THE RETURN OF THE LOST

Chapter 13 

The Return of the Lost

The ancient magic had been unleashed, and Alaric felt the world around him shift. The ritual had opened something far deeper than just the gateway to Eldarath. It had stirred the very foundations of the city, awakening the long-dormant forces that had once ruled and ruined the land. But Alaric had not anticipated the price of his actions.

As the dark figure dissolved into shadow, leaving only a lingering sense of dread, Alaric stumbled back, his heart racing. Seraphine rushed to his side, her face pale with fear, her eyes wide as she looked at the strange ethereal figures materializing in the distance.

"They're waking up," Alaric whispered, his voice barely audible.

Around them, the ground continued to tremble. The sky above had shifted into a stormy gray, the wind howling in a way that seemed unnatural, as if the world itself was reacting to the forces Alaric had set free. The city of Eldarath was waking from its slumber, and with it, the souls that had once inhabited it.

Seraphine's voice was urgent as she pulled Alaric away from the altar. "We need to get out of here, now."

But Alaric didn't move. His eyes were fixed on the figures that had begun to emerge from the ruins. They were like shadows at first, indistinct forms, but as they drew closer, their features began to materialize. The first to approach was a man, tall and regal, his eyes glowing with a faint, otherworldly light. He wore robes that shimmered with a strange energy, as though they were woven from the very fabric of magic itself. Behind him, others followed—figures both familiar and foreign, their forms warped by the centuries of sleep they had endured.

Alaric's breath caught as he recognized them. These were the lost rulers of Eldarath, the ones who had once wielded the city's immense power. But they were not as he remembered, not as they had been in their prime. Their faces were marked by time, their eyes hollow with the knowledge of centuries spent trapped in a city that had long since fallen into ruin.

"Alaric," the man said, his voice deep and resonant, carrying the weight of ages. "We have been waiting for you."

Seraphine tensed beside him, her hand instinctively going to the dagger at her side. She had been with Alaric through countless dangers, but this... this was different. These were no mere ghosts; these were the people who had once ruled Eldarath, and they had come back—alive, yet not alive. There was something unsettling about their presence, something unnatural.

Alaric's heart raced, but he stood tall, forcing himself to meet the eyes of the man before him. "Who are you?"

The figure smiled, though it wasn't a smile that comforted. It was cold, like the remnants of a lost civilization. "I am Malek, the first ruler of Eldarath. You have awakened us from our slumber, Alaric, and now we are bound to you."

Seraphine's grip tightened on her dagger. "What do you want with him?" she demanded, stepping in front of Alaric protectively.

Malek's eyes shifted to her, and for a moment, there was something almost wistful in his gaze. "You, little mortal, should be careful who you trust. This city is not a place for your kind. It is a place for power. And Alaric—" he turned back to the young man, his gaze filled with a strange reverence, "—Alaric is the key to restoring what was lost."

The words struck Alaric like a bolt of lightning. He had known, on some instinctual level, that the rulers of Eldarath would not be mere allies, but he had never anticipated this. They were bound to him, tied to him by a force greater than anything he had imagined.

"Restoring what was lost?" Alaric echoed, his voice strained. "What do you mean?"

Malek's lips curled into something between a smirk and a sneer. "The city fell, Alaric, not because of its enemies, but because of its own arrogance. The dark magic that flowed through Eldarath corrupted its rulers, and in the end, it consumed us all. But you, Alaric, are different. You are the vessel we need to correct our mistakes. You have the power to restore the city's glory. Or you have the power to destroy it entirely."

Seraphine stepped forward, her stance defiant. "And if we refuse? If we don't want to be part of your twisted game?"

Malek's smile faded, and his eyes darkened. "Then you will be the first to feel the wrath of Eldarath's power. There is no escaping the destiny that awaits you, child of the lost city."

Alaric's mind was a whirlwind. His pulse quickened as he felt the weight of the choice before him. He could see it now—the path ahead was shrouded in darkness. Eldarath's rulers were no mere ghosts; they were bound by a curse, an ancient force that had kept them alive—or undead—for centuries. And that curse had chosen him as its heir.

"We need to leave, Alaric," Seraphine said, her voice hard with urgency. She wasn't afraid of the rulers, but she knew that this wasn't just about power anymore. The city was alive with magic, and whatever had been unleashed was beyond their control.

Alaric didn't move, his gaze locked on Malek, who was watching him with keen interest. "What will you have me do?" Alaric asked, his voice cold.

Malek's smile returned, this time tinged with something darker, something far more dangerous. "You will come with us, Alaric. You will join us in restoring Eldarath to its former glory. And if you refuse..." He gestured to the shadowy figures behind him, who began to move closer, their eyes glowing like embers. "Then you will become a part of the city's long and endless graveyard."

Seraphine stepped forward, hand on her dagger, but Alaric raised his hand, stopping her. His mind was racing, trying to make sense of it all. He had unleashed the power of Eldarath, but now he understood the gravity of his actions. The rulers of Eldarath were not simply seeking restoration; they sought domination. The city's power was intoxicating, and they would stop at nothing to see it restored to its full might.

Alaric took a deep breath, feeling the weight of their eyes on him. His mind screamed for him to run, to escape this twisted fate, but his body remained frozen, rooted in place. He had come this far, and the answer, however dark, lay within his grasp. The rulers of Eldarath were bound to him, and it was clear now that they would not let him leave without a decision. But what choice did he have?

"How do we restore Eldarath?" Alaric asked, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his heart.

Malek's eyes gleamed with a predatory delight. "There is a ritual, of course. The dark magic that destroyed Eldarath must be reversed, but to do so, you must embrace it. You must wield it. Only then will the city rise again."

Seraphine's voice cut through the tension like a blade. "And what happens if he doesn't?"

Malek's smile was full of malice. "Then the city will crumble, and the power will consume you both. There will be no escape."

Alaric's mind churned. He knew that the dark forces within Eldarath were not simply magic—they were corruptions, a force that had destroyed the city once and would surely do so again if left unchecked. But with the power to restore it, Alaric also had the power to reshape the future of the city. Yet, the cost of wielding that power would be immense.

He looked at Seraphine, her face a mixture of fear and determination. He knew she wouldn't follow him into this darkness. But he also knew that they couldn't outrun it. The rulers of Eldarath had found him, and now, there was no going back.

"I'll do it," Alaric said, his voice resolute. "I'll restore Eldarath. But I'll do it my way."

Malek's smile widened, and he nodded. "We knew you would, Alaric. We knew you would."

And with those words, the fate of Eldarath was sealed.