Adrian Valorian's breath caught, the throne room's air thick with the coppery tang of blood and the hum of magic gone wild. The watcher's blade, etched with runes pulsing like the Heart of Eldoria, gleamed with lethal intent, his words—Valorian, your blood ends tonight—a death knell. The grey-cloaked man's magic was a storm, shaking the marble walls, his eyes mirroring Seris's but burning with malice. The noble pact wasn't just a conspiracy; it was a war, and the Veil, keepers of Eldoria's magic, were fracturing. Adrian's blood sang, the catacombs' guardian roaring in his veins, tied to the Heart's reformed shards the watcher held.
Lira Vey stood at his side, her dagger—stolen from a Draven loyalist—steady despite the bruise on her cheek and the blood staining her sleeve. Her eyes were fire, locked on the watcher, her voice a low growl. "Move, Adrian. He's not taking you."
Princess Eryn, dagger drawn, flanked King Alaric, her face pale but fierce, her guards forming a thin line against the watcher's power. The torn journal pages, proof of the pact's depth, were clutched in Eryn's hand, their script damning half the court. Morna's escape, Toren's tragic betrayal, and the Veil's secrets weighed on Adrian, but the watcher was the immediate threat, his blade a promise of annihilation.
Adrian's arm throbbed, the spell burn now a lattice of scars, his cloak shredded but hiding the Draven ring from Lord Varn. His copper disc was dead, its rune spent, but his mind was a forge, hammering out survival. "You want my blood," he said, voice raw but steady, stepping forward, the ring tight on his finger. "You'll have to earn it."
The watcher's lips curled, his blade flashing as he lunged, magic crackling like a whip. Adrian dove, the spell grazing his shoulder, searing flesh. Lira slashed at the watcher, her dagger sparking against his runes, but his magic hurled her back, her cry piercing Adrian's heart. Eryn's guards charged, but the watcher's storm scattered them, their armor clattering against the throne's dais.
"Fools," the watcher hissed, raising the Heart's shard, its glow blinding. "The Veil's balance is a lie. The Heart's power is mine, and Eldoria will kneel."
Adrian scrambled to his feet, pain a distant roar, his eyes locked on the shard. The Heart of Eldoria, shattered in the ward chamber, was reformed—not whole, but enough to channel the guardian's might. His Valorian blood, the key to its power, burned in his veins, a call he couldn't ignore. "Lira, the shard!" he shouted, dodging another spell, the throne room's pillars crumbling under the watcher's assault.
Lira nodded, rolling to her feet, her dagger aimed at the watcher's hand. Adrian tackled a guard's fallen sword, its weight clumsy but better than nothing, and charged, his weak magic sparking, a desperate flare. The watcher's blade met his, runes clashing with steel, and the guardian's hum surged, a voice in Adrian's mind: Claim it, or fall.
The shard's light pulsed, and Adrian's blood answered, pain lancing through his chest. He swung the sword, grazing the watcher's arm, blood welling—a small victory. Lira's dagger struck, nicking the watcher's wrist, and the shard wavered, its glow flickering. "Now!" Adrian yelled, lunging for it, his fingers brushing its surface, cold as death but alive with power.
The watcher roared, his magic a tidal wave, knocking Adrian and Lira to the ground. Eryn's dagger flew, embedding in the watcher's shoulder, but he barely flinched, his eyes fixed on Adrian. "Your blood's not enough," he snarled, raising the shard. "The pact's master demands it all."
The pact's master. The words hit like a blade, confirming Adrian's fear: Kael, Morna, even the Dravens were pawns. Someone else pulled the strings, and the watcher served them. Adrian's mind raced, the journal's list of noble houses flashing—names in Alaric's court, trusted allies. Betrayal was everywhere.
Then a new figure burst through the throne room's side door—Professor Elara, her robes singed, her hands sparking with Academy magic. "Stand down!" she commanded, hurling a spell that staggered the watcher, his shard dimming. "The Veil's not yours to break!"
The watcher laughed, a chilling sound, and raised the shard, its light flaring. The guardian's form coalesced, no longer in the catacombs but here, a colossus of shadow and starlight, its eyes boring into Adrian. Valorian, it whispered, shaking the room, choose.
Adrian's blood burned, his weak magic surging, a spark igniting into flame. He staggered to his feet, the sword heavy, his eyes on the shard. "Lira, Eryn—keep him busy!" he shouted, diving for the watcher, his body screaming but his resolve iron. Lira's dagger flashed, Elara's spells weaving a net, and Eryn's guards rallied, their blades a desperate chorus.
The watcher's magic was relentless, but Adrian's blood was the Heart's anchor. He tackled the watcher, his sword slashing the man's hand, the shard falling, its light pulsing erratically. Adrian grabbed it, the guardian's voice a roar: Bind it, or burn. Pain exploded, his blood boiling, but he held on, his weak magic pouring into the shard, a fragile thread against its power.
