The skies above the Keep blackened as if night had fallen prematurely. A storm without rain—only pressure, heavy and oppressive—descended.
Althar's sword was already drawn.
The lead envoy raised his hand. "We are not here to negotiate. We are here to retrieve what was lost."
"You can tell your Empress," Althar said, voice like steel, "that this fortress will not kneel."
The shadow-born construct—the serpentine fire spirit the envoy had summoned—coiled, hissing with magic.
"Then your defiance shall be... extinguished."
The ash-shadow lunged forward.
"FIRE!" Althar roared.
Dozens of arrows rained from the battlements.
The first volley pierced the construct's form, but the arrows dissolved before hitting anything solid. The shadow reformed mid-air and surged straight for the gates.
Althar didn't wait. With a step, he leapt down the stairs of the Keep, blade in hand, his cloak trailing behind him like a banner of war.
Ael and Elen watched from above.
"He's going alone?" Ael muttered.
"No," Elen said, eyes narrowed. "He's buying time."
They ran.
Below the Keep, the vault where the relic slept began to hum faintly. The seal they'd placed wasn't holding.
Outside, Althar clashed with the ash-shadow. His blade met resistance, not flesh or bone but something colder—a spiritual membrane humming with dark energy.
Each strike rebounded with force, yet Althar did not waver. He spun, dodged, redirected the creature's attacks with measured grace. Years of war made him a master of rhythm and patience.
But this was no living thing. It didn't tire. It didn't fear.
Behind him, one of the three riders raised his own staff.
"Two minutes," the envoy whispered. "This place will burn."
Althar grit his teeth. "Over my corpse."
Suddenly, an arrow glowed mid-flight and struck the envoy's chest—Elen's shot. It crackled with disruption magic. The staff-wielding rider staggered.
Ael appeared beside Althar with a flash, landing hard, eyes blazing.
"You want to burn this place?" Ael growled. "Then let me show you what real fire looks like."
He extended his hand, and from his palm surged a torrent of blue flame—different from before. It wasn't just heat. It sang, thrumming with something... older.
The shadow construct shrieked.
The riders hissed in unison.
"That magic—" one of them said, backing away.
"Impossible. That bloodline was extinct."
Ael didn't understand—but he felt it. The relic hadn't just given him memories. It had begun unlocking something inside him.
The fire responded like an extension of thought. With a gesture, he reshaped the torrent into spears and sent them flying.
The fire spears slammed into the shadow, and this time, it didn't recover. It disintegrated into a pile of scorched dust.
One envoy down.
The remaining two turned, but Elen leapt from above, blade glimmering in runes. She slashed across the second rider's chest—where she struck, light erupted, like sunlight through stained glass.
"Now!" Althar yelled.
Together, the three fought with seamless coordination.
Ael's flames disrupted the enemy's constructs. Elen's precision disabled their movement. Althar's sword finished what remained.
It wasn't a long battle—but it was costly.
The ground was scorched. The gates cracked. Dozens of archers lay wounded. But the Keep still stood.
The last envoy, battered and one-armed, stumbled toward his horse.
Althar caught up and slammed him into the wall.
"Tell her," he growled, "that this relic is ours now."
The envoy grinned, blood leaking from his lips. "You think you've won?"
Ael stepped closer, flames still swirling in his palms. "Go on. Try me."
"No," the envoy rasped. "You've already lost. She knows your name now."
Ael's hand twitched.
Then the envoy dissolved into ash, his body rejecting capture.
That night, the Keep was silent.
No celebration. No boasting.
Just watchful eyes on the horizon.
In the war room, Althar spread a new map. "This was a test. They sent scouts, not an army."
Elen leaned against the table. "Then she'll come in full next time."
Ael stood in the corner, watching the blue flames dance on his fingers. "She called me a bloodline. What does that mean?"
Althar exhaled. "It means you come from something... ancient. Maybe one of the old clans. We'll need to find out."
Elen added, "And if the relic is truly linked to your origins, then there's more buried across the continent."
Ael looked up. His voice, for once, was serious. "Then we dig it all up. Every memory. Every piece. If I was made by her, I'll find out why."
Althar nodded. "Then we begin the campaign. No more hiding. We take the war to her."
Far away, in the obsidian throne room of the Empress, flames flickered in a bowl of bone.
She watched it dance and whispered, "So the Echo lives."
A figure in chains behind her stirred. "You sealed his soul yourself."
"I did," she said coldly. "And yet he returns. A mistake… I will correct."