The mountain opened like a mouth unsealing from centuries of slumber. The air that rushed out was not cold, but hot dry, metallic, and laced with the unmistakable scent of blood and sulfur. The Vale's magic pulsed in the stone, rhythmic and alive, like a heartbeat deep in the earth.
Callum stepped forward first, claws still half extended, body tense. Rhea followed, leaning slightly on him, her breath shallow but steady. The raw fire she had summoned earlier still flickered in her chest, like an ember that refused to die.
Behind them, Lysandra whispered ancient words, coaxing the runes on the stone to dim, then seal the path once they were inside. Mark and Thorne flanked their sides, blades drawn.
The inside of the Obsidian Archives wasn't a library, not in the way any of them expected.
It was a cave vast, circular, with veins of glowing crystal winding through the rock like blood vessels. The walls shimmered with moving inscriptions, glyphs etched in a forgotten tongue, shifting as if alive. In the center stood an altar made of black glass, suspended above a pool of molten silver.
"What is this place?" Rhea murmured.
Lysandra's voice was reverent. "Not a library. A memory."
Callum frowned. "A what?"
"This isn't a place that stores scrolls. The Obsidian Archives are sentient. They hold echoes of the Vale's most powerful events, sealed in stone and magic. If you ask the right question… they answer."
Rhea stepped toward the altar, drawn by a silent pull. The veins of crystal brightened as she approached, like they recognized her.
"What should I ask?" she whispered.
Lysandra knelt beside the altar. "You must give something to receive something. A memory… for a memory."
Rhea blinked. "A memory of mine?"
"Yes," Lysandra said gently. "One that matters. One rooted in love or pain."
Callum stepped beside her. "You don't have to"
"I do," Rhea said quietly. "If this is the only way to find out what we're up against."
She pressed her palm against the altar.
The obsidian glass turned red beneath her hand. The silver pool below rippled. A hum built in the chamber low, guttural, ancient.
Rhea's eyes closed.
And suddenly, she was five years old.
Alone in the woods.
Cold.
A voice screamed her name but it wasn't her mother's. It was her own, calling out in terror, running from something she couldn't see but could feel in her bones.
She remembered the burning pain in her side.
The blood.
The creature with yellow eyes.
She remembered falling
and then a pair of arms catching her.
Warmth.
A lullaby she didn't know but somehow remembered.
Then darkness.
---
Rhea gasped, her hand pulling away. The altar glowed white-hot. The pool below it began to boil.
And then shapes.
Figures formed in the silver: a war in the Vale. Armies of twisted beasts wearing the sigil of the Hollow Star. And leading them, a figure cloaked in flame and shadow. His face hidden, but his eyes
Rhea gasped.
They were hers.
No. Not hers.
The child.
The one inside her.
Or was it?
The image shifted again.
The cloaked figure split in two one side of his face burned with fire, the other frozen in ice. Behind him, a throne of bones and glass. In his hands, a blade that pulsed with blood magic.
Then the image vanished.
The molten pool stilled.
The chamber dimmed.
And silence fell like a shroud.
---
Callum helped Rhea to her feet. "What did you see?"
She was shaking. "I think… the child inside me... is connected to him. The Forgotten King."
Thorne stiffened. "That's not possible."
Mark muttered, "Or worse it is."
Lysandra knelt, her eyes wide. "That's why your child holds three souls. Because the line of the Forgotten King and the line of the Vale were meant to merge. You are the bridge. The child is the vessel."
Callum's voice turned dark. "Are you saying our child is a weapon?"
"No," Lysandra said. "I'm saying your child is a choice. The Hollow Star doesn't control destiny it reacts to it. If the child is raised in love, it could bring balance. If corrupted…"
She didn't finish the sentence.
Rhea's hand covered her stomach.
"We protect this child. No matter what."
Mark stepped forward. "And what about Kael? If he finds out what the child is"
"He won't," Callum growled. "Because he won't live long enough to."
---
Suddenly, the walls shuddered.
The runes flared red.
Something had entered the Archives.
Lysandra's eyes widened. "We've been followed."
Thorne ran to the tunnel's edge. "They've sealed the exit behind us."
From the shadows of the corridor, a figure stepped into view.
Kael.
And behind him, wolves with glowing red eyes and twisted bodies beasts no longer fully alive.
Kael's smile was slow and cruel. "Found your precious truth, did you?"
Callum shifted in an instant, claws gleaming.
"You're too late, Kael," he growled.
Kael laughed. "On the contrary, brother. I'm exactly where I want to be. The child is here. The vessel is here. And now… so is the blade."
He lifted something from his cloak.
A blade carved of obsidian and gold. It pulsed with the same light as the altar.
Lysandra whispered, "That's the Sword of Sundering. The blade that can sever a soul."
Kael pointed it at Rhea.
And then the chamber exploded into chaos.