“Some truths arrive not in dreams, but in flames.”

  The moment Seraphina’s hand touched the glowing fragment, a sudden heat roared through her palm—wild, consuming, alive. The air around the table fractured like glass struck by lightning.

  Colors bled. Shapes distorted.

  And then—

  They were no longer in Liam’s quarter.

  Darkness. Echoes. Marble walls.

  The Luminous Vanguard stood in the heart of a foreign throne room, the air heavy with a cold, suffocating pressure. The scent of iron and smoke lingered, and the silence was so deep it seemed to hum.

  Red and black banners hung from the vaulted ceiling, their edges tattered and scorched. The sigil of the Rhapsodia Empire loomed above—a crimson serpent coiled around a broken crown.

  At the far end of the hall stood Premier Katharina. Her gown of dark silk shimmered like blood in candlelight, her silver hair coiled into a blade-sharp crown. Before her towered a mirror of obsidian glass—tall, ancient, and wrong. It did not reflect her. It devoured her image whole.

  Themis felt his breath catch. What is this place…?

  Katharina’s voice cut through the silence, low and venomous. “Where is he? They are all useless.”

  The mirror rippled. From its depths, a figure of shadow emerged—faceless, shifting, its form a living void. When it spoke, it was not with a mouth, but with whispers that crawled across the air.

  Let me handle it.

  A heartbeat. Then—a flash of fire.

  The world convulsed.

  The throne room shattered into smoke and flame.

  They were falling—through heat, through screams, through chaos.

  When the world steadied, they stood high above Chord Town. The once-charming music village burned beneath them, its towers collapsing in waves of smoke. The air was thick with ash and the sound of distant cries.

  Trieni gasped, clutching her chest. “No… this can’t be real.”

  Below, in the heart of the inferno, stood General Orion Raelthorne. His crimson coat was torn, his breath ragged, his sword drawn. He faced three figures cloaked in shadow and flame.

  One—a mage whose eyes bled crimson, his grin twisted and feral.

  Another—a tall woman wielding twin blades of black glass, their edges rippling like liquid night.

  The third—a silent figure draped in robes, unmoving, yet radiating a suffocating power.

  Orion shouted something, his voice lost to the roar of fire. A wall collapsed behind him, sparks scattering like dying stars.

  Themis reached forward instinctively. “Orion!”

  But his hand met only air.

  The flames surged higher. The streets bled red.

  And then—

  The world snapped back.

  The group gasped as one, their bodies jerking upright, hands braced against the table. The air in Liam’s basement was cold again, but their hearts still raced as if they’d been standing in the fire.

  In the heart of the imperial palace, silence ruled.

  A vast throne room stretched like a cavern of shadows, lined with obsidian pillars and silken red-and-black banners bearing the sigil of the Rhapsodia Empire—a coiled serpent around a shattered sun. The air was thick, suffocating with cold pressure, as if the very stones mourned something long buried.

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  At the far end stood Premier Katharina.

  Clad in a gown of dark crimson silk that shimmered like blood in candlelight, her silver hair coiled into sharp arcs behind her head. Her posture was regal, but her eyes—piercing and cold—burned with tightly coiled fury.

  Before her loomed a towering black mirror.

  Not a reflection, but a portal.

  Its glass drank in the light, absorbing even Katharina’s formidable presence.

  Within the mirror, a shadowed figure stirred—faceless, flickering, never still. It shifted like oil over water, its whispers crawling across the room like fingers made of smoke.

  “Where is he? They are all useless,” Katharina hissed, her voice low and dangerous.

  She stepped forward, the hem of her gown dragging like a serpent’s tail.

  “You promised me the throne—power beyond measure. I’ve followed your orders, every one. Now speak!”

  The shadow’s voice slithered through the air, smooth and cold.

  As my shadows reported… Darkhorn shattered the eight elemental barriers and took a shard. He sent Orion to Alto—and vanished.

  Katharina’s jaw tightened. “You told me he was under your spell. That spell cannot be broken. So what happened?”

