Chapter 1 – The Chains of Eldridge
The sky burned.
Flames crackled across the battlefield, licking at shattered banners and broken bodies. The scent of blood, smoke, and scorched steel poisoned the air.
Voss stood at the center of it all, her breathing ragged, her body screaming in protest.
She had fought for hours.
Her once-pristine armor was battered, streaked with ash and crimson. Her sword—heavy in her grip—dripped with the blood of those who had fallen before her. Her fire magic flickered weakly at her fingertips, her strength nearly spent.
Yet the battle wasn't over.
A low rumble echoed through the smoke. The earth trembled.
From the haze, a dark figure emerged.
The High Lord's general.
A towering man clad in obsidian armor, his presence alone sent a wave of dread through the battlefield. His crimson cloak billowed behind him, untouched by the chaos.
He had yet to even draw his weapon.
Voss clenched her teeth. She had fought countless enemies—mercenaries, warlords, assassins. But this man… he was different.
Power radiated from him.
Magic pulsed beneath his armor, coiling around him like a living force. Cold. Merciless. Absolute.
His amber eyes locked onto hers, and a cruel smirk tugged at his lips.
"You're the one they call the Shadow Weaver." His voice was deep, unshaken. "I expected more."
Rage surged in Voss's chest.
She raised her sword, flames roaring to life around her. She had nothing left to lose.
She charged.
---
Their blades clashed—a shockwave rippled through the battlefield.
Voss struck with everything she had. Her fire burned hotter than ever, her movements fueled by sheer defiance.
The general blocked every strike effortlessly.
A parry. A sidestep. A single, calculated counter.
His strength was monstrous. Each blow sent vibrations through her arms, threatening to shatter her bones.
She dodged. Spun. Struck low. A feint. A desperate move.
And for a moment, she thought she had him.
But then—
Pain.
Blinding. Sudden.
His gauntleted fist slammed into her ribs, sending her flying. The world spun.
She hit the ground hard, the impact stealing the breath from her lungs.
Voss tried to rise—but her body refused to move.
No.
The general stepped forward, towering over her. The smirk never left his face.
"You never stood a chance."
Darkness closed in.
And then—
Chains. Cold steel. The taste of defeat.
---
The sound of dripping water echoed through the dimly lit chamber.
Voss opened her eyes.
Pain. Everywhere.
Her body felt like it had been torn apart and stitched back together—barely.
She tried to move, but something held her in place.
Chains.
Thick iron shackles bound her wrists and ankles, their surfaces engraved with ancient runes. They pulsed with an unnatural energy.
She gritted her teeth. Magic-sealing runes.
Her fire was useless here.
Where am I?
Her vision adjusted. A cell.
The walls were made of black stone, etched with sigils she didn't recognize. The air was damp, thick with the scent of mold and blood.
A prison deep within Eldridge.
A shadow moved in the far corner of the cell.
Voss stiffened.
Someone else was here.
The figure sat against the wall, wrists bound in the same cursed shackles. Long, unkempt hair partially covered his face—but the glow of his golden eyes was unmistakable.
He was watching her.
"You're awake." His voice was rough, but steady.
Voss stared at him. She didn't trust him.
But something about him was… different.
His presence felt dangerous, but not in the way the High Lord's soldiers did.
He wasn't their ally.
He shifted slightly, his chains rattling. "I saw you fight."
Voss remained silent.
"You almost won." His lips twitched in something that might've been a smirk. "Almost."
A surge of anger flared in her chest. Almost wasn't enough.
She had lost.
The man leaned his head back against the wall. "I'm Soren." A pause. Then—"And I know how to get out."
---