Chapter 29: The Legacy Sealed in Ice and Fire
The moon hung low over the Sanctum of the Founders, casting pale light through stained crystal windows etched with the visages of Luther ancestors. Flames flickered in gold-cased braziers, reflecting off a solitary figure standing before a sealed gate of obsidian and steel.
Charles Luther, Grand Patriarch, placed his hand on the engraved surface.
The seal pulsed faintly.
> "Martin Luther, First Patriarch. Absolute Master. The blade that stopped the world's end."
Charles's voice trembled—not with fear, but reverence.
"I built this clan on your ruins," he whispered. "And now... your heir walks your path."
Behind him, a robed attendant waited in silence.
"She's awakened the Frost. Next will come Thunder. Then Shadow. One by one, the Emissaries rise. We are approaching the age you feared most."
The seal groaned faintly. The glyphs reacted to his aura. But still, the gate did not open.
Not yet.
---
Elsewhere, on a snow-dusted hill overlooking the Iron Empire's southern wall, Jean Luther stood beside Valeria Durnstahl, the Iron Empress.
They looked down upon an approaching caravan—emissaries and priests of the Argon Sovereignty. A diplomatic envoy. But everyone knew why they were really here.
"They want to see you," Valeria said. "Not as the Luther girl. Not even as the Emissary of Light. But as the sword that might kill a god."
Jean kept her eyes on the envoy, silent.
Valeria offered a sideways glance. "Ilyana's frost didn't shake you?"
"She tested my resolve," Jean replied. "And I thanked her for it."
"Will you thank the next one too?" Valeria asked. "Thunder doesn't test. Thunder breaks."
Jean's grip on Solstice tightened.
"Then I'll be ready to break back."
---
In a sanctum of pure obsidian beneath the Magistery's Hall of Flame, Erin Magus consulted the Grand Scryer. Magical screens hovered in the air, projecting distant images from across the continent.
She studied Jean's aura profile from Aurenhollow.
"She's stabilizing," the Scryer said. "Controlling her divine channeling better than most of the old Emissaries did in their first year."
Erin's lips tightened.
"And yet she remains untempered," she muttered. "Light must be refined—or it will consume everything."
A figure entered the chamber.
Ryan Magus, her son and heir, clad in crimson mage-armor.
"You still doubt her?"
"I doubt the Luther Clan," Erin replied coldly. "And the Emissaries who forget that power without wisdom breeds ruin."
Ryan stepped closer to the projection.
"She's not our enemy."
Erin turned her back. "Not yet."
---
In the distant east, in a place where snow met ash, a shadow stirred beneath a dormant volcano.
Antares, Dragon Lord, stirred in slumber.
The wound Martin Luther gave him—an ancient, cursed slash across his scaled chest—had nearly faded.
And in that darkness, where fire dreams of vengeance, a single golden spark pierced the void.
Antares's eyes opened—one by one.
He did not speak.
But the world felt it.
The era of silence was ending.
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