Gathering Storm

Cedric's eyes snapped open.

Even before his scouts confirmed it, before the tremors of approaching warriors echoed in the cursed sands of his stronghold, he felt it.

A disturbance.

Like a violent pulse in the air, a shift in the balance of power.

A slow smirk tugged at his lips as he straightened, the dim torchlight flickering across the ritual chamber. He placed a hand on the cold stone altar, where remnants of his failed experiment still stained the surface. The pain in his chest, the lingering wound from Mekeala's divine magic, throbbed dully—but it was nothing compared to the fury burning within him.

"So, you've finally decided to stop running, boy," he muttered, golden eyes narrowing.

Ezekeil was coming.

It had taken longer than expected, but he had always known this day would arrive.

A part of him had hoped Ezekeil would simply take his place—embrace his bloodline, the strength in his veins, and carry on the legacy Cedric built. But that hope had crumbled long ago.

Now, his son sought to kill him.

His fingers curled over the edge of the altar, dark magic crackling faintly at his fingertips.

Cedric had one last play to make.

And he would ensure Ezekeil regretted ever crossing him.

The war council in the elven village was tense.

Ezekeil stood at the center, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Around him, Legolas, Lady Arween, and the elite warriors of the elves deliberated on their next move.

"We should wait," Legolas said firmly. "If Cedric is regrouping, then attacking now would be reckless. He may still have forces hidden in the shadows."

Ezekeil's golden eyes flickered dangerously. "Waiting is exactly what he wants. We strike now while he's weakened."

"The risk—"

"The risk will be greater if we hesitate," Ezekeil cut in. His voice was sharp, commanding. "Cedric isn't sitting back. He's preparing. If we wait any longer, he'll gain the upper hand. We end this now."

Mekeala watched from the side, arms clenched at her sides. She had expected resistance from Legolas, but Ezekeil wasn't backing down. He had already made up his mind.

She took a step forward. "Then I'm going too."

Ezekeil's gaze snapped to her, his jaw tightening. "No."

Mekeala stiffened. "Ezekeil—"

"You're still recovering. You're not ready for another fight." His voice was final. "Stay here."

Lady Arween, standing beside Mekeala, nodded in agreement. "Ezekeil is right. You are powerful, Mekeala, but if you push yourself too soon, you may do more harm than good."

Mekeala gritted her teeth but said nothing. The worst part was that they were right.

Ezekeil turned away, already issuing orders to the elves.

Jack sighed, stepping beside Mekeala. "You know, for someone who never listens to anyone, he sure enjoys telling you what to do."

Mekeala shot him a glare, but Jack only grinned. "Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on him."

As the group moved toward the village gates, preparing to set out, a voice echoed from the shadows.

"Hmph. Looks like I arrived just in time."

The entire group turned as two figures emerged from the mist.

Albert, the old wizard, leaned heavily on his staff, his aged face twisted in a knowing smirk. Beside him, Tom stood, arms crossed, his violet eyes gleaming with amusement.

"Did you really think you could take down Cedric without me?" Tom mused.

Ezekeil's eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here?"

Albert gave a short chuckle. "Keeping an old promise." He glanced toward Mekeala. "And making sure the fight doesn't turn into an utter disaster."

Tom's smirk widened. "I simply enjoy being where the fun is."

Ezekeil's expression remained hard, but he didn't refuse their help. He had other things to focus on.

The group set out within the hour.

The march through the desert was silent, the tension thick in the air.

Jack, walking beside Tom, eyed the rogue mage warily. "Alright, spill it. Why are you really here?"

Tom hummed, looking up at the sky. "Now, now, Jack. Can't a man just enjoy a good fight?"

Jack's eyes narrowed. "You don't do anything unless there's something in it for you."

Tom's smirk didn't waver, but there was something cold beneath it. "Let's just say… Cedric has something that belongs to me."

Jack felt a chill run down his spine.

Whatever Tom was after, it wasn't just about Cedric's downfall.

As the group neared Cedric's stronghold, Ezekeil felt a strange sensation crawl up his spine.

Cedric knew they were coming.

The moment they reached the edge of the darkened ruins, the sky above them darkened unnaturally.

Albert's grip on his staff tightened. "Be ready. This won't be easy."

Ezekeil unsheathed his sword, golden eyes locked onto the looming fortress ahead.

"No," he said darkly. "But it will be the last time he ever stands against me."

The final battle had begun.