Velastra stirred, her eyelids heavy as if weighed down by the very darkness that enveloped them.
As her vision adjusted, she was met not by the familiar faces of Orion and Cael, but rather by a figure cloaked in an aura of eternal night: Noctar, the immortal grim reaper.
His very presence reeked of the finality of death, an ethereal darkness that seemed to wrap around him like tendrils of shadow.
He stood poised, ready to engage in battle against a formidable foe—the immortal witch, swirling with malevolence and prepared to unleash her dark powers.
Velastra watched in awe as Noctar parried the witch's strikes, his form flickering like a candle flame caught in the wind. They were speaking, but she could not hear their words.
As the embodiment of death, there was an undeniable strength in his stance, a determined grace, but the way the woman fought reminded her of her mother.
"Velastra!" Noctar called out, his voice cutting through the chaos like a beacon. "Look for Cael and Orion! Their souls will be trapped in the past if you do not act swiftly!"
Panic welled in her chest, suffocating and heavy.
"But how about you?" she answered, desperation leaking into her voice. "You can't fight her alone!"
Noctar paused for the briefest moment, grinning with a dark, self-assured glee.
"I know no death," he replied, his voice echoing with a chilling finality. "I am not a burden. Now go, time is against you."
Before Velastra could respond, the battle unfolded in a flurry of shadows and light. The witch unleashed a torrent of dark energy towards Noctar, bolts of crackling magic searing through the air. In that split second, as Velastra opened her mouth to ask but both Noctar and the witch vanished, leaving her enveloped once more in terrifying darkness.
The silence was deafening, and Velastra stood alone, but she eased her mind and tried to figure things out. The oppressive weight of despair hung heavy in the air, but amidst the shroud, she suddenly heard Noctar's voice, a distant whisper echoing in her mind:
"Find their souls before the red moon appears."
With his words resonating in her heart, the darkness around her began to shift and contort. The shadows peeled back as if pulled by an unseen force, and in the blink of an eye, she found herself standing in a place long forgotten—she never saw it, but she could tell she was standing in the old Navoris, a site steeped in memory and loss. The air was thick with the scent of ancient earth, damp and alive, and the weight of history seemed to sink into her bones.
Before her lay the resting place of the first oathbearers, their bodies interred in a ground that had long been untouched by time. The gravestones, worn and moss-covered, protruded from the earth like sentinels guarding secrets that only the dead could whisper.
Velastra instinctively felt the gravity of this site; it was a convergence of fate and power, a nexus of souls that transcended anger and vengeance.
"Cael? Orion?" she whispered, her voice trembling as she surveyed the rows of headstones.
The echoes of the past seemed to call out to her, an alluring promise of connection and threat all at once.
"I have to find you."
Heart pounding, she advanced cautiously, moving between the decaying stones and tangled weeds. The soft dance of leaves and the slow sigh of the wind were the only sounds that accompanied her, a melancholic chorus to her search. With each step, she felt the pull of magic lingering in the air—a power waiting to be harnessed.
Suddenly, a shimmer caught her eye. It was faint, almost ethereal, emerging from behind one of the stones. Velastra approached, cautious but hopeful, the light growing brighter as she drew near. What she saw made her heart skip: a wisp of silvery light, dancing and flickering like a flame in the darkness.
"Cael! Orion!" she exclaimed, reaching out as the wisp began to morph, slowly taking on a more defined shape.
However, it did not transform into either of their forms; instead, it became a spectral image of the oathbearers—two figures, cloaked and resplendent, emanating an aura of power and warmth, but no faces.
"Velastra," one of them spoke, the voice a haunting echo that reverberated through the grove.
"Where is Orion? Where is Cael?" Velastra implored, feeling the urgency swelling within her.
"Your existence opened and destroyed the ward of Navoris. Their souls are taken by her when you accepted the pearls from her," the second figure said softly.
Velastra's eyes widened, and a clear reflection of regret shimmered in her stare.
"What must I do?"
"To reclaim their souls, you must find the Soul-Watcher, in Sinay, the old Irithiel," the first figure instructed. "She is the keeper of the balance between life and death. Only by her help can you free Cael and Orion."
"Remember, if asked, answer her only with honesty," the second added.
With that, the specters began to fade, their forms dissipating like morning mist under the sun. Velastra felt a cool breeze sweep past her, leaving an imprint of their presence etched in her heart.
Determined, she turned to the path leading deeper into the ancient grounds of Navoris. But the tricks of the place always transported her to the wrong places.
The whispering trees and wild foliage parted as she made her way, a trail illuminated by the faint radiance of the moon above—a vibrant crimson orb hovering ominously in the night sky.
Time was running short. As she ventured further, the sense of urgency tightened its grip around her throat. Each heartbeat echoed like a warning drum, reminding her of Noctar's warning—a race against time in the face of unyielding darkness. With every step, Velastra felt the pull of destiny, the very fabric of existence woven with threads of her resolve.
She would find Cael and Orion.
She would not surrender to despair.
And as she raced onward into the night, the echoes of the past and the promise of the future intertwined within her, ready to unfold.