the blood of valden

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The forest was silent, as if holding its breath. Lyra walked with determined steps, her boots crushing the dead leaves. The mark on her chest, now intertwined with violet veins, pulsed softly—a constant reminder of what she was becoming. Vaelrath followed closely behind, his black scales gleaming faintly under the filtered light of the branches.

"Are you sure it's this way?" she asked, glancing back.

The dragon inclined his head, his golden eyes scanning the surroundings. "Yes. The Valden Temple is hidden in these mountains. That's where you'll find answers."

Lyra clenched her fists, feeling anger rise within her. "Why didn't you ever tell me about this before? Why did you let me believe I was just... a mercenary?"

Vaelrath growled, a deep and menacing sound. "Because I didn't know. Not until Vorath revealed the truth. The Valden were powerful mages, but they disappeared centuries ago. I had no idea you were one of them."

"And now?" she asked, her voice unsteady. "What does that mean for me?"

The dragon gazed at her, a glimmer of compassion in his eyes. "It means you have a legacy. A power even Vorath does not fully understand."

Lyra looked away, staring at the mountains looming ahead. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear that. She wasn't sure she could handle that.

They continued in silence, the tension between them palpable. The forest grew denser, the trees darker, the shadows deeper. Then, finally, they arrived at a clearing. In the center stood an ancient structure—a stone temple covered in moss and ivy. Strange symbols were carved into the rock, glowing with a faint violet light.

"We're here," murmured Vaelrath. "The Valden Temple."

A shiver ran down Lyra's spine. The air was charged with a strange energy, almost tangible. She drew her sword, her muscles tensed, ready to fight.

"So, what do we do?" she asked, her voice barely audible.

"We go in," the dragon replied. "But be careful. This place is steeped in ancient magic."

They moved toward the entrance of the temple, a massive arch adorned with intricate runes. The mark on Lyra's chest burned with intense heat, as if responding to the magic of the place. She took a deep breath and stepped inside.

The interior of the temple was dark, the air thick with dust and forgotten memories. Frescoes covered the walls, depicting scenes of epic battles, dragons, and mages. Lyra approached one of them, her fingers brushing against the stone. A wave of memories surged through her mind—mages summoning dragons, glowing runes, sacrifices.

"This is... me," she murmured, recognizing a familiar face among the mages. A woman with black hair and green eyes... her mother.

"The Valden were the guardians of dragons," Vaelrath explained. "They created the first pacts, but they also betrayed their own kind by serving Vorath."

"Why?" she asked, her voice shaking. "Why did they do that?"

"For power," the dragon answered. "But some, like your mother, refused to submit. They paid with their lives."

Lyra felt tears rising. She had always believed her mother had died in an accident. But now... she understood. She understood everything.

"And me?" she turned to Vaelrath. "Why me?"

The dragon looked at her, a glimmer of respect in his eyes. "Because you are the last Valden. The last chance to mend what was broken."

Lyra closed her eyes, feeling the weight of his words. She wasn't sure if she could bear this burden. But she knew she had no choice.

Suddenly, a distant sound echoed—a deep rumbling, like faraway thunder. Vaelrath lifted his head, his nostrils flaring.

"They're coming," he murmured. "The Shadows. And this time, they won't be alone."

Lyra drew her sword, her golden eyes glowing with fierce determination. "Then we fight."

"No," Vaelrath said, placing a clawed hand on her shoulder. "You must find the Heart of the Dragon. It's the only way to stop them."

"And you?" she asked, fear creeping into her voice.

"I'll hold them off," he replied, his eyes burning with fierce resolve. "But you must hurry."

Lyra nodded, tears streaming down her face. She didn't want to leave him. But she knew she had no choice.

She rushed deeper into the temple, following the glowing runes on the walls. The mark on her chest pulsed, guiding her toward the Heart. The magic of the place wrapped around her, filling her with a power she didn't yet understand.

At last, she reached a circular chamber, at the center of which stood a stone altar. Upon it rested a massive crystal, pulsing with golden and violet light. The Heart of the Dragon.

Lyra stepped closer, feeling the artifact's power envelop her. She reached out, hesitating, then placed her hand on the crystal. A wave of energy surged through her, making her cry out. Images flooded her mind—dragons, mages, battles. And finally, a truth that made her stagger.

"No..." she whispered, stepping back. "This isn't possible..."

"Oh, but it is," came a familiar voice.

Vorath emerged from the shadows, a cruel smile on his lips. "The Heart of the Dragon can only be controlled by a Valden. And now, it belongs to me."

Lyra spun around, sword raised, but Vorath merely lifted a hand. An invisible force slammed her against the wall, knocking her weapon from her grasp. She fell to her knees, gasping, as the mark on her chest burned with unbearable pain.

"Why?" she asked, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I can," Vorath answered, stepping closer. "And because you are the key to my victory."

He extended a hand toward the Heart, and the crystal responded with an intense violet glow. Lyra felt her body stiffen, her will dissolving. She fought, but it was like trying to hold back a tide.

"Goodbye, Lyra Valden," Vorath murmured, his eyes gleaming with triumph. "Your legacy... is mine."

Suddenly, a deafening roar filled the chamber.

Vaelrath burst into the room, his body covered in wounds, his eyes burning with fury. "LET HER GO!"

Vorath turned, his cruel smile widening. "Too late, Vaelrath. The Heart is mine. And soon... the world will be, too."

Lyra felt her consciousness slipping away, the mark on her chest pulsing in rhythm with the Heart. She fought, but it was like trying to hold back a tide.

No... not like this...

As darkness claimed her, one final thought crossed her mind:

I am not a weapon. I am... myself.