody. I have come to take them."
The chains binding Ereb'Dar groaned as he leaned forward, his shadow spreading across the floor. A low, humorless chuckle reverberated through the chamber.
"Take them?" Ereb'Dar's voice curled like smoke. "How… is that possible?"
"I will pay any price you demand," Torin declared, unwavering.
Silence settled over the hall like a tomb until Ereb'Dar's decree fell like a verdict.
"I hold only the child. A sacrifice must be made… for his redemption."
The prophecy raced through Torin's mind, and he hesitated for a moment, his chest tight with urgency.
"Prove he's alive," he demanded, his voice low but edged with steel, firm and commanding.
From the open coffin, the black mist thickened. Slowly, a small form emerged, swaddled in shadow, floating weightlessly. He blinked once, tiny hands twitching instinctively. His chest rose and fell with each delicate breath, pale as moonlight.
Torin's voice was low, sharp as a blade. "Name your price."
Ereb'Dar groaned, a sound ancient and grating. "Only in exchange for your life will I release the boy," he warned.
A chill ran down Torin's spine. Ethan's voice echoed in his mind, trembling with desperation. "Save them from Ereb'Dar. I beg you." The words struck him harder than any blade.
He raised his gaze to the figure lurking in the abyss, shifting in the shadows.
Torin looked first at the fragile, living boy, then at the ancient being shrouded in darkness.
His shoulders slumped, and his eyes fell to the ground, filled with dread. "Have me," he whispered, his voice strained and faltering, carrying the weight of the choice he could not escape.