Thunder boomed over the Carpathians like a divine warning. The Citadel was slashed by rain as Elara ran along beside Lerder, wet to the skin, breathing in short, sharp breaths.
"We're close," Lerder muttered, his jaw squeezed, his voice hardly audible above the storm.
"Too close," she expressed. The air vibrated with a heartbeat, a false, ancient, and hungry energy.
They stepped into a very dark place, barely visible.
__BLACK CITADEL FORTRESS__
Moved into the mountainside, the fortress was full of bleeding shadows. The spires wrestle up towards a storm-tormented sky, windows made with deep mirrors, walls as tall as mountains, with heavy stones and marbles.
As Lerder and Elara crossed into enemy territory. The walls transformed here, trees, the air into dark magic. Every step toward the Black Citadel was a dare to fate.
"I still think this is a trap?" Elara asked, eyes narrowed with curiosity.
Lerder didn't answer. His eyes were locked ahead, mouth tight, every muscle ready to break.
Elara spoke up. "This looks like a nightmare setup to me."
"It was," said Lerder, his expression grim. "Once it was sacred… Before Malak infected it."
As they walked, a low rumble emerged from their feet. The earth trembled, the presence of a strong creature.
"Drop!" Lerder bellowed, pinning Elara to the mud as black arrows whizzed by, breakimg trees with unholy velocity.
Shadows slid off the walls of the Citadel and men came in bone and blood-coded armor, their eyes bright with a fierce red light. Dozens, possibly a hundred.
"Go!" Elara cried, unsheathing her twin blades, her back against Lerder's.
"No," he shouted. "We're finishing it together."
They flowed as a unit on slashes, strikes, and bared teeth. Elara's blade sliced into a guard's spine gap; Lerder shifted half a step, claws tearing through muscle. The forest floor was blood-soaked. There were more, too many.
"Back!" cried Lerder. "Into the building!"
They broke through the broken arch of the Citadel's lower wing, into dark corridors illuminated by dim soul flames.
The door slammed shut after them. Locked by enchantment.
Elara panted, her blade trembling in her arms. "What now?"
The sound of footsteps came from the hallway. Someone emerged, limping. Cloaked.
"Lyra," Lerder breathed.
"You're late," she voiced. "They're waking it up"
Elara ran to her. "Awakening what?"
Lyra looked up, face pale as bone. "The Gate. And not just any gate… they're calling the First Mother."
Elara froze. Her pendant pulsed, burning hot against her chest. "You mean…"
"Your mother," Lyra said softly. "The Queen of Fire. The first cursed Chosen one. The origin of all this."
"No… She died," Elara whispered. "She died when I was born."
Lyra laughed, bitter. "No. She was sealed inside the prophecy, inside you."
A scream echoed down the corridor, raw and inhuman. They turned toward it, it was Rhys.
They ran down the corridors, all covered in blood, past murals of creatures torn by ancient flame. Each step sent pulses through Elara's skin like the very stone recognized her.
They found Rhys tied to an altar in a chamber pulsing with red light. His body arched unnaturally, sigils carved across his chest, blood oozing into runes below him.
"Elara…" he voiced out. "It's too late… She's waking up."
Elara stepped forward, fury rising in her chest. "No. I won't let them take you."
"She's not after me," he groaned. "She's after you... You're the gate."
Before they could move, the shadows behind the altar twisted and pulled, and Morwen came out.
"Ahhh, there's my little candle flame," she stated.
Elara's power surged on instinct, fire racing across her arms.
Morwen raised a brow. "Temper, temper… You wouldn't want to light the wick too early, would you?"
Lerder stepped between them, teeth bared. "Touch her, and I'll tear out your lungs."
Morwen smiled. "You already did, once. I rather liked it."
Her gaze landed on Elara. "You know, you're very much like her. Your mother was beautiful, terrible... Do you know what she said before we sealed her?"
Elara's breath caught.
Morwen leaned in, whispering like a lover. "She begged me to make sure you never found out what she truly was."
"I'm nothing like her," Elara snapped.
"Oh?" Morwen raised her hand, the sigils around Rhys pulsing to life. "Let's test that."
Energy exploded outward. Elara's power reacted violently, surging in a scream of fire and light.
Visions tore through her mind, Her mother on a throne of ash. A newborn Elara, wrapped in flame. A prophecy not written by seers… but by a woman who wanted to be reborn through her. She collapsed to her knees, eyes wide.
"No… No, she used me."
Lerder was beside her in an instant. "Elara Look at me, you're not her."
Her voice cracked. "But what if I am? What if I'm the end?"
"Then we'll end it. Together."
A pulse shivered through the air. The walls trembled.
Lyra yelled, "She's coming through! The Queen is coming back!"
Elara surged to her feet. "Cut the process!"
"What?" Lyra screamed.
"She's using his blood! Stop the sigils!"
Lerder leaped over the altar, claws flashing. With a roar, he slashed through the bloodlines. The red glow flashed, then shattered in a burst of darkness.
Rhys fell off, breathing slow.
The chamber went still, too still. Then, A laugher. Low from a feminine, echoing in Elara's bones.
"Well done," the voice uttered. "You delayed it. But it was never about the altar, little flame. It was about choice… Yours choice."
Morwen grinned as shadows pulled her backward into nothing. "We'll see what you choose when love burns."
Then she was gone.
Rhys whispered. "She left something behind… in me."
Elara helped him up, heart still racing. "We'll fix it."
Lerder wrapped his arm around her waist, grounding her.
Elara leaned into him, fire in her voice. "No more running. We go deeper. We find the core of this prophecy. We rip it apart."
Lyra cracked her knuckles. "Then we'd better move fast. The Queen's shadow is awake. And she's already hunting."
As they stepped through the next door, toward the heart of the Citadel, thunder rumbled.
But this time, it wasn't a storm. It was the sound of fate cracking and something ancient screaming to be reborn.