The watcher's blade came down, but Lira's dagger blocked it, her strength faltering. "Adrian, do it!" she gasped, blood trickling from her lip. Elara's spell hit the watcher, knocking him back, and Adrian raised the shard, his blood the key, his will the lock. The guardian surged, its tendrils lashing not at Adrian but the watcher, its voice a thunderclap: Traitor.
The watcher screamed, tendrils piercing his cloak, his magic fading as the guardian's wrath consumed him. The shard cracked, its light dying, and the guardian vanished, its hum fading to a whisper. Adrian collapsed, the shard dust in his hands, his chest heaving, blood dripping from his brow.
The throne room was silent, save for the groans of wounded guards and Alaric's ragged breath. Eryn knelt beside Adrian, her face grim but grateful. "You stopped him," she said, her voice low. "The pact's weakened."
Adrian's relief was fleeting, the watcher's words—the pact's master—a shadow in his mind. "It's not over," he said, voice hoarse, helping Lira stand, her arm trembling but her eyes fierce. "Morna's out there, and someone's above her."
Elara approached, her face ashen, holding the journal's torn pages. "The Veil's breaking," she said. "Seris is missing, and the watcher wasn't alone. The pact's master is closer than we think."
Adrian's stomach churned, the journal's list of noble houses a map of betrayal. He scanned the throne room, Alaric's advisors gathering, their faces a mix of fear and defiance. One caught his eye—Lord Thalren, a minor noble, his gaze too calm, his hands too steady. The journal had named him, and Adrian's blood ran cold. "Eryn," he whispered, nodding at Thalren, "he's one of them."
Before Eryn could act, Thalren moved, his hand sparking with magic, a hidden blade flashing. "For the pact!" he roared, lunging for Alaric. Adrian dove, tackling Thalren, the blade grazing his side, pain a white-hot flare. Lira's dagger struck, pinning Thalren's arm, and Eryn's guards swarmed, binding him.
Alaric's voice was steel, his eyes dark. "Take him to the cells. The court's purged tonight."
But the chaos wasn't done. A low hum stirred, not the guardian but something new, a pulse from the throne room's floor, where the watcher's blood pooled. Runes glowed, faint but growing, and a voice—not the guardian's—whispered, cold and ancient: The Heart's not dead. Adrian froze, the Draven ring burning on his finger, its sigil pulsing in sync with the runes.
Lira's hand gripped his, her voice urgent. "What is that?"
Elara's face paled, her eyes on the runes. "The pact's master—they've bound the Heart's remnants. It's not over—it's beginning."
Adrian's heart stopped. The watcher's death, Morna's escape, Thalren's attack—they were distractions. The pact's master was here, in the palace, and the Heart's power was waking again, tied to his blood. He scanned the advisors, their faces a blur, but one stood out—Lady Seryn, Alaric's trusted counselor, her smile too serene, her eyes glinting with the same malice as the watcher's.
"Seryn," Adrian said, voice low, stepping toward her, the ring's pulse a warning. "You're the master."
Her smile widened, her hand sparking with magic that dwarfed Morna's, the runes flaring beneath her. "Clever boy," she said, her voice a velvet blade. "But too late. The Heart's mine, and your blood seals it."
The throne room erupted, Seryn's magic a storm, guards and nobles scattering. Eryn's dagger flew, but Seryn's spell deflected it, her power a wall. Lira pulled Adrian back, her dagger ready, but Seryn raised her hand, the runes glowing, the Heart's remnants forming—a crystal, not whole but alive, its light blinding.
"You can't stop it," Seryn said, her eyes locked on Adrian. "The pact's complete. Eldoria's mine."
Adrian's blood roared, the guardian's whisper faint but defiant: Fight. He clutched the Draven ring, its sigil a desperate hope, and lunged, his weak magic flaring, a spark against Seryn's storm. The crystal pulsed, its power shaking the room, and a portal opened behind Seryn—a void, dark and endless, where Morna waited, her silver cloak gleaming.
"Join us, Valorian," Seryn said, her voice a siren's call. "Or die with them."
The portal's pull was a tide, dragging Adrian, Lira, and Eryn toward it. Guards screamed, the throne room crumbling, and Alaric's shout was lost in the chaos. Adrian's hand found Lira's, his resolve a dying flame. The pact's master was unveiled, but at what cost? As the void loomed, a new figure emerged from the shadows—not Seris, not Toren, but Cassian Draven, his face twisted with rage, a blade aimed at Seryn's back.
"Traitor!" Cassian roared, but Seryn's spell caught him, hurling him into the portal. The crystal flared, the void swallowing light, and Adrian's world went black, his blood the only sound, a heartbeat against the dark. The Heart was alive, the pact was winning, and Eldoria's fate hung on a knife's edge.