The chamber shook like a wounded beast.
Stone dust fell from the ceiling. The crack across the altar spread wider with each breath. The dark tendril wrapped around Kaelan's arm tightened again — hard — like a fist made of night.
Pain shot up to his shoulder.
He cried out, teeth clenched, body shaking. It felt like ice and fire together, burning and freezing inside his veins. His fingers twitched, almost dropping Whisperwind.
No — don't let go. Don't you dare let go.
"Elara!" he gasped.
Elara Throne stood in front of him, emerald light flaring around her like a storm halo. Her glowing eyes were wide now — not calm, not ancient — afraid.
That fear cut him deeper than the pain.
"Kaelan, fight it!" she shouted. Her voice carried two tones again — hers and the other — layered power inside it. "It is trying to root inside you!"
The shadow tendril pulsed. With every pulse, strange thoughts pushed into his mind — not words, not images — feelings.
Rage. Hunger. Old revenge.
He saw flashes — broken shields, burning forests, warriors screaming under black skies. Something ancient being chained. Something that never forgave.
His breath came rough. "What is this thing?"
"The other side of the pact," Elara said, straining as she pulled green light into her hands and forced it against the shadow. Where green touched black, sparks burst. "The Eye did not only protect Havenwood — it imprisoned this."
"Good job it did," Kaelan groaned.
"It wants a host," she said. "A body with warrior blood. Your line fought it long ago."
"Yeah well," he hissed, "we're not accepting guests."
The darkness crawled higher — past his elbow now. His skin under it looked gray.
Whispering filled his head.
Take the power.
Take the truth.
Break the false light.
"I said get out!" Kaelan roared.
He slammed the tip of Whisperwind into the stone floor and held the hilt with both hands. He focused on the feel of the grip. The scratches. The worn leather. The history.
My sword. My land. My people. My Elara.
The blade answered.
A low white glow woke along the runes in the steel.
Elara saw it. "Yes — hold that — don't let your mind drift!"
"I'm busy dying, just for record," he muttered.
"Don't be dramatic," she snapped automatically — and for half a second, that sounded exactly like the old her.
The shadow shrieked — an ugly sound — as the sword's light grew brighter. But it did not leave. It dug in deeper instead.
Kaelan sucked in a sharp breath. "Bad sign!"
"The darkness is stubborn," Elara said. "So are you. Be more stubborn."
"Best advice today," he grunted.
More visions slammed into him — his ancestors fighting in mud and blood — standing in a circle — chanting — calling the Eye — binding something huge beneath the roots of Havenwood.
Not a monster.
A guardian turned enemy.
We were not meant to be chained, the whisper said inside him.
"I don't even know you," Kaelan growled aloud. "And I already don't like you."
He pulled every memory he could — children laughing, training yards, sunrise over the green valley — Elara arguing with him about risk like always —
And her smile when she lost the argument.
That one hit strongest.
White light burst up Whisperwind like lightning.
The tendril recoiled with a tearing scream and ripped itself off his arm. It snapped backward into the altar crack like a cut rope.
Silence hit.
Heavy. Sudden.
Kaelan dropped to one knee, breathing hard, sweat cold on his back.
The chamber stopped shaking — but the crack in the altar stayed. Black mist still leaked from it, slow and steady.
Not over. Not even close.
Elara stumbled.
He caught her before she hit the ground.
"I've got you," he said quickly.
"I know," she whispered.
Up close, he could feel the magic inside her — like standing near deep water. Strong. Pulling. Endless. But her heartbeat still raced human-fast under his hand.
Good. Still here.
"You okay?" he asked.
She gave a weak half-smile. "Define okay."
"Alive counts."
"Then yes," she breathed. "Barely."
He looked at his arm. Dark veins still marked the skin where the tendril held him. Cold stayed inside the bone.
Elara touched the marks lightly. Green light flowed from her fingers, but the stain did not vanish — only faded.
"It left a hook," she said quietly.
"I hate hooks," Kaelan replied.
"I know."
He helped her stand. They both looked at the broken altar.
"So," he said, "we fed the Eye, woke the shadow, almost died. Bad day overall."
"You joke when scared," she said softly.
"You glow when possessed," he answered.
"Fair."
The air above the altar shimmered.
Both of them froze.
Light gathered — not green — blue.
A face formed in the air. Woman-shaped. Beautiful but sad. Eyes sharp like cut sapphire. Not a ghost — not fully — more like memory given shape.
Elara stiffened. "I felt her before. A whisper behind the Eye."
The spirit looked at Kaelan first.
Then Elara.
"The price is never finished," the blue spirit said. Her voice echoed like distant bells underwater. "Only delayed."
Kaelan stood straight despite the pain. "Great. Another one with riddles. Can any ancient being just speak plain?"
The spirit ignored that completely.
"The vessel stands," she said, looking at Elara. "But the truth was buried with the pact. A lie wrapped in protection."
Elara frowned. "What lie?"
"Ask who was bound," the spirit said. "Ask why the guardian turned against Havenwood. Ask who betrayed first."
Kaelan and Elara exchanged a look.
"That sounds important," Kaelan said.
"Dawn will open what night kept sealed," the spirit continued. "When roots drink light — the chains weaken."
"That sounds less good," Kaelan said.
The spirit's gaze softened at Elara. "You carry more than power, Vessel. You carry memory. When it wakes — you will suffer for it."
"I'm already suffering," Elara answered quietly.
"Yes," the spirit said. "But you have not yet begun."
Comfort level: zero.
The blue light started fading.
"Wait," Kaelan said. "Tell us who betrayed Havenwood."
The spirit's last words drifted like falling ash:
"The one you still trust."
Then she vanished.
Silence returned again — but not empty silence. Waiting silence.
Kaelan exhaled slowly. "I officially dislike today."
Elara did not smile this time.
"The one you still trust," she repeated. "That means someone close."
"Or someone still alive," Kaelan said.
They both thought of the cloaked figure.
Too obvious.
Which meant — probably wrong.
The crack in the altar widened another inch with a grinding sound.
Black mist thickened.
From deep below, something knocked.
Once.
Twice.
Like a fist on a locked door.
Elara's glow flickered.
Kaelan raised Whisperwind again.
"Tell me you can seal that," he said.
Elara looked at the crack — and for the first time since becoming the Vessel — she looked unsure.
"I don't know how," she admitted.
The third knock came.
Louder.
Stone chips jumped.
And a deep voice rose from beneath the altar —
Not whispering.
Not begging.
Calling her name.
"Elara Throne."
Both of them went cold.
Kaelan tightened his grip on the sword.
"Yeah," he muttered, "we're going to need a much bigger plan."