Quickly attaching the sheathed sword to my belt as I descended the steps, I brought my bow up, aiming at the abomination's conical skull.

  “Ron—! What the hell is that thing?!” I called, as I loosed my first arrow.

  “I have no idea!” he shouted back, frantic. “I’ve never even read of such a thing!”

  I could feel it through my connection to Lunae and Tenebrae—the abomination’s very presence enraged them. Even Lunae, usually the calmer of the two, burned with fury. I pushed down the urge to summon them, not wanting to out myself to Ron just yet.

  Most of my arrows bounced harmlessly off its thick bones. Ron, stepping back in time with the monster's approach, held his glowing mace high and, with his free hand, supported a book of some sort. As I drew closer to his flank, I could see the runes within the pages of his tome beginning to glow with golden light. He finished a quick chant, and radiant energy bloomed around the both of us. A defensive incantation, meant to dull the effect of unholy or necrotic attacks.

  Just in time.

  The monster bellowed and split open its vertical maw with a sickening hiss. Ron and I both somehow reacted in time, diving off to either side as a jet of that putrid, steaming liquid shot between us like a ray of cutting light, searing through stone. Even with Ron’s spell, the droplets that hit my skin sizzled, burning small smoking holes into my flesh.

  “Argh!” I winced.

  I don’t even want to imagine what would happen if we took that head on.

  Ron looked down at his similarly sizzling skin in horror, frozen in place.

  “Ron! Eyes forward—! We’re not done for yet!” I called as I loosed my next arrow.

  The icy blue energy of Lunae’s power trailed behind it, piercing through the stagnant air of the ancient chamber.

  It collided with the abomination’s ribs and exploded into ice, looking to have frozen over some of its exposed organs.

  It let out a gurgling roar, the sound echoing hauntingly through the chamber, but the ice immediately began steaming away as the thing's skeletal form continued its cycle of regenerating and melting apart.

  Ron picked himself up as I ran over, and together we started sprinting wide along the chamber’s edge.

  “Got any other spells?!” I yelled to him as the thing began moving to intercept us.

  Ron was already whispering another chant. A radiant golden crown briefly shimmered into existence above his head as he empowered his next spell. Extending his arm to the side while we ran, a wave of golden light flashed outward, bathing the abomination in holy magic.

  “—TURN UNDEAD—!” Ron yelled, as he cast the spell.

  I knew the spell—Turn Undead—a staple of every trained cleric, designed to destroy the undead, turning them back to inanimate bones. There was next to no spell better suited to battling the unholy, and even a relatively low powered version of it was extremely effective.

  The abomination lurched as the holy light cascaded over it, letting out a blood-curdling screech.

  “Nice one—!” I started to say, but out of the blinding light, its massive shadow moved with speed that shouldn’t have been possible.

  Each of its feet—half-bone, half-melting flesh—pounded into the ground as it raced us to the entrance of Lun and Ten’s chamber, its movement unnatural, horrifying, and wrong. A lumbering atrocity, hell bent on dragging us with it back into the abyss from whence it came.

  Ron screamed in terror at the display, but neither of us faltered, leaning in and running as fast as our legs could carry us. We weren’t going to make it.

  Whether by chance or by design, the sword I’d picked up began humming as though it were crying to be drawn. I unsheathed it without a second thought, and felt my power connect with it, my own life force tangled with Lunae and Tenebrae’s will, channeling into the blade.

  Glancing once more at Ron's screaming face as we ran, I called on Tenebrae’s power, needing his speed. My next footstep impacted the stone, my eyes became two glowing red streaks as I peeled off toward the abomination. Its malformed hand came down to catch me but I slipped past its uncoordinated grasp, slashing deep through its ribcage as I sailed by.

  The blade, a mix of silver and dark iron, carved through bone and unstable flesh as though it were jelly. My legs carried me with impossible speed as I curved around, running to the entrance from the opposite side of the chamber. The monster toppled over, melting flesh pooling around it, but it wasn’t dead, not even close. As it pushed itself up I caught a glimpse of the slash I’d inflicted already repairing itself, bones bridging back together, dripping flesh trying and failing to stick to its skeleton.

  But I’d bought us time.

