The next morning, the assault began before dawn. The pounding against the barricaded doors was relentless—thick, meaty thuds followed by bone-shaking screeches. This time, the creatures were more desperate, more savage. Some slipped through the broken slats and splintered boards, their shadow-wreathed forms darting into the dim light of the underground chamber.
Aurean was already moving, Verethian blazing with a cold, pale light as he cut through the first one that lunged for the wounded. The knights and Lareth closed in beside him, their enchanted blades flashing in the gloom, cutting down anything that broke through. The air smelled of scorched metal and ash—the strange residue these things left behind when they died.
From somewhere above, footsteps thundered down the stone steps—fast, uneven, desperate. Aurean's head snapped toward the noise, just as a group of battered knights stumbled into view, bloodied and limping. At their head was Seris, moving with measured grace despite the chaos, her veil fluttering in the rush of air behind them.
Aurean drove Verethian through the last shadow creature, the impact bursting it apart into a swirl of black smoke that evaporated into nothing.
"Inside!" Lareth barked, ushering the wounded through. The heavy doors groaned under another impact from outside, and with grim efficiency, Lareth and two of the sturdier knights slammed new planks into place, driving nails deep into the wood. Others rushed to the fallen soldiers, easing them to the ground where healers were already setting up makeshift stations.
Sir Levan appeared moments later, staggering in with a deep gash running across his arm and blood soaking his side. He looked seconds from collapse.
"Seris," the king's voice rang out, sharp and urgent, "where is Rythe? And what are you all doing here?"
Seris turned slowly to face him. Her veil shifted lightly in the stale air as she raised one slender, gloved hand. Without a word, she began to weave an incantation. The room dimmed, shadows stretching unnaturally toward her as a faint shimmer of light rippled across the chamber walls.
When she was done, Maleus stepped forward, his brow furrowed. "What did you just do?"
Her gaze swept over them. "I brought in the remaining soldiers. Thanks to Rythe, they sustained injuries—but none died. He is trying to destroy the orb. The spell I cast is a protective shield to help keep us safe from whatever comes next."
"But you said it cannot be destroyed," Dain pressed, confusion etched in his face.
"Yes, young prince," Seris replied evenly, "I did say that."
"Then what do you mean Rythe is trying to destroy it?" Elion demanded.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Exactly what I said."
Astrid let out a choked, incredulous cry. "Even if—by some miracle—he's still standing, with every knight looking like hell, how on earth will he destroy something that cannot be destroyed without destroying himself?" Her voice cracked, and Vaela pulled her into an embrace, whispering comfort even as her own tears fell.
Thalan's voice was low, almost a whisper. "You said if anything happens to him this time, he will be… permanently dead."
"Yes," Seris admitted. "And thanks to his ability to see what only those who have crossed over can see, we have come this far."
The queen's voice cut sharply through the tension. "What are you doing here, then? Shouldn't you be at his side—helping him somehow?"
Seris looked at her, the veil shifting again with the slight tilt of her head. "Rythe has never asked me for anything—nothing, not even when he was dying. But the first time I met you all, his only request was this…" Her voice softened, but her words carried an unshakable weight. "Keep them safe. That was his command, and I will honor it."