Lunar Wrath

The aftermath of the vessel's collapse still hummed through the stone beneath their feet. The air was thick with scorched magic and lingering echoes of the void. The once-malevolent whispers had quieted, but something deeper remained—a pulsing tension that seemed to come from the temple's bones.

Tessara stepped forward, her fingers brushing against the nearest pillar. A ripple moved through her, not pain but recognition. The spirits embedded in the walls, once tormented by the Falzath corruption, stirred beneath her touch.

"They're trapped," she whispered, closing her eyes.

"What do you mean?" Shin asked, stepping closer.

"They were bound to power the wards. Souls of the fallen. Innocents. Pilgrims. Even children." Her voice trembled. "If I reach them, I can disable the last lock."

Laverna narrowed her eyes at the center of the chamber, where runes shimmered along the floor in a circular pattern. "That's what's keeping the heart of this place sealed, right?"

Tessara nodded. "But it's not just arcane. It's spiritual. I'll need to commune with them... and convince them to let go."

Zera stepped beside her, blade at the ready. "You'll have time."

Tessara knelt, her crest flaring to life. Like moonlight breaking through storm clouds, lunar energy rippled through her fingertips, soft and cool. Her magic seeped into the stone, reaching for the lost voices hidden within. Her eyes were glazed with silver.

The others formed a perimeter. They had learned the pattern. When one moved, the others shielded. When one faltered, the others rose.

Laverna's hands sparked with fire and ice. She inhaled, summoning twin storms that coiled around her arms like serpents. With a step forward, she launched the ice into the ceiling, freezing loose rubble into jagged spears. The fire spun along the ground in a serpentine arc, melting cursed glyphs before they could pulse.

"I've got the left," she muttered. "Let them come."

Zera took the right. Her blade shimmered with sapphire light, her crest intensifying it into a blinding aura. Every swing carved through lingering shadows, trying to regroup. She moved with elegance and rage, her swordplay honed to a single purpose—eradication.

From the center, Shin stood over Tessara, eyes sharp. His crystal orb hovered at his back, shifting in form to detect incoming threats. When a pack of wraiths slithered from a fissure in the wall, he moved without hesitation.

Yoshimatsu emerged.

The katana crackled with crimson lightning as it struck. The air bent around each swing. Stone shattered where his blade passed. The wraiths didn't just die—they were erased, their screams swallowed by the roar of kinetic force. Cracks spiderwebbed through the floor with each blow.

The chamber groaned. Rubble cascaded from the ceiling. Glyphs flickered and collapsed as environmental feedback built around them.

Tessara's voice echoed.

"Come to me. Your pain... I feel it. Let me carry it. Let me set you free."

The chamber pulsed. A ring of lunar glyphs lit beneath her, and ghostly figures began to rise. Pilgrims, priests, even children with hollow eyes. They hesitated. Then, one by one, they placed spectral hands on Tessara's shoulders.

Her crest surged.

The seal cracked.

A wave of magic burst from the floor. The darkness holding the central ward shattered like glass. And with it, the final wall collapsed.

Behind it stood a cultist unlike any they'd faced.

Draped in crimson robes, his body writhed with veins of black ichor. His eyes burned with violet light, and his hands pulsed with Falzath's corrupt blessing. But it was his voice that chilled them.

"You've come far," he said, his tone reverent and mocking. "Too far. The new king awaits his throne."

Shin narrowed his eyes. "Tristan."

"He's already begun," the cultist continued, lifting his hands. "Across the continent, darkness blossoms. Cities kneel. Kingdoms bend. Only Valeshroud still resists, and even that will fall when he returns."

The threat felt like a noose tightening.

Zera stepped forward, fury blazing behind her calm. "We've heard enough."

She leapt, blade slicing toward the cultist's throat.

He raised a shield of obsidian magic, jagged and humming with power. Her strike met it with a thunderclap, sending shockwaves through the chamber. Pillars buckled. Dust erupted.

Laverna joined mid-air, her firestorm detonating against the shield with a roar. The flames rippled out, searing the far wall and igniting the glyphs into wild arcs of energy.

"You think you can resist fate?" the cultist snarled. He unleashed tendrils of corrupted energy that snaked toward Zera.

Tessara shouted, launching radiant chains that snared the tendrils and dragged them to the ground, where they sizzled into ash.

"Not fate," Shin said, appearing behind the cultist in a blur. "Justice."

Yoshimatsu sang.

The blade cleaved through the final barrier. The cultist screamed, his voice warping as corruption poured from the wound. He lashed out, striking a pillar—the impact shattered it, sending a boulder crashing into the chamber's center.

Tessara raised a shield just in time to deflect it from crushing her and Shin.

Laverna leapt from the falling debris, spinning mid-air, fire and ice swirling in a devastating helix. Her jamadhars struck the cultist's back, punching through his arcane armor.

Zera followed with a finishing arc of her blade, cleaving downward with enough force to tear through steel. The ground split beneath them. Cracks spidered to the edges of the chamber. The ceiling threatened to collapse.

Their synergy—flawless.

As the cultist fell, gasping in disbelief, his words rasped one final warning.

"You're too late. He's seen everything. And he's coming."

Silence reclaimed the chamber.

Tessara exhaled, collapsing to one knee. Zera caught her before she could fall.

"You did it," Shin said, offering a hand.

Tessara took it, her eyes still glowing faintly. "They're free. All of them."

Laverna grinned, wiping sweat from her brow. "That was better than fireworks."

Zera cracked a rare smile. "You've earned your place, Tess."

The woman flushed, pride flickering across her face.

They had fought as one. And each of them had risen.

But the final challenge waited beyond the temple. Across the continent, a storm was brewing. And at its center stood Tristan—the once-king, now puppet of the Falzath.

Shin stared into the darkness where the cultist had fallen.

He would protect Valeshroud. Not as a lone warrior. But as a commander, with the women who had chosen to fight at his side.

Their crests pulsed in unison.

A storm was coming.

And they would meet it together.