The cold mist draped over the crumbling ruins of Lotharen's capital, veiling the broken city in ghostly silence. Leon crouched behind a shattered battlement, his fingers tracing the fine crack along the hilt of his knight's dagger—the last gift his father had given him three days ago before riding off into battle. Now, the blade reflected the black banners fluttering above the city walls like frozen streaks of blood.
"The rune crossbowmen at the western gate are changing shifts—this is our best chance," came Elara's voice from the nearby bushes. Her emerald eyes gleamed like cat's eye stones in the morning fog. She nocked an arrow wrapped in moss onto her bowstring, aiming at the shadow runes carved into the iron grate above the drainage ditch. "Leon, it's time."
Taking a deep breath, Leon hurled a half-broken brick toward the eastern stables. The *clang* startled a flock of crows into flight, instantly drawing the attention of two patrolling soldiers. He darted down a narrow alley, his boots crunching over shards of glass—a sound piercing through the eerie stillness.
He spun around just as armored footsteps closed in. Raising his dagger defensively, he froze at the sight of the lead soldier's face—half-rotted flesh, with green flames flickering in hollow eye sockets.
"They're reanimated corpses!" Elara's warning rang out, followed by the sharp *twang* of her bowstring. Instinctively, Leon rolled aside as her arrow flew past, embedding itself precisely into the iron grate. The moss erupted in glowing acid-green light, eating away at the cursed metal and leaving behind a charred opening.
"Move!" Tom yanked Leon forward, splashing knee-deep into the foul water of the drainage tunnel. From deeper within the passage came the dragging sound of chains. Elara lit a glowstone, revealing a stone chamber ahead where two robed figures stood over a cage. One of them was jabbing a bone needle into the arm of an elderly man whose tattered robes still bore the laurel insignia of the Arcane Academy.
"Grandmaster!" Leon gasped aloud, only to be pulled down hard by Elara as a poisoned needle whizzed past his ear, burying itself in the wall. The hooded figure turned, revealing a grotesque smile twisted across his corrupted face. "More lambs to slaughter."
Tom fired his wooden crossbow, but the bolts harmlessly bounced off the dark shield conjured by one of the figures. Elara loosed two arrows aimed at their hands, but they vanished into smoke upon contact with the robes. Leon's eyes darted to the corner of the room—barrels of pitch stacked together.
"Light it up!" he shouted, grabbing Tom by the collar.
Tom struck his flint against the stone wall, sending sparks flying. Before the flames could catch, Elara shoved Leon behind the barrels.
A thunderous *boom* shook the chamber as fire engulfed half the room. The cloaked figures screamed, bursting into shadow-flame that boiled the water into toxic vapor. Covering his mouth, Leon lunged for the cage, slashing at the lock with his dagger—only to be thrown back by a wave of icy energy. The runes on the Grandmaster's shackles glowed faintly, slowly draining the life from him.
"Use this!" Elara tossed him a short flute engraved with vine-like patterns. "Blow it! Aim at the nodes of the runes!"
The shrill note pierced the toxic haze. The shadow runes writhed like living things. Seizing the moment, Leon swung his dagger downward, striking the chain between the shackles. With a *clink*, the runes exploded in a burst of dark energy, and the Grandmaster coughed violently, spitting out blackened blood.
Footsteps echoed from the tunnel entrance, torchlight flooding the passage. At its head stood Chancellor Arthus, his golden cloak flowing like liquid fire.
"What a touching reunion," he sneered, his left eye swirling with black void. "Your father called your name with his dying breath… pity his head now decorates the northern gate."
Leon's roar caught in his throat, his dagger trembling with rage. Elara pulled him back just as Arthus raised his staff. A beam of black crystal light erupted from its tip, splitting the ground beneath them. Spikes of shadow energy shot upward—Elara shoved Leon aside, taking a grazing hit to her shoulder. Her green leather armor scorched instantly.
"This way!" The Grandmaster pointed to a faded sun relief on the wall. Leon stabbed the center with his dagger—the stone groaned and split open.
They tumbled into the hidden passage just as Elara released her final arrow. It burst into a cloud of blinding dust, temporarily blinding the pursuers. In that brief flash, Leon saw the identical mark branded beneath Arthus's cloak—the same sigil worn by the Shadow Covenant.
At the end of the passage lay a rusted iron door, beyond which were stacks of forgotten knightly armor. The Grandmaster gestured weakly toward a statue of a sword-wielding knight in the corner. "Turn the hilt…"
Tom obeyed. With a *click*, the floor gave way, revealing a spiral staircase descending underground. As the stone door sealed shut behind them, Leon braced himself against it, hearing Arthus's furious command from the other side:
"Find them! We cannot lose the clue to the Elemental Relics!"
In the heart of the hidden chamber, a scroll unfurled under the glow of Elara's stone. Her finger traced the gilded emblem etched upon it, then paused.
"Look here," she said softly. "The first fragment—'Flame Altar'—lies in the Molten Fire Canyon of the Frostwind Tundra. But it requires the 'Heart of the Flame Dragon' as the key." She lifted a metallic badge engraved with a flame motif; warmth pulsed from it like a heartbeat.
Leon took the badge, feeling the heat echo his father's touch. Memories surged—old Foster's dying words, the sunburst crest on his father's shield. Pressing the badge to his chest, he declared, "I'll get the Heart of the Flame Dragon."
Outside, the bells of Lotharen tolled mournfully, each chime hammering against his soul. Yet now, his gaze held more than vengeance. As his fingers brushed the burning elemental sigil on the scroll, a heavier sense of purpose settled within him. This was no longer a personal war—it was a battle for the salvation of all Azlan.
Their first victory was small, but like a single spark, it ignited a long and uncertain path forward.
Leon tightened his grip on the badge, looked at Elara and the revived Grandmaster, and spoke clearly into the chamber's echoing silence:
"We leave for the Frostwind Tundra."