The sanctum beneath the royal palace was a cavern of shadows and power, its walls carved with runes that pulsed with a sickly golden light, the air thick with the metallic scent of magic and the faint tang of blood. Kael Veyrin stood at the threshold, his storm-gray eyes narrowing as he took in the scene: Rylan of House Draven, emaciated and chained to a stone altar, his amber eyes meeting Elara's with a flicker of recognition; the Scepter of Dominion, a twisted staff of obsidian and gold, hovering above a ritual circle that glowed with stolen energy; and Proctor Lysara, her silver hair glinting as she raised her staff, her voice cold with command. The echo within Kael's Veyrin crystal roared, its womanly tone urging him to strike, but he held back, his lean frame tense, the notched dagger in his hand trembling with anticipation.
Elara flanked him, her crimson robe singed from the passage's traps, her fire magic flaring in her palms as she glared at Lysara. "Let him go," she demanded, her voice a mix of fury and desperation. Lir hovered behind, his pale face illuminated by a weak illumination spell, his spellbook clutched tightly as he prepared to amplify Kael's Severance. Gav and Mara stood ready, their strength and stealth a bulwark against the royal guards that emerged from the shadows, their armor etched with Vaelthar runes.
Lysara's lips curled into a sneer. "You've come far, Veyrin, but this ends here. The ritual must proceed to sustain our bloodline, and your Severance will be its fuel." She gestured, and the Scepter pulsed, its energy lashing out in golden tendrils that sought to bind Kael's magic.
Kael raised his hand, the crystal glowing as he channeled Severance, the tendrils unraveling with a sharp crack. The effort drained him, a dull ache spreading through his chest, but the echo guided him, its voice steady: *"Break the circle, reclaim your power."* He focused, his will slicing through the ritual's core, the golden light dimming as the sanctum trembled. Elara seized the moment, her flames arcing toward Lysara, forcing the proctor to deflect with a shield spell.
The fight erupted into chaos. Gav charged a guard, his massive frame smashing through armor, while Mara darted between shadows, disarming another with a swift strike. Lir's amplification spell extended Kael's range, allowing him to shatter a ward protecting the altar, the chains around Rylan clattering to the floor. Elara rushed to her brother, her hands glowing as she channeled healing magic, her tears mixing with the dust on his face.
But Lysara was relentless. She summoned a storm of ice shards, her staff a blur as she countered Elara's fire. Kael countered with Severance, the shards dissolving, but the proctor's power was bolstered by the Scepter, its energy replenishing her strength. The echo whispered of a weakness—the Scepter's reliance on the ritual circle—and Kael spotted it: a central rune, pulsing brighter than the rest.
"Elara, cover me!" he shouted, darting toward the circle. Elara unleashed a wall of flame, forcing Lysara back, while Gav and Mara held the guards at bay. Kael reached the rune, his dagger slashing at its surface, but the stone resisted, sending a shockwave that threw him back. The echo surged, its voice commanding: *"Use the crystal—bind your bloodline!"*
Kael pressed the crystal to the rune, its blue light clashing with the golden glow. The sanctum shook, visions flooding his mind—his ancestor's rebellion, the Scepter's creation, the Veyrins' betrayal. The echo merged with his will, and with a final push, the rune shattered, the ritual circle collapsing in a burst of light. The Scepter fell, its power severed, and Lysara staggered, her shield failing.
Elara's flames struck true, knocking Lysara unconscious, while the guards faltered, their runes dimming. Rylan, freed, stumbled to his feet, his voice hoarse. "Kael… the throne… it's yours if you take it."
Kael helped him up, the crystal's pulse steadying. The sanctum was silent, the ritual broken, but the fight wasn't over. Dorian appeared, his golden eyes assessing the scene. "You've done it," he said. "The ritual's power is gone, but the king will retaliate. We need to move."
The team gathered Rylan, retreating through the passage as alarms sounded above. The palace loomed, its spires a reminder of the throne that awaited, but Kael's focus was on survival. The echo whispered of victory, but the cost—his changing mind, the blood on his hands—loomed large.
Back in the greenhouse, the alliance regrouped. Rylan, weak but alive, confirmed Dorian's tale: the Vaelthars had used the ritual for centuries, draining bloodlines to maintain their rule. "There's a council chamber," he said. "Proof of their crimes. We can expose them."
Kael nodded, the crystal's power a double-edged sword. The next step was clear—claim the throne or destroy it—but the path was fraught with danger. The echo urged him on, and he knew the reckoning was just beginning.