the Fall of the valden

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The Fall of the Valden

The temple hall trembled under the power radiating from the Heart of the Dragon. The massive crystal pulsed with violet and golden light, its glow illuminating the ancient frescoes covering the walls. Vorath, his eyes gleaming with triumph, held the Heart in his hands, his fingers clutching the artifact as if it were an extension of himself.

Lyra, kneeling, struggled to regain control of her body. The mark on her chest burned, its violet veins spreading like cursed roots. She felt Vorath's will slithering into her, attempting to reduce her to nothing more than a puppet.

— No…, she murmured, clenching her fists. I won't… let you…

Vorath smiled—a cruel, domineering grin. "You have no choice, Lyra Valden. The Heart of the Dragon obeys my command. And you… you are nothing more than a tool."

Vaelrath, wounded but still standing, let out a furious roar. His massive body surged forward, claws slicing through the air. "LET HER GO!"

But Vorath merely raised a hand. An unseen force hurled the dragon against the stone wall. Vaelrath crashed down with a resounding impact, shattered black scales scattering across the floor.

"You were always weak, Vaelrath," Vorath sneered. "You thought you could escape your fate. But now… you will die like the rest."

Lyra saw Vaelrath struggle to rise, blood seeping from a deep wound in his flank. Despair threatened to consume her. I can't let him die. Not like this.

— Vorath! she screamed, forcing the words out. If you want the Heart… you'll have to kill me first.

The man with violet eyes slowly turned to her, amusement dancing on his lips. "Oh, Lyra… you still don't understand. I don't need to kill you. I don't even need you. The Heart is already mine. And soon… you will be nothing."

He lifted the Heart, and a surge of violet energy erupted, hurling Lyra against the wall. Bones cracked, her vision blurred. But within the pain, something stirred. A voice, warm yet firm, whispered in her mind:

"You are a Valden. You are stronger than him."

— Mother…, she breathed, recognizing the voice.

Memories flooded her mind—visions of her mother, proud and unwavering, guiding her through ancient runes. "The power of the Valden does not come from blood, but from the heart."

Lyra shut her eyes, seizing that flicker of hope. She was not just a weapon. Not just a tool. She was herself.

— Vaelrath! she called, pushing herself to her feet. The Heart… it responds to will. Not strength.

The dragon, still dazed, stared at her in confusion. "What are you saying…?"

— Trust me!

Vorath chuckled—a cold, mocking sound. "You really think you can defy me? You are nothing but a child, toying with powers beyond your understanding."

— Maybe, Lyra admitted, her lips curving into a determined smile. But I am not alone.

She extended her hand toward Vaelrath. The dragon understood. With a single bound, he moved to her side, wings unfurling. Together, they faced Vorath, defiance burning in their eyes.

"Pathetic," Vorath growled, raising the Heart. "You cannot win."

— We'll see, Lyra murmured, closing her eyes.

She dove into her mind, seeking the connection to the Heart. The mark on her chest flared—not with pain, but with power. Power she chose to wield.

Vorath screamed, sensing the Heart slipping from his grasp. "No! This is impossible!"

— The Heart of the Dragon does not yield to fear, Lyra whispered, eyes flashing open. It answers to will. And I… I will see you fall.

A wave of golden and violet light erupted, slamming Vorath against the wall. The Heart of the Dragon hovered in the air, pulsating in sync with Lyra's heartbeat.

"You can't…," Vorath gasped, struggling to rise.

— Yes, I can, she replied.

She reached out, and the Heart obeyed. A burst of energy consumed the temple, reducing the frescoes to dust. Vorath let out a final, agonized scream as his body dissolved into nothingness, swallowed by the force he had sought to control.

"This isn't over…," he whispered before vanishing into a swirl of darkness.

Silence fell—heavy, oppressive. Lyra collapsed to her knees, drained, as the Heart of the Dragon floated gently before her.

Vaelrath approached, his wounds still smoldering. "You did it," he murmured, pride glinting in his gaze.

— At what cost? she asked, staring at the Heart.

"The cost of victory," he answered simply.

A sudden noise shattered the stillness—shouts, hurried footsteps. Villagers, led by a burly man wielding an axe, burst into the clearing outside the temple.

— The dragon witch is here! one of them shouted. Kill her before she destroys us all!

Lyra pushed herself upright, exhaustion weighing on her limbs. — Vaelrath… we can't fight them. Not like this.

The dragon lowered his head, sadness in his eyes. "Then we leave. But know this—this war is far from over."

— I know, she replied, clutching the Heart of the Dragon.

As they slipped through a hidden exit, Lyra cast one last glance over her shoulder. The villagers flooded into the temple, weapons raised, ready to destroy whatever lay in their path.

— They're afraid, she whispered.

"Fear is a powerful weapon," Vaelrath said. "But it can also be overcome."

Lyra nodded, feeling the weight of the Heart in her hands. The battle for her soul—and for the world—was only beginning.

But for the first time, she felt ready.

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