Alistar and Elias carried Mustaffa through the snow, his blood spilling at an alarming rate, painting a crimson trail behind them like strokes on an endless white canvas. With every step, the stain grew darker, heavier.
"He won't last much longer, Elias! We have to do something—now!" Alistar shouted, panic rising in his voice.
"Let me think!" Elias snapped, his mind racing for a solution.
Mustaffa groaned through clenched teeth, trying to suppress the pain. His face twisted again and again, contorted by waves of agony.
"I have an idea—but it's going to hurt. A lot, Your Majesty," Elias warned, his tone grave.
Alistar turned to him, eyes wide. "What do you mean?"
"We need to cauterize the wound. It's the only way to stop the bleeding."
Mustaffa, pale and trembling, gave a faint nod of approval.
Without hesitation, Elias drew his sword and muttered, Rote Doltch. The blade shimmered, then flared into a deep crimson glow, radiating heat.
He brought it close to the mangled remains of Mustaffa's left arm.
"Hold on as long as you can, old man," Elias muttered.
The searing metal met flesh. A hiss cut through the cold air—followed by Mustaffa's scream, raw and guttural. The stench of burning flesh filled their lungs as the wound sizzled, blackened, and finally sealed shut.
Mustaffa's agonized screams pierced the air, forcing Elias and Alistar to grit their teeth as the blade cauterized the mortal wound.
"Hold on, Your Majesty!" Alistar pleaded, his voice trembling with desperation.
Mustaffa's face twisted under the unbearable pain—so many expressions contorting at once that it was impossible to read just one. His suffering was etched not only in his cries, but in the way he fought to suppress them.
When the bleeding finally stopped, they lifted him again and pressed on through the snow, toward the portal. He remained conscious, but barely. His steps faltered, unsteady and weak. The vibrant energy within him dimmed, his skin paling with every breath. Small arcs of lightning flickered beneath his skin, evaporating the snow with every surge.
"This won't hold much longer!" Elias shouted. "Alistar, go—find our queen and the others, now!"
Behind them, the sky erupted with explosions—blinding flashes of light and crackling bolts of lightning tore through the clouds, illuminating the battlefield below at the foot of the Eighth Gate. The ground trembled with the force of the clash.
"Something massive is happening over there!" Alistar shouted, glancing back in awe.
"Focus! Look, the portal—it's closing!" Elias called, urgency sharpening his voice.
Without wasting another second, Alistar sprang forward, leaping down the snowy slope and sliding the rest of the way. Elias gritted his teeth, tightened his grip around Mustaffa's weakened frame, and plunged into the collapsing portal.
A heartbeat later, they emerged on the other side—within the glowing chamber of Averford's Runic Ark. Aria stood waiting, flanked by Kristoff and a handful of weary Legionnaires who had remained in the castle that night, weapons drawn and eyes full of questions.
"Aria! I need the Sentinels—now!" Elias shouted as he stumbled through the portal, struggling to keep Mustaffa upright.
Aria turned sharply at the sound of his voice. "The high command's already been notified," she said, approaching with urgency in her steps.
"Then see to the king—he needs help, fast!" Elias ordered, gesturing to Mustaffa's barely conscious body.
"King Mustaffa?" Aria's eyes widened. "Isn't he supposed to be one of our enemies?"
Elias rounded on her, his voice sharp with frustration. "Look at him, Aria! Does he look like a threat to you right now? He's dying—help him! I have to go back to the queen!"
Without waiting for a response, he turned toward the fading portal, leaving Aria torn between duty and doubt as the weight of war shifted yet again.
Three Legionnaires burst through the portal, their armor still smoldering from the heat of battle. Among them was Castill Claust, leading the charge with urgency etched across his face.
Meanwhile, the Sigrid brothers and Margott arrived at the academy courtyard, their boots pounding against the marble as they made their way directly to Princess Liliam and Sonia. The two nobles were still engaged in conversation with delegates from the four most influential families of the realm.
"Your Grace! You must come with us at once!" Kiett called out, breathless but firm.
Princess Liliam turned to him with a cold glare, her brow furrowed in offense. She scanned him from head to toe, clearly displeased by what she perceived as the intrusion of a disrespectful commoner.
"How dare you speak to me so informally, young man?" she snapped, her voice sharp as steel. "Do you not know your place?"
But just as she was about to dismiss him entirely, her eyes fell on the figure standing beside him—Margott Blackwell. The moment their gazes met, Liliam's expression shifted. The irritation vanished, replaced by a flicker of recognition and concern. Her protégé's presence changed everything.
"Margott! Tell me what's going on!" Princess Liliam demanded, her voice sharp with urgency.