  I dismissed Tenebrae’s power as Ron came running to the entrance, ignoring the burning pain in my muscles. Ron hardly looked at me as he rocketed through the doorway, heading back to the open cavern. Following after him, we careened around the corner and ran back up the spiraling steps. I glanced back just as the thing’s steaming hand shot out from the archway, following us still.

  “Ron! We need to make it fall! I doubt that thing can swim!” I cried as our legs hammered up the stone steps.

  “I—I can’t! I can’t focus on a spell like this!” he practically sobbed.

  “Do it or we die—!” I commanded.

  Ron looked back down at the monster, now climbing up the steps. “O-Okay! But I need to be right beside it!”

  That was good enough for me. I grabbed the back of his robes as he ran past an offshoot tunnel and pulled him back, tossing him inside. I turned, standing my ground on the steps just outside it.

  “When it’s here—blast it with everything you’ve got!” I called, trying to suppress the overwhelming fear gripping me.

  With a roar of defiance I stood my ground, sword raised to the heavens as the abomination lurched to a halt before me. Instead of a swing, it readied another blast of that necrotic liquid.

  “RON—!” I cried.

  A blast of thunderous energy slammed into the thing’s side, causing its spray to shoot off mark, spiraling around the chamber, destroying any stone it touched and dropping debris in its wake. It stumbled to the side, but Ron’s spell wasn’t enough. The thing was simply too heavy. Just as all hope looked lost, its right foot slipped—The slick stone!—Losing balance, the horror loosed a deafening howl as it finally tumbled off the edge, cascading down into the dark abyss below.

  For a moment, nothing.

  Then a heavy—SPLASH—as the monster collided with the lake below.

  Ron, his eyes hazy with disbelief, stumbled from the shadowed corridor and together we ran back to the crypt above, back towards safety. If my theory was correct, that thing wouldn't be able to swim, its waterlogged weight would drag it to the very bottom of that watery coffin. We just got lucky there was actually a lake down there…

  We walked in silence until we reached the crypt’s mouth. As we stepped into the open, the cool night air rushed over us, sharp and clean after the stale stillness underground. I paused, caught off guard by the view that greeted us.

  Lanton sprawled below, cloaked in midnight hues. Its silhouette was etched in silver beneath a high, waning moon. The rooftops glistened faintly with dew, their angles softened by the pale glow. Here and there, golden lamplight spilled from shuttered windows and hanging lanterns, scattered like stars across the darkened streets. Wisps of fog coiled through alleyways and around stone buildings, shifting lazily as if the town itself was breathing in its sleep.

  Lanton, for all its pride and poise, looked fragile in that moment—less like a bastion of civilization and more like a dream huddled in the dark.

  For a breath, the weight of everything fell away. I stood in silence, watching the sleeping city.

  I turned my head slightly, finding Ron with the same expression on his dirtied face.

  “Well… That was unexpected,” I offered lightly, wondering if he’d blame me for our near death experience.

  His head turned to me, a bemused expression breaking through his shell-shocked face.

  “You’re telling me…” he muttered.

  Ron’s gaze drifted back over Lanton before he spoke again. “...What was that thing?”

  I thought about his question for a moment. It wasn’t Fell… It felt older, darker. My mind flashed to the image depicted in the mural, the King of Death—but, that was impossible. He’d been dead for over 500 years—Perhaps, a remnant of those dark times…? Then, why awaken now, and not at any point before? Could it be because I carry Lunae and Tenebrae within me?

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  I eventually shook my head. “I’m not sure…”

  Silence fell over us again.

  “...Are you familiar with the King of Death—?” I asked quietly.

  He turned his head to me, incredulously. “Of course I know of it…It’s one of the first stories children are taught. The greatest catastrophe ever to befall the Five Kingdoms… Why?”

  I nodded slowly, once again wondering why my father had decided to leave that little tidbit out of my education.

  “...The gods I’ve been researching—I think they’re tied to it somehow. To him. I have a feeling it had something to do with that creature appearing.”

  Ron’s face went pale. “That’s… impossible. The King of Death faded into legend centuries ago—there shouldn’t be anything left.”

  He paused.

  “If you truly believe that there is a connection between it and the gods you’re looking into… Then I advise you to stop at once…if you continue, in the best case you’ll wind up cursed,” Ron followed, seeming genuinely worried about the potential implications.

