Chapter 18 – Dark Magic at Work

The hallway tightened as they moved forward, the ancient stone pressing in around them.

The air was thicker here—damp and stale, like a place that had been sealed for centuries. The deeper they went, the more the ruins felt alive.

Then, the passage opened into a vast chamber.

And Delwyn stopped breathing.

The walls were covered in murals—carvings depicting an ancient war. Men in armor stood beneath a shadowed figure, something inhuman, something with too many eyes and too many limbs.

The soldiers were not fighting it.

They were kneeling before it.

Mira exhaled sharply. "What the hell is this?"

Vaelor stepped closer, brushing dust away from a long, curling script. The language was old—older than Varfaún, older than anything Delwyn had seen before.

But Vaelor could read it.

His voice was quiet as he translated.

"The King made a bargain. A gift of blood for a throne of iron. In the depths, it waits. In the darkness, it feeds. And when the time comes…"

Vaelor's hand tightened into a fist.

"It will rise."

Delwyn gritted her teeth. "Arrand's not the first to meddle with this place."

Vaelor nodded grimly. "And he won't be the last."

Then—

The torches along the walls flickered.

Mira froze. "Did you feel that?"

Delwyn drew her sword. "Yeah."

Something shifted in the chamber.

A soft scraping sound. A whisper of bones against stone.

Delwyn turned sharply—

And watched as one of the skeletons began to move.

****

Arrand Galborn

The Black Keep – Blackreach

The Black Keep's lowest chamber pulsed with power.

The Rift hovered above the obsidian altar, its edges shifting and rippling like oil on water. Dark energy bled into the air, thick and cloying, seeping into the stone itself.

Arrand Galborn stood before it, his fingers twitching slightly at his side.

It was growing stronger. Hungrier.

And soon, it would be ready.

The heavy doors groaned open, and Elandros entered with his usual soundless grace, his cloak barely stirring as he moved. The elf stopped a few paces away, his expression carefully measured.

"Vale's report has arrived," Elandros said.

Arrand didn't turn. "And?"

Elandros hesitated. Not a good sign.

"They escaped."

Arrand's grip tightened against the hilt of his dagger.

Not entirely unexpected. Delwyn Aldsund was stubborn. Clever. It was why he had chosen her all those years ago.

But Vaelor?

The elf had been an unwanted complication.

Elandros continued, his voice smooth but edged. "They set fire to the supply tents before fleeing. Food, weapons, blackpowder—all destroyed. The warhorses were cut loose and scattered into the wildlands. Some trampled our men in the chaos."

Arrand exhaled slowly. That, more than anything, irritated him.

"A setback," he murmured. "But not one we can't recover from."

Elandros nodded. "Vale's men did what they could. We executed the rebels we found." A pause. "The rest we… repurposed."

Arrand's lips curled slightly. "Ah. The experiment worked, then?"

"Not perfectly," Elandros admitted. "Some resisted the process. But the ones that didn't…" He trailed off, letting the implication settle.

Arrand turned away, stepping closer to the Rift. The energy curled toward him like something recognizing its master.

"Good," he murmured.

He could already see it clearly in his mind.

The rebellion had not simply been slaughtered.

They had been taken. Twisted. Turned into something more useful.

How poetic.

Elandros adjusted his gloves, his eyes sharp. "Vale is tracking them, but the trail is uncertain. We believe they're heading north."

Arrand's smirk widened.

North.

Toward Eldermire.

He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head.

"Delwyn always was predictable," he mused. "She doesn't just run. She wants answers."

Elandros was quiet for a moment. "You're letting her go."

Arrand turned slightly, his eyes glinting in the dim light. "No. I'm letting her find what I left for her."

Elandros tilted his head. "And if she survives?"

Arrand stepped forward, resting his palm against the air just beneath the Rift.

A whisper curled at the edges of his thoughts.

It will rise.

He smiled. "Then she'll wish she hadn't."