The air grew colder with each step as Lucian and Daen made their way toward the looming mountains. Behind them, the village was now a distant memory, and ahead lay the unknown—the place where the Serpent's Children had taken root. The ground beneath their boots seemed to grow firmer, more treacherous with each passing mile, as if the land itself were resisting their advance. The once-distant howl had turned into a deep, echoing growl, reverberating through the rock, shaking the very bones of the earth. The storm was closer now—closer than they had ever imagined.
"Are you sure we should do this?" Daen's voice was low, tense with uncertainty. He wiped the sweat from his brow, though the air was frigid. "We don't know what we're walking into. We barely have the numbers to face an army, let alone… whatever they're preparing."
Lucian glanced over at his friend, his jaw set. Daen's concern wasn't unfounded. They were a small group—just a handful of hardened warriors and scouts, not enough to challenge an ancient cult that had the power to twist and warp the very fabric of reality. But it was too late to turn back. The Serpent's Children had to be stopped, or their ritual would consume everything. Lucian's gut twisted at the thought, but his resolve had solidified. The stakes had become far greater than anyone had realized.
"We don't have a choice," Lucian replied, his voice steady despite the storm swirling inside him. "We either stop them now, or we lose everything. We've seen what happens when power like that is left unchecked."
Daen nodded grimly, and they pressed on. Their path grew steeper, the rocky terrain more difficult to navigate as they ascended the foothills. The mountain's jagged peaks loomed over them, dark and foreboding. It felt as though the very sky had drawn closer, pressing down on them, amplifying the sense of impending doom that clung to the air.
As they neared the entrance to the caves, a new sensation began to claw at Lucian's mind. It was as if the land itself were watching them, aware of their every movement. He had been in places of power before—ancient ruins, long-forgotten temples—but nothing had ever felt quite like this. It was oppressive, suffocating, as though the very earth had absorbed the dark energy that now swirled around the caves and the mountains beyond.
The mouth of the cave yawned before them, wide and dark, like the maw of some great beast waiting to swallow them whole. From within, they could hear the faint sound of chanting, low and rhythmic, as though a ritual was already underway. The words were foreign, their meaning lost to time, but the feeling they evoked was unmistakable—power. A terrible, ancient power that would change everything if it was allowed to grow.
"We should wait for the others," Daen suggested quietly. "We need more time to prepare. We don't even know how many of them are in there."
Lucian shook his head, his eyes narrowing as he stared into the darkness. "No. We don't have time. They've already begun. If we don't stop them now, we risk everything."
Daen looked at him, and for a moment, there was a flash of uncertainty in his eyes. Then, he sighed and nodded. "Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you."
The two of them moved forward, entering the cave with weapons drawn and senses heightened. The temperature dropped noticeably as they descended deeper into the mountain, the walls slick with moisture, and the air thick with the oppressive weight of magic. The further they went, the louder the chanting became, filling their ears with a rhythmic hum that seemed to vibrate in their very bones.
They reached a cavern after what seemed like an eternity. The sight before them was one of unimaginable horror. A large stone altar stood at the center of the cavern, surrounded by dark robed figures—each one chanting in unison, their hands raised toward the ceiling as though reaching for something far beyond their understanding. The altar itself was covered in strange symbols, and the air around it crackled with dark energy. At the foot of the altar, a single figure stood in the center, bound by thick chains. His eyes were wide with terror, his mouth moving in a silent scream, as though begging for release.
Lucian's blood ran cold when he saw the figure on the altar.
It was a child—no older than ten.
The girl's eyes locked with Lucian's, and in that instant, he felt the full weight of the situation. The Serpent's Children weren't just seeking power. They were sacrificing the innocent—using their blood to fuel the dark magic they were trying to awaken.
"No…" Daen whispered, his voice thick with horror. "This is worse than we thought."
Lucian's gaze never left the child. His heart pounded in his chest as he tried to comprehend what was unfolding before them. They had to act, and they had to act quickly, before the ritual was completed. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to do something—anything—to stop this madness.
He moved forward, but Daen grabbed his arm. "Lucian, wait. We don't know what they're capable of. We need a plan. If we attack now, we'll be overwhelmed."
Lucian shook his head. "There's no time for a plan. We stop this, now."
With a single motion, he unsheathed his sword, its blade glinting in the dim light of the cavern. He stepped forward, every muscle in his body tense, ready for the coming battle. Daen hesitated for only a moment before following suit, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the room for any threats.
The cultists hadn't noticed their presence yet, too absorbed in their chanting. But Lucian didn't waste any more time. He lunged forward, his sword flashing in the air as he cut down the first cultist who had the misfortune of stepping into his path. The figure collapsed, blood spilling from the wound, but the others didn't stop their chant. If anything, their voices grew louder, more intense.
"We have to break their concentration," Daen shouted as he engaged the nearest cultist, his axe swinging with deadly precision. The cultists, though seemingly human, moved with unnatural speed and strength, their eyes glowing with an eerie light. They were far more than mere mortals.
Lucian moved swiftly, cutting down another cultist with a well-placed strike, but there were too many of them. The chanting continued, and the ritual was reaching its climax. The chains binding the child on the altar began to glow, and the ground beneath them trembled.
Suddenly, a figure stepped from the shadows—a man in dark robes, his face obscured by a hood. His presence was commanding, and Lucian could feel the weight of his power before he even spoke.
"You are too late," the man said, his voice cold and rasping, like the whisper of the wind through dead trees. "The Serpent has already awoken. There is nothing you can do to stop it."
Lucian's grip on his sword tightened. "We'll see about that."
Without another word, the man raised his arms, and the energy in the cave surged. The cultists' chanting became more frantic, the air growing thick with dark magic. The child's eyes filled with fear as the chains binding her began to glow brighter, their power rising to an unbearable level.
Lucian's mind raced. This was their last chance.
He charged at the figure, his sword raised high, ready to sever the head of the serpent at its source.