# Chapter 514: The Unlikely Champion
The billion voices of the Withering King coalesced into a single, intimate whisper inside Soren's mind, a sound that felt like cold fingers tracing the spine of his soul. The grey sea of his mindscape stilled, and a new image began to form in the air before him. It was not a phantom or a twisted memory; it was a window, a perfect, real-time view of a place he knew better than any other: the infirmary in the Black Spire. He saw Finn, his face pale with fear, standing beside Sister Judit. He saw his own body, still on the dais, the white light of the seed beginning to flicker as the physical battle raged outside. Then, a new figure entered the infirmary vision—a Synod Inquisitor, his face hidden by a silver mask, a crackling purple energy blade igniting in his hand. The Inquisitor looked past Finn and Judit, his gaze seeming to pierce through the vision and lock onto Soren's consciousness. The Withering King spoke, its voice a silken threat. "A promise requires something to protect. What happens when there is nothing left?"
The vision shattered, replaced by the cold, hard reality of the infirmary. The air, thick with the scent of antiseptic herbs and old stone, crackled with an unnatural energy. On the simple cot, Soren's body stirred. His eyes, once closed in a semblance of peaceful rest, snapped open. They were not his own. The familiar warm brown was gone, replaced by a luminous, terrifying purple that pulsed with the rhythm of a dying star. The petrified seed, clutched in his hand, flared with a desperate white light, a lone candle against a coming storm, but the purple glow in his eyes was already overwhelming it.
Finn took a half-step back, his breath catching in his throat. "Soren?" he whispered, the name tasting like ash. This wasn't the brother he knew. This was a stranger wearing his brother's face, a vessel for something ancient and malevolent. The purple in Soren's eyes swirled, focusing on the young boy. A slow, unnatural smile stretched Soren's lips, a grotesque parody of warmth. The Withering King was not just looking at Finn; it was *seeing* him, tasting his fear, his love, his desperate hope. It saw the promise that bound them, and it found it delicious.
"Such a bright little spark," Soren's mouth said, but the voice was a chorus of whispers, dry and hollow. "The anchor. The chain. Let's see how strong it really is."
Soren's hand, the one not holding the seed, rose from the cot. The air around it warped and shimmered, coalescing into a sphere of crackling, violet energy. It hummed with a power that made the fillings in Finn's teeth ache and the hairs on his arms stand on end. The sphere cast dancing, monstrous shadows on the stone walls, turning the simple infirmary into a den of nightmares. The light from the seed in Soren's other hand pulsed frantically, a frantic heartbeat, but it was failing, its pure white glow being consumed by the encroaching purple.
"Finn, get back!" Sister Judit's voice cut through the paralysis, sharp and commanding. She moved with a speed that belied her simple acolyte's robes, her body interposing itself between Finn and the cot. She was a small, unassuming woman, her face lined with care and worry, but in that moment, she was a bulwark. Her hands came up, not in a gesture of magic, but in one of prayer. A faint, golden light, barely visible in the oppressive purple gloom, shimmered around her like a heat haze. It was the light of her faith, a Gift of protection and warding, subtle and passive, but utterly sincere.
The Withering King, through Soren, merely laughed, a sound like grinding stones. "A candle against the abyss." The purple energy sphere launched from Soren's hand, not as a projectile, but as a wave of pure, corrosive force. It moved with impossible speed, a silent, expanding oblivion that devoured the light in its path.
There was no time for thought, only instinct. Sister Judit shoved Finn with all her strength. The boy stumbled sideways, crashing into a tray of instruments that scattered across the floor with a deafening clang of metal on stone. He landed hard, the wind knocked from his lungs, his eyes wide as he saw what happened next.
Junit didn't even try to dodge. She stood her ground, her arms crossed before her, her head bowed. The golden light around her flared, intensifying into a brilliant, transparent shield just as the purple wave struck. The sound was not an explosion, but a horrifying, silent implosion. The world seemed to fold in on itself for a heartbeat. The purple energy washed over Judit's shield, and the golden light held for a fraction of a second, sizzling and cracking under the strain. It was like a dam holding back an ocean. Then, it shattered.
The force of the blast hit her full on. Her body was lifted from her feet and thrown backwards as if struck by a battering ram. She smashed into the heavy wooden door at the far end of the room, the wood splintering around her with a sickening crack. She slid to the floor in a heap, her robes smoking, a faint scent of ozone and burnt fabric filling the air.
For a moment, there was silence. Finn's heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat in the quiet room. He scrambled to his feet, his eyes fixed on the crumpled form of the woman who had just saved his life. "Sister Judit!"
A low groan answered him. She stirred, pushing herself up with one arm, the other hanging limp at her side. Her face was pale, beaded with sweat, but her eyes were open and clear. A nasty burn, red and blistering, spread across her torso where her shield had failed, but she was alive. Her faith, it seemed, had absorbed just enough of the raw, soul-rending power to spare her from annihilation.