Margott stepped forward and bowed with grace. Kiett, realizing his earlier misstep, quickly followed suit, nudging his sister to do the same. Both bowed deeply before the princess.
"General Montecristo has launched an assault on the Rune Ark," Margott reported, her voice steady despite the chaos unfolding. "He entered the portal alongside Elias and Alistar. Your Majesty, your presence is urgently required."
Liliam didn't waste a breath on pleasantries or farewells. Without another word, she turned and strode away, her pace swift and commanding—like a galloping horse on a battlefield. Her son followed close behind, with Sonia, the Sigrid brothers, and a contingent of Legionnaires moving in unison, their footsteps echoing through the grand halls of the academy as they made their way toward the heart of the conflict.
On the other side of the portal, Elias, Claust, and the other Legionnaires advanced toward the battlefield, the air thick with the chaos of war. Every step was met with the echo of thunderous roars and explosions—bursts of fire, lightning, water, and raw mystical energy clashing in violent harmony.
In the heart of the chaos, Argus, Dracus, and Ezequiel fought side by side, their swords and axe striking with relentless fury against a towering, draconian-looking man—the very same figure who had ravaged the allied encampment and attacked Queen Fiora. His scale-like skin shimmered with unnatural power, a mirror to the woman who had once brought ruin from the skies.
From afar, Fiora and Aurora unleashed their might in a coordinated barrage, elemental spells crashing down in waves. The battle had become a desperate struggle—one man against them all, and yet he held his ground.
Nearby, Montecristo knelt beside Woodrow, who lay bloodied in the snow, clutching a deep wound in her abdomen. Without hesitation, Montecristo pulled her to safety, shielding her as the storm of battle raged around them.
"Hold on, young lady! Help is on the way!" Joel shouted, his hands firmly pressed against the wound in her abdomen, trying to stem the bleeding. Woodrow winced, teeth clenched, as the pressure sent fresh waves of pain through her body.
Moments later, Alistar arrived, his armor soaked in blood and his breath ragged.
"What happened to you?" Joel asked, alarm flashing in his eyes.
"It's King Mustaffa's blood," Alistar replied grimly, shaking his head.
Joel's gaze hardened with resolve. "Take Woodrow to the portal. Now. I'll stay behind and draw their attention."
He didn't wait for an argument. His grip tightened around his weapon as the thunder of the battlefield roared around them—ready to buy them precious seconds with his own life if necessary.
"You're insane, Joel! We're all getting out of here!" Alistar shouted after him, but Joel was already striding back toward the heart of the battle, resolute and unshakable.
Alistar turned to lift Woodrow into his arms, but her voice—faint and trembling—stopped him cold.
"E...ve...rard..." she whispered.
He looked down, following the weak, trembling motion of her hand. Her fingers pointed toward a figure just ahead—what remained of a young boy, his lifeless body torn cruelly in half.
Tears streamed down Woodrow's face as she cried out again, her voice cracking under the weight of grief.
"Help Everard," she pleaded, her sobs breaking the air like glass.
Alistar froze, torn between the unbearable sight and the urgency of escape, as the battlefield burned around them.
Suddenly, a devastating blast from the draconian man sent the three kings and Joel hurtling through the air. Their bodies slammed into the stone walls of the Eighth Gate with bone-rattling force, landing just beside Alistar and the wounded Woodrow.
The man—flanked by the two other figures who had arrived to aid the mysterious woman—had once again cornered the sovereigns, overwhelming them with sheer, inhuman power.
High above, perched on a narrow ledge, Elias, Claust, and the remaining Legionnaires remained hidden in the shadows. Bows drawn, eyes fixed, they waited in tense silence for the perfect moment to strike, knowing one misstep could cost them everything.
The draconian woman let out a sharp, mocking laugh that echoed across the battlefield.
Ezequiel, Dracus, and Argus rose to their feet, weapons drawn, ready to strike back. Nearby, Aurora and Fiora stood side by side, eyes locked on the approaching enemies—inhuman beings cloaked in mystery and power.
"Fiora Bright-WindHam! How interesting," the draconian man called out, his snake-like eyes narrowing as they fixed on Fiora's face.
"You seem as surprised to see me as I am to see you," Fiora replied coldly, her voice steady despite the storm swirling around them.
A crooked smile curled on the man's lips as he strode forward, his apostles moving in perfect sync behind him.
"And how is she?" he asked, his tone almost playful. "The young princess."
"I'll kill you before you ever reach her!" Fiora snarled, leveling the tip of her spear directly at the man's chest. Her voice rang out with lethal intent—sharp, commanding, and unshakable.
Joel, standing nearby, felt a chill run down his spine. There was something in her tone—familiar, almost haunting. He narrowed his eyes, then stepped forward, undaunted, sword in hand and ready to strike.
