The journey to the mountains took three days, though to Ella it felt like weeks. Each night, the moon seemed to draw closer, larger, as though it watched their every step. The path grew steeper, the wind colder, and the forest gave way to cliffs that glittered faintly with silver veins.
Maeve walked ahead, eyes sharp and restless, her hand never far from her blade. Arcturus trudged behind her, murmuring incantations under his breath that left faint ripples of light on the ground — wards against whatever prowled in the shadows.
Ella lagged behind, lost in thought. The melody from the Whispering Woods still echoed faintly in her heart, a tune she couldn't forget. Each note shimmered with memory — voices of her past selves whispering fragments she couldn't fully understand.
And then, there were the dreams.
Every night since they'd left the castle, she'd seen a woman in a crimson gown standing beneath a burning sky. Her hair flowed like silver, her eyes — the same emerald green as Ella's — filled with both love and sorrow.
"Find me," the woman would whisper, her voice trembling with wind. "My daughter, find the light before it fades."
Ella always woke in tears, her heart aching with a sense of loss she couldn't name.
By the fourth morning, the air had turned thin and sharp, and clouds coiled like serpents around the mountain peaks. Arcturus stopped at a ridge overlooking a vast valley — and there, nestled in its heart, stood a ruin.
The Citadel of Aethryn.
It was half-buried in snow and shadow, its spires broken, its gates shattered. But even in ruin, it radiated majesty. The wind that howled through its halls seemed to hum with ancient power.
"That's it," Maeve breathed. "The place the legends called the cradle of magic."
Arcturus's face was grave. "Once, this citadel was the seat of the Guardians. It held the Heart of the Realm — a crystal said to contain the first spark of creation." He turned to Ella. "If it still exists, it may answer your calling."
Ella's pulse quickened. "Then we go."
They descended into the valley, snow crunching beneath their boots. The silence here was unnatural, heavy, like the world itself was holding its breath.
As they approached the broken gates, a low hum began to build in Ella's chest — the same song she had heard before, but deeper now, resonating through her bones.
The air shimmered. And then, from the mist, came a voice.
"You shouldn't have come here."
A figure stepped forward — a young woman in a tattered cloak, her face pale and sharp as glass. But her eyes — those eyes — made Ella freeze.
"Lyra?"
Lyra smiled faintly. "You remember me."
Maeve stepped between them, her hand on her dagger. "Who is she?"
"My friend," Ella whispered. "From the village."
But something was wrong. The Lyra she remembered had laughed like sunlight and smelled of wildflowers. This one looked like she'd been carved from shadow.
"I waited for you," Lyra said, her voice brittle. "When you left for the castle, everything changed. The darkness came. It took my family, my home — everything. I followed its trail here."
Ella took a hesitant step forward. "You found the citadel?"
Lyra nodded. "I found it. But it found me too."
Her voice cracked — and as she lifted her hand, black veins pulsed beneath her skin. Her eyes flickered with an unholy light.
Arcturus's face turned grim. "The corruption," he murmured. "She's been touched by it."
Lyra's voice trembled. "It whispers to me, Ella. It says you are the key — that your blood carries what it needs to awaken fully."
"Lyra, please—"
But Lyra's body convulsed, her shadow stretching and twisting into monstrous wings. The air trembled with dark energy as she screamed — not in anger, but in agony.
Maeve leapt forward, her blade flashing. "Get back!"
Arcturus raised his staff, runes flaring bright as the corrupted Lyra lunged, claws forming from pure shadow. The ground split beneath her strike, the air sizzling with dark magic.
Ella fell to her knees, tears blurring her vision. "Lyra, fight it! You're stronger than this!"
For a moment — just a heartbeat — the darkness flickered. Lyra's eyes softened, her true self breaking through.
"Run, Ella…" she whispered. "Find her. Find your mother."
Then the darkness swallowed her whole, and the creature let out a final, ear-splitting cry before dissolving into black mist that scattered into the wind.
Silence fell. Only Ella's sobs broke it.
Hours later, they made camp in the shadow of the citadel walls. The fire crackled weakly, its light too fragile for the weight of the night.
Ella sat apart from the others, staring into the flames. Maeve cleaned her blade in silence. Arcturus murmured over runes, his face drawn and weary.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low. "Lyra's message was not meaningless. If your mother still lives, she may hold the key to all of this."
Ella's eyes burned. "I don't even know who she is."
"You will," said a new voice — soft, familiar, and impossibly near.
Ella froze. The flames shimmered, and from them stepped the woman from her dreams — silver hair, emerald eyes, a gown woven from moonlight itself.
"Mother?"
The woman smiled sadly. "My beautiful child. You carry my light — and my burden."
Arcturus bowed deeply. "Queen Althira of Aethryn…"
Maeve's eyes widened. "The last Queen? She's real?"
The apparition of Althira nodded. "I linger in spirit, bound to the Heart that sustains this realm. The darkness you fight, Ella — it is not new. It was born the day I sealed the Heart to protect the world. But the seal is breaking. And only my blood can restore it."
Ella's breath caught. "You mean… me."
Althira's expression softened. "You, my daughter, are the light's last vessel. But beware — the darkness has found its champion. The one who hunts you is closer than you think."
The fire dimmed, the image fading. "Seek the chamber beneath the citadel," Althira whispered. "There, you will find the Heart — and the truth."
And then she was gone.
The night stretched long and sleepless. Snow began to fall — slow, soft, endless.
Ella stared up at the stars through the broken roof of the citadel gate, her mother's voice still echoing in her heart.
Maeve approached quietly, wrapping a cloak around her shoulders. "You okay?"
Ella nodded faintly. "She's real. My mother. She was the last Queen."
Maeve smiled gently. "Then you're not just a mage, Ella. You're heir to the throne."
Ella let out a shaky breath. "I don't want a throne. I just want to stop this darkness before it takes everyone I love."
Maeve's hand rested on her shoulder. "Then let's make sure it doesn't."
Above them, the moon shone through the clouds — full and silver, casting its light upon the citadel walls.
And deep beneath the earth, where stone met shadow, something ancient stirred — a pulse, faint but growing stronger.
The Heart of the Realm was awakening.