On the cot, Soren's body slumped back, the purple light in his eyes receding slightly, though it did not vanish. The Withering King was momentarily distracted, savoring the destruction it had wrought.
Finn rushed to Judit's side, helping her lean against the wall. "Are you…? I thought it killed you."
Judit coughed, a wet, painful sound. "It takes more than that to silence a true believer, child." She winced, pressing a hand to her burned side. "But that was… more than I expected. It's not just using him as a puppet. It's focusing its consciousness through him. It can see us. It can feel us."
Her gaze drifted from Finn to the figure on the cot, then back again, her expression grim with understanding. "It was drawn to you, Finn. The moment it woke, it saw you."
"Me?" Finn's voice was a squeak. "Why? I don't have a Gift. I'm just…"
"You're just his brother," Judit finished for him, her voice softening with a mix of awe and terror. "You are the reason he fights. The promise he made to you is the strongest part of him, the brightest light in his soul. The King is a creature of entropy and despair. It is drawn to things it can corrupt. And there is nothing more powerful, or more vulnerable, than love."
The words hung in the air, heavy and profound. Finn looked at his brother, truly looked at him. He saw the struggle in the flickering purple of his eyes, the war being waged for his soul. He had always seen himself as the one to be protected, the weak link, the reason Soren had to risk everything. But Judit's words reframed it all. His love for Soren, Soren's love for him—it wasn't just a motivation. It was a beacon. A weapon. And right now, it was a beacon leading a monster right to their doorstep.
The Withering King was using Soren's senses, his memories, his connections. Every time Finn looked at Soren with hope, with fear, with love, he was feeding the entity that was trying to consume him. His presence here wasn't helping; it was making things worse. He was the bait, and the trap was closing around his brother's soul.
A new resolve, hard and sharp as flint, formed in Finn's gut. He was done being the burden. He was done being the reason. He had spent his life being protected by Soren. Now, it was his turn.
He looked at the petrified seed still clutched in Soren's hand. Its white light was weak now, barely a glimmer against the persistent purple aura. It was the source of Soren's resistance, the anchor for his own consciousness. The King wanted to extinguish it.
"Sister Judit," Finn said, his voice suddenly steady, stripped of its youthful tremor. "What if it's not about him? What if it's about the seed? Or me?"
Judit's eyes widened as she grasped his meaning. "Finn, no. That's madness. You can't…"
But he wasn't listening anymore. His mind was racing, connecting the fragments. The King was drawn to strong emotion. It was using Soren's connection to him as a targeting system. So, he would change the target. He would become the lure.
He took a deep breath, the scent of burnt herbs and fear filling his lungs. He thought of Soren, not as he was now, but as he had been. Teaching him how to whittle a bird from a scrap of wood. Sharing his last piece of bread when they were starving. Promising, with all the fierce determination a boy could muster, that he would always be there for him. He poured all of that love, all that memory, all that desperate hope into a single, silent scream in his mind.
*LOOK AT ME!*
On the cot, Soren's head snapped toward him. The purple in his eyes blazed, the Withering King's attention captured. The smile returned to Soren's face, cruel and knowing. It had taken the bait.
Finn didn't hesitate. He lunged forward, his small hand closing around the petrified seed. It was cold to the touch, yet it thrummed with a faint, residual energy. For a moment, Soren's fingers tightened, a reflex of the last vestiges of his own will fighting to keep his anchor. But Finn pulled with all his strength, fueled by adrenaline and purpose. The seed came free.
The instant it left Soren's hand, the last glimmer of white light in the room vanished. The purple glow in Soren's eyes intensified, burning with triumphant fury, but it was now anchored to an empty vessel. The connection to the seed, and through it, the strongest emotional resonance in the room, was now in Finn's hand.
"Run, boy!" Judit cried, her voice a ragged gasp of both fear and pride.
Finn ran. He didn't look back. He scrambled out of the splintered doorway and into the corridor, his bare feet slapping against the cold stone floors. The Black Spire was a maze of dark halls and echoing chambers, but he knew its basic layout. He just needed to get away. To draw the King's focus out of the infirmary, away from Judit, away from the vulnerable core of the fortress.
He could feel it. A presence in his mind, a cold, shadowy tendril of consciousness latching onto his own. It was the Withering King, its attention now fully locked on him. It was no longer interested in the empty shell on the cot. It wanted the boy who held the seed. It wanted the source of the emotional energy.
Finn clutched the seed to his chest, its cold surface a stark contrast to the feverish heat of his own body. He was just a boy. He was scared. But he was also Soren Vale's brother. And for the first time, he was fighting back. He was the unlikely champion, running into the dark, with the soul of a monster hunting him, hoping against hope that his desperate gamble would be enough to save the only family he had left.