  I nodded in agreement, though I knew it wouldn’t be that simple.

  “Well… Thank you for taking me down there,” I offered, feeling somewhat guilty for getting him involved.

  “Next time we team up, let’s aim for something that doesn’t almost kill us,” I said with a strained chuckle. “But seriously—if you ever need help, come find me.”

  Ron tipped his head, though he still looked a bit traumatized, and with that, I began making my way back to Falcon’s Flight.

  As I walked, the cool night did little to wash away the heat still pulsing beneath my skin. Whatever that thing was... it had recognized me, or Lunae and Tenebrae within me. And that was what scared me most.

  * * *

  By the time I made it back to Falcon’s Flight, I was dead tired. My muscles ached once again—part exhaustion, part backlash from channeling Tenebrae’s power. It was already late. My mind was off somewhere distant as I crept up the steps to my room. So distant, in fact, I barely registered Selene, Bront, and Lyria seated together in the girl’s room—

  The sound of pounding feet drew me from my thoughts. When I turned I saw Lyria, her hand on the doorframe as she spun out of the room, her face twisted into a scowl.

  “Where have you been?!” She snapped.

  My eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “I… What do you mean?”

  Just as Lyria looked ready to explode, Selene’s voice cut through—restrained, but firm.

  “Yukon. Get in here.”

  Bront sat with a pensive look, not even glancing up as I walked in.

  Selene, both hands together, looked up at me. I was normally good at reading people but at that moment I had no idea what she was thinking.

  “So…? Where have you been?” She said, echoing Lyria’s words.

  I glanced between the three of them, sensing a tension that seemed to go beyond being worried about where I was. Lyria in particular, who was now standing by the window, arms crossed, no longer glaring at me. Her eyes were distant, unreadable—like she was bracing for something else.

  “I was with Ron… He was helping me look into something,” I offered, wondering where this was going.

  “And you didn’t think to tell any of us?” She said back.

  “I—I didn’t think I needed to. We weren’t taking any new quests…and besides, Kaela’s not here either,” I argued.

  “Kaela’s not even one of us—officially,” Lyria cut in.

  “Aye, and she actually did tell me she wouldn’t be back for a bit,” Selene retorted.

  I glanced at Bront once, hoping he might back me up here. No luck. His face was still cast to the floor.

  “With the Fell threat looming, your powers that the rest of us still aren’t entirely comfortable with, and Lyria’s—” Selene trailed off for a moment. Lyria’s expression shifted from frustration to something more—guarded. “...You can’t just disappear like that.”

  I nodded. “I understand… I’m sorry I left without telling anyone.”

  There was a pause. Selene seemed to calm a bit at my apology.

  “I was researching Lunae and Tenebrae, trying to find out more about their history…and—I did find something. Something particularly disturbing…” I said quietly.

  “I can explain the details in full, but from what I gathered…they seem to be connected to the King of Death, and the catastrophe that occurred five hundred years ago.”

  All three of them looked up at me, their eyes glinting cautiously in the dim light.

  I went on to explain what happened in the crypt beneath the Sunwarden’s temple. The mural depicting Lun and Ten’s final confrontation with the King of Death, the chest with the sword, and finally, the abomination that rose from the shadows. I let them see my singed arm as I described our desperate escape.

  Lyria looked particularly concerned by the finer details of our escape. Selene sat back, hands clasped together in contemplation. Neither offered their thoughts right away, instead, they looked…distracted.

  “That’s… Thank you for being transparent with us, Yukon. Based on what you’ve said, it sounds like something worth keeping an eye on—especially if it ends up tying back to the Fell in any way,” Selene said, though oddly enough, her response seemed more of a formality than anything…

  Finally, Bront couldn’t hold it in any longer.

  “Aye, that’s plenty troublesome, Yukon,” Bront said, not even bothering to look up. Then his eyes flicked toward Lyria and Selene, his tone sharpening. “Now—are you two going to tell him? Or should I?”

  I stared at him, surprised by the sudden outburst.

  “What’s he talking about?” I muttered, glancing back to Selene and Lyria.

