Into the Abyss

The world was darkness. Not just the absence of light, but a deeper void—a place where time stood still, where sound was swallowed before it could form.

Mekeala drifted within it, weightless. The pain from Cedric's attack had faded, replaced by a strange coldness that seeped into her bones. She tried to move, to reach out for something—anything—but her body did not respond.

Then, a voice echoed through the void.

"You are not ready."

It wasn't Cedric. It wasn't her father. It was something older.

The air around her shifted, and suddenly, she was standing in a field bathed in silver light. The sky stretched endlessly above her, and in the distance, a massive tree stood, its golden leaves shimmering as if caught between worlds.

The World Tree.

She stepped forward, and the ground pulsed beneath her feet. The energy here was raw, untamed. It was divine magic.

"You carry its light," the voice whispered again. "But light alone will not save you."

A chill ran down her spine. "Who are you?"

The wind stirred, and for a brief second, a figure appeared—shrouded, indistinct, but undeniably powerful.

Before she could speak again, the vision shattered.

Pain dragged her back into reality.

The first thing she felt was warmth—a steady, solid presence cradling her.

The second was the unmistakable sound of Ezekeil's voice, low and urgent.

"Mekeala," he muttered, his grip tightening. "Come on. Open your eyes."

Her eyelids fluttered. The world was a blur of movement, of flickering torchlight and shadows pressing in from every side. And then—his face.

Ezekeil was carrying her, his expression unreadable but tense.

She groaned, shifting slightly. "What… happened?"

His eyes snapped down to hers, relief flashing across his face before vanishing behind his usual guarded expression. "You almost got yourself killed, that's what happened."

He didn't put her down.

She realized, belatedly, that his arm was hooked under her knees, his other supporting her back.

He had been holding her this entire time.

"I can walk," she said, her voice hoarse.

He didn't let go. "Not a chance."

She wanted to argue, but the exhaustion pulled at her, making her body feel heavier. For a moment, she let herself lean into him, just a little.

Jack's voice cut through the air. "We don't have time for this. Cedric's forces are still everywhere."

Maya, breathless from fighting, looked over. "The ritual—he was trying to use Elrond as the final piece. But we stopped him."

Mekeala's heart lurched. "Elrond—"

"He's alive," Ezekeil assured her, shifting his grip slightly. "Weak, but breathing."

Maya's expression darkened. "Barely. Whatever Cedric did to him, it's unlike anything I've ever seen. His body is rejecting normal healing magic."

Mekeala twisted slightly in Ezekeil's arms, looking toward the altar where Lord Elrond lay motionless, his once-strong form reduced to something fragile. His skin was ashen, his breathing uneven, and faint black veins stretched from his neck to his wrists. He was still alive, but just barely.

"The magic tried to consume him," Maya continued. "I was able to slow it down, but it won't hold forever. He needs stronger magic—fast."

Mekeala's mind reeled. If normal healing wasn't working, that meant…

"We have to get him back to the Enchanted Forest," she said, her voice firmer now. "Lady Arween and the World Tree—maybe they can do something."

Ezekeil nodded. "Then we leave now."

Jack ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. "That's great and all, but we've got another problem. Cedric's forces didn't just disappear. They're still out there. If we stay here too long, they're going to realize he's gone and come looking for us."

Maya swore under her breath. "Then we have to move, and fast."

Ezekeil hesitated for only a second before lowering Mekeala carefully to her feet. She wobbled, and his hand immediately shot to her waist, steadying her.

She swallowed. "I'm fine."

His fingers lingered a second too long before he pulled away. "Let's go."

Jack and Maya carefully lifted Elrond between them, mindful of his fragile state, and together, the group began their escape.

Mekeala cast one last glance over her shoulder at the ruined ritual site.

Cedric was gone. But his magic wasn't.

And deep inside, she knew—this wasn't over.