The King’s Forces Arrive
The first of the King’s knights stepped into the clearing with a calculated precision that sent a chill through the air. Their polished armor gleamed faintly under the dim light filtering through the trees, their weapons drawn and eyes devoid of mercy. One by one, more knights followed, their disciplined advance painting an ominous picture of inevitability.
The clearing erupted into chaos as the King’s knights charged, their weapons flashing like streaks of cold steel. Seraphine moved to the forefront, her arms outstretched as a shimmering barrier of light sprung to life around the altar. The runes etched into the stone flared brighter, crackling with energy that rippled outward, holding back the advancing forces.
“Focus on the ritual!” Seraphine’s voice cut through the din, resolute and commanding. “I’ll hold them off!”
Lyra’s hands trembled as the artifact in her grasp pulsed violently, its energy clawing at her mind. The whispers surged, invasive and overwhelming, their cryptic messages pressing against her consciousness with unbearable intensity. Her knees buckled under the strain. “I can’t—” she gasped, her voice trembling as she struggled to stay upright.
Eryon was at her side in an instant, his wolf growling low in his chest as he steadied her. “You can,” he said firmly, his amber eyes blazing with determination. “We have to.”
The first knight slammed into Seraphine’s barrier, his blade sparking as it was repelled by the shimmering light. Seraphine retaliated immediately, her hands glowing with raw power as she unleashed a concussive blast of magic that sent him flying into the trees. The next wave of knights followed, relentless and unyielding, forcing Seraphine to split her focus to maintain the barrier and defend against the onslaught.
Misery was a blur of motion, her blade a deadly arc of silver as she joined the fray. She struck with precision, each movement fluid and deliberate. Crimson eyes glinting, she danced through the knights, cutting them down one by one with calculated ferocity.
“Keep going!” Misery shouted over her shoulder, her voice sharp and unyielding. “I’ll buy you time!”
Eryon lunged into the chaos, his movements powerful and efficient, each strike driving the knights back. He held himself just shy of unleashing the full strength of his wolf, knowing the risk of revealing too much. His strikes were a blend of raw force and calculated restraint, his focus unwavering as he fought to protect Lyra.
The artifact pulsed again, the rhythm escalating into a deafening roar. Lyra gritted her teeth, sweat beading on her brow as she struggled to concentrate. The runes on the altar flared with a brilliant light, illuminating the entire clearing in a ghostly glow.
“Hold the line!” Seraphine commanded, her voice cutting through the chaos as she unleashed another devastating wave of magic. Her silver eyes burned with an intensity that rallied the group, her determination a beacon amidst the chaos.
Eryon stumbled mid-strike, a strange energy surging through him. His wolf growled louder, its presence pressing hard against the edges of his control. His body trembled violently as the surge of power clawed at him, demanding release. His breaths came in ragged bursts, the lines between himself and his wolf blurring dangerously.
“Eryon!” Lyra’s voice broke as she called out, panic coloring her tone.
Eryon turned to look at her, his amber eyes flickering with a golden light that was far too wild. He dropped to one knee, gripping the ground as his wolf howled inside him, the energy threatening to consume him.
Seraphine’s head snapped toward him, her silver eyes narrowing. “Eryon, control it!” she commanded, her tone sharp but underpinned with urgency. “You must!”
But Eryon’s control was slipping fast, the raw energy rising to a crescendo within him. Around the clearing, the knights regrouped, their advance unrelenting despite their losses. Misery’s blade flashed again as she shouted, “Hurry up, or we’re all dead!”
Lyra clenched her fists, her resolve hardening as she forced herself to focus on the artifact. The whispers grew louder, their words sharpening into a single, haunting phrase that echoed through her mind: “Unleash the truth.”
The runes on the altar burned brighter, their energy swirling upward in a torrent of light as the ritual neared its climax. Lyra gritted her teeth and shouted, “Eryon, stay with me! We’re almost there!”
The clearing shook as the artifact’s energy surged, and for a moment, time seemed to hang suspended. The outcome of the battle—and their mission—teetered on a knife’s edge, with each passing second pulling them closer to either salvation or destruction.
