Chapter 28 – Echoes Beneath the Sanctum
Three days after Silvia's arrival, Jean departed under moonlight.
Her army remained encamped at Luthmere Ridge, entrusted to Kael, Cassien, and Silvia's elite guard. Jean rode west through the fog-choked Ashen Vale, Whitney at her side in mortal form, cloak wrapped tight around his massive shoulders.
Only six companions traveled with her—handpicked, silent, loyal.
Their destination: Aurora Sanctum, an ancient ruin veiled in myths, where gods once walked and Martin Luther sealed away the sword of prophecy.
The forest darkened as they crossed into old territory—places where time had stilled and even light dared not linger. Statues of winged warriors stood broken among ivy and stone. Whispers of aura shimmered in the air.
Whitney's growl echoed low. "This place remembers pain."
Jean whispered, "Then so must I."
They reached the shattered gates of the sanctum at dusk. Moonlight caught strange markings carved into the archway—symbols that only emissaries could read.
Jean stepped forward.
She touched her hand to the seal. Light pulsed from her palm, and ancient glyphs flared open like a blooming star.
The gates rumbled, and a path of light unfolded beneath the earth.
They descended.
Aurora Sanctum was a vast underground chamber filled with forgotten relics: broken swords that once drank dragon fire, shattered armor of long-dead emissaries, murals that told the first war in blood and gold.
At the center lay a stone pedestal, surrounded by divine runes.
Jean stepped forward.
The runes ignited. A ghostly vision appeared—Martin Luther, clad in silver and crimson, his white hair blazing with divine flame.
His voice echoed:
> "If you bear my blood and carry Celeste's light, then you have come for the Final Flame. It shall awaken only when the world needs it most… and when you are no longer afraid of your destiny."
The vision faded.
Beneath the pedestal was no sword.
Only an empty scabbard of radiant gold.
Jean picked it up.
Whitney murmured, "It's waiting… for you to become what you were born to be."
Jean nodded. "Then I have to earn it."
But as they began their ascent, Cassien's voice crackled through the whisperstone she carried:
> "Jean—bad news. Sylas struck the supply lines. Half our stores gone. He's marching east. Luthmere might not hold."
Jean's jaw clenched.
She looked at the scabbard, then at the stairwell ahead.
"No more delays."
She turned to her companions.
"Ready the horses. We ride to war."
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