A sharp gasp echoed through the empty hall as Eliar's eyes snapped open.
He lay on the cold stone floor of the vault—no, not the same vault. This one felt... real. The metallic scent of blood still lingered in the air, but the overwhelming presence of the realm he'd been trapped in was gone. His chest rose and fell quickly, the vivid memory of the Sleeper still fresh in his mind.
Vael'thar groaned beside him, wings twitching. The dragon looked exhausted. His scales, which once shimmered like midnight fire, now dulled slightly, and faint cracks lined his horns.
"You're... alive," Eliar whispered, stunned.
Vael'thar nodded. "The pact anchored me to your soul. When you crossed the portal back into this world, it pulled me with you. I barely held on."
Eliar sat up slowly, hand over his chest. The pain from the battle still lingered, but it was the voice that rang in his mind.
That voice... Aerion.
He remembered it clearly now—not just the sound but the force behind it. And though he now had a name to match the face, one thought tormented him:
"Why did it sound familiar even before I saw him?"
He didn't have answers. Only questions. A million of them.
But first things first.
"Selene..."
He stood, dizzy at first, then steadying himself. She had been just outside the portal when he was pulled in. What had happened to her?
Vael'thar lifted his head. "You keep whispering that name. A companion?"
Eliar frowned. "A friend. She found this place. Helped me get here. She was with me when I entered the portal. She didn't follow."
Vael'thar sniffed the air. "I can smell traces of blood, chains... struggle."
Eliar's eyes darkened. He moved toward the exit, brushing dust off his cloak. The weight of what had happened began to settle in. "Come. We're going to find her."
The sun had set by the time Eliar reached the surface. The quiet night was deceptive.
The vault's entrance had been sealed, magically concealed under stone and illusion. Now, the stone lay broken—a sign of a fight. Drag marks led away from the location. And the crest stamped into the earth chilled his blood.
The Crimson Veil.
An underground faction—merciless, power-hungry, known for abducting gifted individuals. They had Selene.
He turned to Vael'thar. "Can you fly?"
Vael'thar flexed his wings. "Not far. But I can carry us close."
Eliar mounted, and the great dragon took flight. They soared under the stars, heading north toward the Crimson Veil's territory.
The fortress loomed in the darkness, ancient and iron-wrought, half-buried in a mountain's shadow. Eliar didn't wait for stealth. There was no patience left in him.
The dragon let out a warcry as he landed. Eliar leaped down, twin sparks of magic igniting in his palms. The guards rushed from the gates, weapons drawn.
One by one, they fell.
He was faster now. Stronger. Sharper. Every move flowed like instinct.
Inside, he met resistance. Ten elite warriors, all wielding enhanced mana blades.
But it didn't matter.
"Where is she!?" he roared, striking down the sixth man, his voice thunderous with emotion.
And then he saw her.
Selene—chained, eyes closed, barely breathing—was being dragged into the deeper levels of the fortress.
He dashed after them, slamming his palm against the wall. The magic embedded in the structure resisted him, but with a grunt, he shattered it.
Another guard lunged.
But Vael'thar crashed through the side, his claw pinning the man in place. Flames licked the stone, illuminating the dark hallway.
Selene opened her eyes, just barely. "Eliar..."
"I'm here," he said, breaking the chains with a pulse of energy.
But the ground trembled.
A horn blew.
And from the depths of the fortress emerged their true foe—a cloaked figure clad in armor that pulsed with cursed magic. The air bent around him.
"Who dares steal from the Crimson Veil?" the figure growled.
Eliar raised his head. "The wrong person to mess with."
They clashed.
Magic against cursed steel. Fire against shadow.
But Eliar began to falter. This man was no ordinary commander.
With a roar, the enemy struck a heavy blow that sent both Eliar and Vael'thar crashing into the walls.
Eliar's hand trembled as he stood again, bloody but unyielding.
The man raised his blade.
And then—
The sky lit up.
A massive symbol glowed above the fortress.
A burning sigil, ancient and powerful—the mark of the Thorne bloodline.
The enemy froze.
His sword dropped an inch.
"That mark..."
The cursed soldiers retreated instinctively, fear in their eyes.
Selene, still weak, looked up in awe.
Vael'thar narrowed his eyes. "Impossible... the Mark of the Forgotten... it responds to your will."
Eliar looked up at the sky, confused.
"What... what is this?"
The enemy growled. "No one was supposed to carry that mark again."
He vanished in a swirl of smoke.
Eliar stood there, heart pounding.
Selene fainted in his arms.
And the mark in the sky slowly faded.
But the questions remained.
Why did that mark appear? What secret does the Thorne bloodline hold? And who now watches from the shadows, aware of Eliar's awakening?
Cliffhanger:
Far away, deep in the Fifth Quadrant, a figure closed an old, dusty book. On the page was a sketch of a young man.
Eliar Thorne.
The figure whispered, "So... the blood has awakened. The game begins again."
End of Chapter 18