Part I – Scars of the Battlefield
The dawn after the shadow assault was eerily quiet. No crows circled. No scent of blood lingered. Only ash lay scattered across the fields east of Deline, as if the night had burned away into memory.
Lucan rode through the battlefield, his men following at a distance. They searched for corpses, weapons, any sign of an enemy that could be understood. There was nothing. The soldiers grew restless, whispering prayers, their eyes darting at every shifting breeze.
At the city gates, Isolde stood with Ellyn, overseeing the wounded. Many bore no cuts, yet trembled uncontrollably, their minds scarred by whispers that still rang in their ears. Some cried out names of long-dead kin; others stared into nothing, their souls shaken loose.
"These are not wounds a healer's touch can mend," Ellyn murmured, binding the trembling hands of a soldier.
"No," Isolde agreed softly. "Because the battle was not against their flesh… but their very being."
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Part II – The King's Council
Later that morning, the council chamber buzzed with clashing voices.
"They were no men!" cried Lord Ferrow, pale and sweating. "What army fights with smoke and shadow? This is witchcraft, an omen of doom. We should abandon Deline before it claims us all!"
"Abandon?" Sir Aurelian roared, slamming his gauntlet on the table. "Would you leave the kingdom to darkness? If the people see their lords flee, they will lose all courage. We must hold."
King Philip, weary but firm, raised his hand. "Peace. I will hear my children's counsel first."
Lucan stepped forward. "The shadows can be fought, but not like mortal men. Steel alone cannot end them. They must be struck where the wards bind them. That is how we turned the tide."
Isolde followed, her voice clear despite her exhaustion. "And there is more. These shadows are not invaders from beyond—they are remnants. Fragments of an ancient war. Bound spirits, imprisoned in darkness long ago. Their whispers are the echoes of what they once were."
Murmurs broke out, nobles exchanging fearful glances.
"Remnants of what?" asked Lady Mera, her voice trembling despite her stern composure.
Isolde hesitated, then answered the truth: "The Eye knows."
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Part III – Into the Depths
That night, Isolde descended again to the Eye's chamber, Lucan close behind. The great orb pulsed brighter than she had ever seen, its golden iris turning as though eager to be seen.
When her hand touched its surface, a flood of visions surged through both siblings.
A battlefield older than Deline itself. Armies of flesh and spirit clashing beneath skies of fire. Men and women wielding powers not seen for centuries, striking against an enemy vast as night. Towers crumbled. Rivers burned. And at the center—a black crown, forged of shadow, resting upon a throne of bones.
Lucan staggered back, his breath ragged. "What… what was that?"
The Eye's whisper filled the chamber, resonant and cold:
"The War of Sundering. When light and shadow tore the world apart. The victors bound what could not be slain. Yet what is bound may break free… and so it begins anew."
Isolde's heart pounded. "The shadows we fought… they were prisoners?"
"Yes," the Eye murmured. "Prisoners of war. Forgotten by men, but never gone. And now the chains weaken."
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Part IV – The Weight of Knowledge
Back in her chambers, Isolde collapsed onto her bed, her mind reeling. Ellyn entered quietly, carrying a lamp, her face pale with worry.
"My lady… you've scarcely eaten. What did the Eye show you?"
Isolde's lips trembled. "A war that never truly ended. We are not facing an army. We are facing history itself, rising from the grave."
Ellyn knelt, gripping her hand tightly. "Then we must find a way to end it, truly this time. Else Deline will be its first tombstone."
Lucan entered then, his expression grim but determined. "We tell no one else of the vision—not yet. The lords would scatter like frightened birds. But we prepare. And when the shadows return, we will be ready."
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Part V – The Mark of the Eye
That night, as she slept fitfully, Isolde dreamed of the battlefield once more. But this time, she stood at its center. Shadows swirled, reaching toward her, whispering in broken tongues.
When she raised her hands, golden light poured from them, scattering the darkness. But with each burst of light, pain seared her veins.
She awoke with a gasp. Her palms glowed faintly, marked with thin golden veins tracing up her wrists.
"Ellyn!" she called, her voice shaking.
The maid rushed to her side, eyes widening. "My lady… what has the Eye done to you?"
Isolde stared at the marks, equal parts fear and awe stirring within her. "Not what it has done… but what it demands."
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Part VI – The Eastern Watch
At dawn, Lucan rode with his captains to the eastern watchtowers, reinforcing the wards and preparing new defenses. Soldiers saluted him with respect, their faith in him growing stronger with each battle.
Yet even as he gave orders, his thoughts lingered on the vision of the throne of bones and the black crown. He clenched his fist around his sword hilt.
"If that crown rises," he muttered to himself, "I will see it shattered before it claims this land."
But even as he spoke, the horizon shimmered with faint black light, as though something vast and patient stirred in the distance.
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Part VII – Gathering Storm
That evening, bells rang again—not for war, but for warning. Scouts reported movement across the borderlands. The shadows were not retreating. They were gathering.
Lucan returned to the palace, his face hard as stone. Isolde met him at the gates, her golden-marked hands hidden beneath her sleeves.
"They're not done testing us," he said. "The next strike will be greater. We must be ready."
Isolde's eyes flickered with a quiet fire. "Then let them come. The Eye has shown me what must be done. If these remnants of war cannot be slain… then I will find a way to free them."