"I know you," he said, his voice low but firm. "Rocaforte... twenty-three years ago."
The name landed like a thunderclap.
The draconian man's stride faltered. His expression shifted, the arrogant smirk wiped clean from his face. For a moment, something flickered behind those serpent-like eyes—recognition, perhaps even fear.
"Joel Reid-Montecristo! General of Averford!" the man spat, his voice a guttural growl laced with hatred. "Disgusting traitor!"
Joel didn't flinch. He took a step closer, eyes burning with defiance. "Bardo. How could I ever forget you?" he said coldly. "But tell me—how can you call me a traitor and still have your tongue intact?"
The tension in the air was suffocating. Every breath felt like a spark. One wrong move, one twitch of a finger, and the battlefield would erupt in a clash that none of them might survive.
Fiora, composed and unbothered, turned her back on Bardo without a word and walked toward the wounded Woodrow. The gesture struck deep.
"You dare turn your back on me, Your Majesty?" Bardo growled, his rage barely contained. "Knowing you're standing before the one who will end your life? That is an insult!"
"Bardo! What happened to you? Explain yourself—because I buried you!" Joel shouted, his voice rising with disbelief and fury, the tension in the air twisting even tighter.
"You buried plenty of bodies that night, Joel," Bardo replied with a bitter sneer. "But mine wasn't one of them."
His tone darkened as he took a step forward, eyes glowing faintly with something unearthly. "That day… everything was lost. And all that remains now is a distant memory—of the glow of the Origin."
A heavy silence fell over the group. Joel stood frozen, and even the most battle-hardened among them looked shaken.
"The glow of the Origin?" Aurora asked, her brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?"
"Shut your mouth, damn it! No one gave you permission to speak!" snarled the woman standing at Bardo's side, her eyes blazing.
"Silence, Vivian!" Bardo snapped without turning, finally revealing the woman's name. "It's not time yet." He stated.
The name struck Aurora like a dagger.
"Vivian? No... impossible! Vivian is dead!" Aurora screamed, her face contorted in terror. Her teeth clenched tightly, her body trembling with a volatile mix of hatred and dread.
Vivian threw her head back and laughed—a cold, echoing sound that seemed to twist the very air around them. Her eyes locked onto Aurora's, savoring every flicker of emotion on her rival's face.
"Did you see a ghost, Aurora?" she asked mockingly, her voice smooth and almost amused, as if tasting victory in every word.
Aurora took a shaky step back, but Vivian only smiled wider, her tone turning razor-sharp.
"The ghosts of the past are back for blood," she whispered darkly. "And this time, we won't leave without it."
Elias, Claust, and the other Legionnaires remained hidden in the shadows, eyes trained on the unfolding chaos. One of them kept a close watch on the flickering portal—it was growing weaker, seconds from collapsing.
"Elias," Claust whispered urgently, "if we're going to act, the time is now."
On the battlefield, Fiora and Joel scanned the enemy, weighing their options. Ezequiel took a step forward, his voice steady but tense.
"What are you?"
The man standing to Bardo's right gave a serene, unsettling smile. "We are messengers of a coming grace."
"Grace?" Argus echoed, narrowing his eyes.
As if summoned by the word, Bardo resumed his slow, deliberate advance. His tone was chilling.
"All the answers belong to us now—thanks to you."
"What are you talking about?" Fiora demanded, her grip tightening on her spear.
Bardo raised a hand and gestured behind them. "The answers lie just beyond. With the seal now broken, the sanctuary will finally be ours."
His words carried a dark promise—one that reeked of death.
Without hesitation, Fiora slammed the base of her spear into the ground. A brilliant red beam surged forth, aimed directly at Bardo. But before it could strike, Vivian stepped in, raising her hand. The beam collided with a crackling shield of energy, absorbing the attack in a blaze of crimson light.
"This is our chance!" Elias shouted.
Without hesitation, the two Legionnaires beside him and Claust loosed their arrows. From their hidden perch, the shafts soared into the sky—three brilliant streaks of red light that drew the eyes of everyone at the Eighth Gate.
"Run!" Elias roared.
In a flash, the arrows burst midair, splintering into hundreds—thousands—of smaller projectiles that rained down like a crimson storm upon Bardo and his apostles. The impact was devastating. Cries of pain tore through the battlefield as the deadly hail pierced armor and flesh alike, forcing the enemy to stagger.
Seizing the moment, Fiora raised her spear once more. A second beam of pure red energy erupted from its tip and struck true—this time, a direct hit that sent shockwaves rippling through the ground.
With a deafening roar, Vivian shifted back into her dragon form, her wings unfurling in a violent gust. She launched herself into the sky, unleashing a torrent of fire that incinerated the remaining arrows mid-descent, scattering embers across the battlefield.
