The first wraith lunged, a smear of black smoke fused with a ribcage. Its claw swept low, cold enough to freeze the air itself.
Lyon reacted instantly. His staff swung down, iron rings shrieking as they released a crack of lightning. The bolt split the creature in half—but the halves writhed, reforming into mist and bone.
"Storms above," Lyon cursed, staggering back. "They don't stay down!"
"Then we tear them apart faster than they can crawl back together." Aiden's voice was a blade drawn from its sheath. His hands snapped outward, shadows spiraling like living chains. They lashed around the wraith, constricting, grinding the bones to dust before pulling the smoke into his palms where the darkness swallowed it whole.
The wraith shrieked as it vanished.
Lyon stared for half a heartbeat. "I'm never getting used to that."
"Don't." Aiden's eyes gleamed faintly violet. "It means you're still sane."
Three more shadows poured from the broken pillars. They circled, moving with a predator's patience, their voices overlapping like a thousand whispers.
Stay… serve… die…
One darted forward, skeletal jaw snapping. Lyon planted his staff in the ground, sending a shockwave of stormlight outward. Lightning arced between the pillars, searing frost into steam. The wraith's scream split the night, its form unraveling like ash in the wind.
The other two closed on Aiden. He stood unmoving, cloak rippling though no wind touched it. At the last instant, he stepped into their shadows—literally vanishing into the dark beneath their feet. The creatures froze, confused, before Aiden reappeared behind them, shadows tearing upward like blades. Both wraiths collapsed in a flurry of bone shards.
The ruins shook. The skeletal king upon the throne lifted its crownless head, hollow sockets burning faintly with frostfire.
"Thieves of magic… bearers of storms and shadow… this is no path for the living."
The voice rattled through the stones, through their bones. The remaining wraiths wailed, surging in numbers. Ten, twenty—shadows spilling from every crevice in the walls.
Lyon's storm-grey eyes widened. "That's… a lot."
"Count them later." Aiden raised both hands. Darkness coiled thick, wrapping around his arms until his skin seemed swallowed by night itself. "For now—"
The swarm attacked.
Lightning cracked across the hall, turning snow to steam. Lyon spun his staff, every strike sending arcs of electricity tearing through the wraiths. Yet for each one scorched, another formed, smoke twisting back together.
Aiden moved through them like a blade. Shadows lashed from his cloak, slicing and binding, crushing bone into dust. But with every wraith consumed, the crownless king's flame grew brighter, as though feeding on their struggle.
"Not working!" Lyon shouted, sweat freezing on his brow. "They keep coming back!"
"Then strike at the source." Aiden's eyes locked on the throne.
Lyon followed his gaze—and groaned. "Of course. The creepy skeleton in the chair. Why is it always the creepy skeleton?"
"Move!" Aiden's shadows burst outward, clearing a path through the swarm. Lyon surged forward, staff spinning, stormlight blazing brighter with every step. The wraiths shrieked, converging to block him.
"Go!" Aiden roared, slamming his hands down. A shockwave of darkness erupted from the ground, flinging the nearest creatures back like ragdolls.
Lyon sprinted through the opening, lightning coiling up his arms. His staff blazed white-blue, brighter than the moon. With a wordless cry, he leapt and drove the staff down into the skeletal king's chest.
Thunder cracked inside the ruins. Lightning flooded the throne, splitting it into shards. The corpse convulsed, frostfire bursting from its sockets before exploding into smoke. The wraiths shrieked as if torn apart, their forms unraveling all at once into nothingness.
Then silence.
The hall lay shattered. The throne was nothing but broken stone. The whispers were gone.
Only the frost remained.
Lyon collapsed to one knee, breath ragged, sparks fading from his staff. "Well," he panted, "that was horrible."
Aiden approached, cloak settling around him, eyes still faintly glowing. "You lived."
"Barely. My heart feels like it just ran three villages."
Aiden looked at him, then at the ruined throne. His voice dropped, thoughtful, edged with unease.
"They weren't protecting the throne. They were bound to it. That wasn't an attack. It was… a warning."
Lyon grimaced. "Warning us of what?"
Aiden's gaze lingered on the shattered bones, shadows still curling faintly from the cracks in the stone.
"That this isn't the end of the path. It's the beginning."
The wind moaned through the ruins again—empty now, but heavy with promise.
_______