  Selene leaned forward, her hands still clasped together as she searched for the right words. “There’s something else we need to talk about,” she said, carefully. “It concerns Lyria. That elf you saw her speaking with last night… Prince Elledor. He’s not here on a casual visit after all.”

  I felt my jaw tighten at the name, though I tried not to let it show.

  Selene glanced toward Lyria, who kept her eyes on the floor, arms crossed over her chest.

  “Elledor… he’s a prominent figure in Moon Elf politics. Powerful, cunning, ambitious. He’s… taken an interest in Lyria,” Selene continued, her tone growing gentler by the second.

  “Taken an interest… how?” I asked slowly, already dreading the answer.

  Selene hesitated. “He’s asked her to return to the Moon Elf Kingdom. To… reclaim her place among the noble class.”

  Lyria flinched, just barely, and I saw her fingers tighten around her sleeve.

  “And he wants her to give up adventuring,” Selene added, her voice quieter now. “He says it’s unbecoming of someone with her lineage.”

  A silence bloomed in the room—thick, stifling.

  “That’s not all,” Bront growled suddenly, sitting up straighter. “Elledor isn’t just asking her to come home and play politics. He’s grooming her. He wants her to be one of his bloody bridal candidates.”

  My chest constricted.

  “What…?” I asked, almost breathless.

  Bront’s expression was stone. “It’s how their kind operates. Elven courts are a mess of promises and bloodlines. He sees her as a tool. A prize.”

  Selene shot Bront a look, but didn’t contradict him.

  I turned toward Lyria. She still hadn’t spoken. She looked… smaller somehow. Withdrawn. Like she was bracing for a storm she couldn’t run from.

  “That’s not… I don’t think Prince Elledor sees me as a ‘tool,’” she finally murmured. “When I was just a girl… I used to dream about this. Becoming the prince’s bride. It was just a fairy tale back then. Safety, comfort… a life where I didn’t have to fight. But that was a long time ago, well before I became an adventurer.”

  “And… the Prince said he’d help my family,” Lyria continued softly. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “That they’d be taken care of. That I’d be… safer there.”

  Her words echoed in the quiet.

  Safer. Cared for. Owned.

  The silence grew louder. My heartbeat pounded in my ears.

  He wants to take her. Not just away from us—but also from the person she’s fought so hard to become.

  “But—is that still what you want?” I asked quietly. I couldn’t help myself.

  Lyria didn’t answer right away. Her eyes remained on the floor. When she finally looked up, there was a flicker of something behind her gaze—shame, doubt, fear.

  “I don’t know anymore,” she said.

  My stomach twisted.

  She had to know how strong she was. How far she’d come. She wasn’t just some noble’s daughter. She was Lyria—proud, fierce, relentless. The woman who stood fast no matter the danger. Who challenged me. Who made me want to be better.

  And now Elledor wanted to bury all that under silk gowns and silver chains.

  Bront stood abruptly, his chair scraping. “It’s bullshite is what it is,” he spat. “You’re not some pawn in a prince’s game. You’ve bled with us. Fought beside us. If that smug pointy-eared bastard thinks he can just walk in and—”

  “Bront,” Selene interrupted softly, but Bront just shook his head and sat back down, fuming.

  I swallowed hard, trying to find the right thing to say. But what could I offer her? I wasn’t a prince. I could hardly guarantee her safety—let alone her family’s. All I had were my words. And somehow, they felt insufficient.

  Still—I had to say something.

  “This is a decision only you can make,” I said quietly, shifting my gaze to find hers. “That said… if any part of you—even the tiniest sliver—wants to say no but you're too afraid… then lean on me. Lean on us.”

  Lyria’s eyes flicked to mine—just for a second. That flicker of lavender met my gaze, and I saw something there. Conflict. Gratitude. Maybe even… something more.

  Then she looked away, arms wrapping tight around herself.

  “Thanks,” she whispered. “I just… need some time.”

  Unfortunately, time—it seemed—was not on Lyria’s side.

  Prince Elledor returned at dawn the next day, barely affording us the courtesy of waking. His white carriage shimmered in the early light, and a line of imposing guards flanked the road outside Falcon’s Flight.

  Beyond the obvious, something about Elledor’s timing felt… wrong. Too deliberate. Like he knew something we didn’t.