Chapter 7: The Flames of Truth

Nyroth sat in his chamber, the golden glow of the fireplace casting dancing shadows across the walls. His sharp eyes scanned the ancient texts sprawled across the table before him. Despite the calm of the room, his mind churned with unease. The faint whispers of coming calamity lingered at the edge of his thoughts, refusing to dissipate.

A knock broke the silence.

"Come in," Nyroth said without looking up, his deep voice steady as always.

The door creaked open, and Elian stepped inside. His expression was a mixture of determination and hesitation, the weight of his father's legacy pressing upon his young shoulders.

"Father," Elian began, closing the door behind him. "Do you have a moment?"

Nyroth finally turned, his piercing gaze softening as it landed on his son. He gestured for Elian to sit. "Always. What's on your mind?"

Elian hesitated, his hands fidgeting slightly. "I've been thinking about... everything, the training, the Guardians, the Veil. I feel like I'm not ready, but at the same time, I know I need to be. Us astrae, our power, how did you—"

Before he could finish, the fire in the hearth roared to life, the vibrant red flames shifting into an ominous black. Shadows writhed within the infernal blaze, and a face began to take form—Zyrran's.

Elian shot to his feet, his hand instinctively moving to the hilt of his sword.

"Stand down," Nyroth commanded, his voice firm but calm.

Zyrran's visage solidified in the fire, his violet eyes glowing faintly within the shadowy flames. His voice echoed, distorted but unmistakably his. "Nyroth."

"Zyrran," Nyroth replied, his brow furrowing. "What happened?"

"I found him," Zyrran said, his tone grim. "A general of Hell. He was in the North, took over a castle. The demons there—mere fodder for his plans. He's not like the others."

Nyroth's jaw tightened. "What was he's purpose there?"

Zyrran's expression darkened further. "A scroll of course, as we feared. It had the same markings as the ones you once showed me—the spell of the Veil."

Nyroth's hand clenched into a fist, his calm demeanor fracturing for the briefest of moments. "He's after the Veil's undoing," he muttered, more to himself than to Zyrran.

"I couldn't stop him," Zyrran admitted. "He fled through a portal before I could act. But if he has one scroll..."

Nyroth nodded, his mind already racing ahead. "Then he'll go after the others."

The flames began to waver, the connection weakening.

"I'll continue tracking him," Zyrran said. "But be ready. The other generals...if one has returned, they will take action, and soon."

With that, the fire collapsed back into its normal red-orange glow, leaving the room heavy with silence.

Elian turned to his father, his expression a mix of confusion and concern. "What was that about? What scroll? What's going on?"

Nyroth let out a deep breath and motioned for Elian to sit once more. "There's something you need to understand," he began, his voice heavy with the weight of history.

Elian, while nodding attentively, couldn't help but eye the plate of roasted venison placed just in front of the fire. His stomach growled. Carefully, he began inching his hand toward it.

Nyroth continued, unaware. "The Veil is not just a barrier; it is a prison. It was meant to—"

Just as Elian's fingers brushed against the plate, a swift fist collided with the top of his head. He yelped, jerking back as Nyroth glared at him.

"Focus."

Elian rubbed his head, grinning sheepishly. "I was focusing. Just… on the wrong thing."

Nyroth sighed, exasperated. "If you put half the effort into your training that you do into stealing food, you might actually learn something."

Elian shrugged, finally sitting up straight. "Fine, fine. So, about these scrolls… let's hear it."

Nyroth shook his head but smirked slightly. "At least try not to starve while saving the world."

"Centuries ago," Nyroth continued, "when Valthrion rose to power, his ambition threatened all five kingdoms. Even Theradrin, home to monsters and merciless rulers, deemed him a danger. For the first time in history, the kingdoms united to stop him."

Elian's brows furrowed. "I've heard the stories. But what does this have to do with the scroll?"

"The Veil," Nyroth said simply. "It was never just a barrier. It's a spell, a prison, created by the greatest sorcerers of each kingdom. Together, they forged a spell so powerful it sealed Valthrion away, locking him in the void and preventing his return."

Elian's eyes widened. "The Veil... it's not natural?"

Nyroth shook his head. "No. And to ensure its protection, the spell was split into five scrolls, one kept in each kingdom. Separately, the scrolls mean nothing. But together, they hold the key to the Veil's creation... and its destruction."

"And Hell has one of them now," Elian said, his voice low.

Nyroth nodded grimly. "If he collects them all, he can undo the Veil. Valthrion will roam our world free."

Elian leaned back, the enormity of the revelation settling over him. "Why haven't we destroyed the scrolls? If they're so dangerous—"

"They cannot be destroyed," Nyroth interrupted. "Not without undoing the Veil itself. The kingdoms agreed to keep them hidden, protected. But it seems even that wasn't enough."

The two sat in silence for a moment, the crackling of the fire the only sound in the room.

Elian finally broke the silence. "What do we do now?"

Nyroth's gaze hardened. "We prepare. We find the other scrolls before they do. And you," he said, his voice softening slightly, "must continue your training. You have a role to play in this, Elian. A greater one than you realize. You are a Solvain after all, and that name, our family's name will always make the enemy tremble in fear."

Elian met his father's gaze, determination flickering in his eyes. "I won't let you down."

Nyroth placed a hand on his son's shoulder, a rare gesture of affection. "You'll face challenges you can't yet imagine. But I believe in you. In the meantime, follow me for we have work to do, ".

As the flames danced in the hearth, the weight of destiny loomed over them both.