The morning came cloaked in frost, the sky painted with a bruised shade of purple as the first light broke over the mountains. Eira was already awake. She hadn't slept—not really. Dreams of Lucien, bloodied and fading in the snow, had haunted every moment she closed her eyes.
She stood at the window, her hand clenched around the pendant Lucien had left her. The magic within it pulsed faintly, as if sensing her fear. Something was wrong. Deeply, undeniably wrong.
Mira tried to talk her out of leaving.
"There are scouts. Messengers. You're the heart of this kingdom now. If something happens to you—"
Eira turned to her slowly. "Lucien is the kingdom. I'll be fine"
There was no argument after that.
By noon, she was saddled and cloaked, standing at the edge of the royal stables. A group of five guards had been summoned to accompany her. Among them was Ravien. He didn't argue this time. He only handed her a dagger, its hilt bound in obsidian leather.
"You can use this?" he asked.
Eira looked him in the eye. "I remember how."
They rode swiftly through the veil gates, the wind biting as they crossed into the forest paths beyond the castle's protection. The air was charged with silence, as if the very trees were holding their breath. Eira kept her gaze on the road, her senses stretched thin, following that fragile thread that connected her to Lucien. The bond burned in her chest—subtle, but undeniable.
"Tell me what we're heading into," she asked as they galloped down a ridge.
"The Shadowlands stretch along the edge of the Ashen Realm," Ravien said grimly. "Lucien and the Bloodguard were sent to investigate a breach—rumors of a summoning circle. Necromancers. Old magic trying to rise again."
Eira's grip tightened on the reins. "What could they be trying to summon?"
"Something that should've stayed buried."
As the sun dipped low, setting the world ablaze in hues of gold and crimson, they saw the smoke. Black columns rising in the distance—too thick to be from a campfire.
And then came the smell. Burned metal. Blood.
A battlefield unfolded ahead—silent and grim. Torn banners fluttered weakly in the wind. The ground was scorched, littered with shattered weapons, broken arrows, and bodies. Eira slid from her horse before it had fully stopped, ignoring Ravien's warning shout. Her boots sank into blood-soaked mud.
She walked slowly at first, then faster.
She recognized the sigils. Black and silver armor—the Bloodguard.
There were too many bodies. Too much blood.
She dropped to her knees beside one of the fallen. His eyes were still open, staring into nothing, mouth frozen in a whisper of pain. She pressed her fingers to his forehead and closed his eyes.
Ravien stood beside her. "This was an ambush. They weren't expecting that thing."
"What thing?"
He pointed to a deep crater in the earth—scorched black, ringed with strange sigils. A summoning circle. Broken and burned from within.
"They summoned something… and lost control of it."
Eira's Crest flared suddenly, fear trickling down her spine.
A pulse of heat. A tug, deep in her ribs.
Lucien.
She turned sharply, eyes scanning the treeline.
"Lucien!" she called, her voice ringing through the silence.
And from the edge of the battlefield, faint and hoarse—
"Eira?"
She ran.
She didn't wait for the guards. She didn't care that it could be a trap, or that something darker might still be lurking. The voice had come from the northern slope, beyond a half-collapsed ridge. She slid down the incline, boots skidding on loose rock, until she found him.
Lucien lay half-buried in ash and snow, his black coat torn, his silver hair matted with blood. One arm was twisted beneath him, and the other was curled protectively over his chest. But his eyes—his eyes were still open, still glowing faintly like dying embers.
"Eira," he whispered, voice raw.
She fell to her knees beside him. "You're alive. Gods—you're alive."
"I told you I was hard to kill."
He tried to smile. It came out as a grimace.
Eira gently brushed the blood from his cheek, her heart breaking at the sight of him. "What happened?"
"Summoned something ancient. A Shadow Wyrm. We weren't ready… Lost too many men."
His breathing hitched. She could hear the wheeze in his lungs—he was hurt badly. Too badly.
"We have to move him!" she called back to Ravien, who had just caught up.
Lucien gripped her wrist weakly. "No. Wait—"
"You're bleeding. We don't have time."
"Listen—Eira—" He coughed. Blood splattered on his lips. "The beast… it's not dead."
She froze.
"What?"
"It went underground. Feeding on blood. Healing. It'll come back."
Eira looked to Ravien, whose face had gone pale. "We need to get him out of here now, help me get him up"
But even as she spoke, the ground trembled.
Not softly. Not subtly.
Like something enormous was waking beneath the earth.
A groan, like stone splitting. Then—a shriek.
It came from beneath them.
Eira's Crest burst into silver fire.
Lucien's eyes widened. "You're glowing."
"I remembered something," she said breathlessly. "I remembered us."
The light from her Crest flared, lighting the ridge in pure moonfire.
And from the cracked earth behind them, the beast rose again.
Tall as the treetops. Wings of shadow. A mouth filled with fire.
The Shadow Wyrm had returned.
Eira stood, heart pounding.
This time, she would not run. She summoned all her courage taking in a sharp breath waiting for what was to come.