Without pause, she turned her fury toward Fiora, exhaling a blazing breath of draconic fire. Fiora braced herself, planting her feet firmly as she raised her shield, amplifying it to its third tier of power. The force of the breath slammed into her like a storm, but she held her ground—barely.
"Aurora!" she cried out, straining under the immense pressure. "Destroy the Eighth Gate!"
At that moment, a bolt of Fiora's crimson lightning struck Bardo square in the chest, sending him crashing to the ground. But he wasn't finished. Slowly, he began to rise, smoke curling from his body, eyes burning with fury.
Aurora, sensing the window of opportunity, activated the rings on her wrists. Power surged through her as she brought her hands together, forming the core of a devastating spell—one strong enough to destroy the Eighth Gate.
"Gessamtes Vakuum!" Aurora cried, her voice echoing like a thunderclap across the battlefield. Heat surged from her hands, distorting the air around her as she slowly pulled them apart. Between her palms, a small, pulsing sphere began to form—so dark, so dense, that it seemed to devour the very light around it.
The snow beneath her feet hissed and vanished, consumed by the sphere's unnatural gravity. It grew steadily, hungrily, until even Vivian's fiery breath was being drawn into its depths, unraveling into nothingness.
"Now, Aurora! Destroy it!" Fiora shouted, her voice strained with urgency.
Without hesitation, Aurora took aim. The air around her cracked with pressure as she hurled the massive void sphere toward the Eighth Gate, its path bending reality as it spiraled forward—an unstoppable force poised to change the tide of battle.
Bardo and Vivian stood frozen, eyes wide with disbelief at the colossal force Aurora had unleashed.
"She's going to destroy it!" Vivian gasped, her voice tinged with awe and rising panic.
"Everyone out—now!" Alistar shouted, already sprinting toward the portal with Woodrow cradled in his arms.
One of Bardo's apostles, desperate to stop the inevitable, shifted into the form of a massive dragon and launched himself toward the void as it consumed the Eighth Gate. He collided with it midair, attempting to divert its course—but the sphere was merciless. The creature was torn apart in an instant, his body shattered and swallowed whole by the ravenous darkness.
The gate groaned under the pressure, its very foundation beginning to collapse.
Bardo and Vivian stared in stunned silence, awestruck by the sheer magnitude of Aurora's power. The devastation she had unleashed left no doubt—she was stronger, perhaps even more so than Fiora herself.
"Bardo! What do we do?" Vivian asked, her voice tight with urgency.
"Kill them all!" he roared.
With a single beat of their wings, the two ascended into the sky, their draconian forms fully unleashed. They rained down volleys of molten fire and jagged earth, desperate to halt the fleeing survivors from reaching the portal.
Vivian turned her fury on the portal itself, hurling searing projectiles toward it, intent on destroying their only escape.
But Claust stepped forward, his sword blazing with crimson light. With a cry, he unleashed a barrage of mystical energy blasts. The air crackled as his attacks collided midair with Vivian's, intercepting and neutralizing them in brilliant, violent bursts of light.
"Go! Cross the portal—now!" Fiora commanded, her voice cutting through the chaos like a blade.
Claust and Elias were the first to leap through, followed closely by Alistar, cradling the wounded Woodrow in his arms. Aurora, the Downmore brothers, and Ezequiel followed in quick succession, urgency driving their every step.
Bardo launched into pursuit just as Fiora and Montecristo made their move. Fiora crossed the threshold, but before Montecristo could follow completely, a blast of draconic breath struck from behind.
The searing flame caught his shoulder, sending him stumbling forward with a cry of pain. Behind him, the portal shuddered—then collapsed in a flash of blinding light, sealing shut with a deafening crack.
"What do we do now? We've failed!" Vivian cried, her voice trembling with rage and despair. "And we lost two of our own!" she added, her eyes burning.
Bardo said nothing. He stood in silence, watching as the massive vortex continued its rampage, devouring the mountain stone by stone, disintegrating it into nothingness.
"Damn it," he muttered under his breath, fists clenched.
On the other side of the portal, the survivors stumbled into the Runic Ark—battered, breathless, but alive. Joel was the last to cross, collapsing to the ground with a thud, blood soaking through his cloak and staining the floor beneath him. His back was torn open, his body still.
Gasps erupted around him as Liliam, the Sigrid brothers, and the others rushed to his side. Kiett and Claire froze, eyes wide with horror as they stared at Joel's unmoving form.
Then, with a thunderous roar, the portal behind them imploded. A column of fire burst forth, shooting into the sky and striking one of the castle towers, shaking the very foundations of Averford.
TO BE CONTINUED…