  He was, the shadow replied. But when the Sacred Stone shattered… something interfered. Another spirit—one with power enough to break my hold.

  Katharina’s fist clenched. “Then what now? How do we retrieve the piece? How do we claim its power?”

  Let me handle it, the shadow purred. Let your son deal with Orion first. Before another Arcanian awakens… before the pieces gather.

  Katharina turned sharply from the mirror, her eyes narrowing. “Ghost Blade.”

  From the stone wall itself, a ripple passed—and a shadow peeled away. A masked assassin, garbed in silent midnight, dropped to one knee.

  “At your command,” he said, voice barely a whisper.

  “Go to Chord Town,” Katharina ordered. “Find Orion. Kill him. He is useless now.”

  “As you will.”

  And with a soft gust, he vanished, leaving only a single fallen leaf.

  Katharina looked back to the mirror. “And Darkhorn?”

  The shadow’s form twisted. From the gloom behind it, another figure stepped forward—lean, poised, smiling as though he knew every secret in the world.

  Heathcliff.

  He wore a traveler’s coat, his sandy hair curling slightly around his temples. His amber eyes gleamed with mischievous calm—eyes that missed nothing.

  Katharina’s gaze hardened. “Heathcliff Ashvane… no. Heathcliff Caelum—the wandering son of the Emperor.”

  He is of my blood, the shadow said, its tone laced with pride. He will do what must be done.

  Heathcliff offered a casual bow. “Of course. I always do.”

  His smile deepened as he turned toward the hall. “I’ll bring you your stone, Premier.”

  You know what to do, the shadow whispered.

  “Yes… my lord,” Heathcliff murmured.

  And like a phantom, he disappeared into the darkness.

  Katharina remained alone, facing the mirror, her eyes reflecting the void.

  “He is under your spell as well,” she said softly, almost to herself. “But I don’t care. That shard… will be mine.”

  Her laughter echoed through the throne room—low at first, then rising, sharper, until it was no longer laughter at all,

  but a shriek of triumph that rattled the very air.

  Trish’s voice trembled. “What… what was that?”

  Isolde’s eyes were wide, her face pale. “Was that real? Those people—those flames—what were they?”

  Sylphid hovered above the table, her wings flickering with unease. “The shadows gather faster than I feared.” Her voice was low, almost mournful. “That was no illusion. The vision was sent through the fragment itself.”

  Seraphina pressed a hand to her chest, her crest still faintly glowing. “I’ve seen visions before… but never like this. Why did they see it too?”

  Themis straightened, his voice steady but strained. “Yes. Why all of us? Why now?”

  Sylphid’s gaze turned toward the fragment, her expression unreadable. “I cannot say for certain. Perhaps the shard’s resonance has grown stronger—its call reaching beyond the Arcanian bond. Or perhaps…” She paused, her voice softening. “It was meant for all of you to see. A warning. A plea for haste.”

  Lyria’s eyes narrowed. “Because of Orion?”

  Sylphid nodded slowly. “He is one of the Arcanian. The fire within the shard burns for him. And now, it cries out in pain.”

  Silence fell again. The only sound was the faint hum of the fragment, pulsing like a heartbeat.

  Trieni swallowed hard. “Then that means… Chord Town—”

  “—is in danger,” Themis finished, his tone grim.

  He looked around the table, meeting each of their eyes. “We leave at dawn. Whatever that vision was, it wasn’t just a warning. It was a call.”

  Sylphid’s wings shimmered faintly, her voice a whisper carried by the wind. Then hurry, Luminous Vanguard. The fire has already begun to spread.

  The light from the fragment dimmed, leaving only the flicker of the lanterns and the echo of their racing hearts.

  And in the silence that followed, none of them could shake the feeling that the vision had not yet ended—

  Only paused.

  I wanted to take a moment to thank you all for reading and supporting Arcana Wars: The Sacred Stone. Your comments and reactions truly keep me going. ??