The Price of Power

The chamber was deathly still.

Liora's breath came in shallow, ragged gasps as she clutched the Heart of Mourning to her chest. The jagged crystal pulsed faintly in her hands, its surface still slick with the swirling violet energy she had bound to herself. Her fingers were trembling slightly, but not from fear. From the surge of power now flowing through her veins.

The raw necromantic energy burned in her core—a wild, feral pulse of magic barely restrained. It was stronger than anything she had wielded before. She could feel her magic crackling at the edges of her fingertips, unstable and unpredictable.

Alaric knelt beside her, gripping her arm gently. His blue eyes narrowed with concern. "Liora…" he murmured, studying her pale face. "Are you—?"

She flinched at his touch. The energy within her surged violently in response, and for a brief moment, the mist around them coiled and darkened. The chamber's shadows seemed to shift unnaturally, stretching toward her, almost as though they were drawn to the power she now carried.

Selene's voice cut through the heavy silence. "We need to move. Now."

She was already at the edge of the dais, her daggers glinting faintly in the dim torchlight. Her sharp green eyes flicked between Liora and the still-smoldering remains of the bone warden, wary. She wasn't afraid of the broken creature. She was afraid of what had shattered it.

Alaric pulled Liora gently to her feet. "Can you walk?"

Liora opened her mouth to respond, but her legs buckled beneath her. She stumbled forward, the crystal still clutched tightly in her hands.

Alaric caught her easily, steadying her with both arms. "Easy," he murmured, his voice low. "I've got you."

The brief moment of vulnerability lasted only a heartbeat. Liora's fingers curled tightly around the crystal, and with a sharp exhale, she willed herself to stand tall. Her knees still shook slightly, but she took the next step on her own.

"I'm fine," she muttered, her voice low and raw.

Alaric's jaw tightened slightly, but he nodded, falling into step beside her as they moved toward the corridor.

The stone passage leading out of the temple was narrow and suffocating. Their footsteps echoed faintly in the stillness, and the only sound was the shallow rasp of Liora's breathing.

The power of the Heart of Mourning was still coursing through her. She could feel her new strength rising—dark and primal. With every step she took, the magic seemed to hum through her blood, sharp and electric, filling every corner of her being.

But it was too much.

Her hands shook faintly. Sweat clung to the nape of her neck. Her breath hitched. Her vision flickered slightly at the edges. Her magic was slipping out of her grasp like water through her fingers.

Too much. Too fast.

Selene glanced at her sharply. "You're not fine," she muttered under her breath. She slowed her stride, walking beside Liora, her tone softer but no less firm. "Don't pretend. What's happening?"

Liora clenched her teeth, trying to steady herself. She could feel the new power clawing at her mind, sinking its hooks into her thoughts. Whispers echoed faintly at the edges of her consciousness—feral, foreign voices—like the ones she had heard in the Codex of Lost Souls. Only this time, they were clearer. Closer.

"Call them forth…" a faint, rasping voice whispered in her mind.

"Your enemies will kneel… and your allies too…"

She swallowed hard, blinking against the shadows creeping at the edges of her vision.

"I'm fine," she repeated stiffly.

Selene's sharp eyes narrowed, clearly unconvinced, but she said nothing.

By the time they emerged from the temple, twilight had fallen over the Withered Woods. The forest was painted in shades of gold and violet, and the thin mist clung to the earth like a veil. A low, eerie wind swept through the branches, carrying with it the faint scent of damp rot.

Alaric exhaled slowly, his hand still resting protectively on the hilt of his sword. He glanced over his shoulder, scanning the temple ruins one final time. Only cracked stone and dead silence remained.

But Liora barely noticed.

Her eyes were fixed on her hands.

She turned her palm over, watching the faint wisps of violet necromantic energy swirl around her fingertips. The magic pulsed softly in her veins—thrumming through her very core—but it was no longer just her power. It was something else.

Something older.

Something darker.

She clenched her fist, and the magic flared violently in response. The skeletal remains still scattered in the grass around them twitched violently, dragged briefly toward her like iron toward a magnet. She gasped sharply, forcing her hands to her sides, trembling slightly as she forced the energy back into submission.

Selene and Alaric turned sharply at the sound. Their eyes widened as they saw the faint glow of necromancy clinging to her fingertips.

Selene's hand was on her dagger before she even realized it. Her eyes narrowed in alarm. "What the hell was that?"

Liora inhaled sharply, her chest tight. She could feel the power coiling violently beneath her skin—simmering and unstable, begging to be released.

"Nothing," she lied.

But Selene's eyes flashed with suspicion. "Don't lie to me."

Alaric stepped between them, his hand raised slightly. "Hey. Not here." His voice was steady, calm—but his eyes flicked to Liora, concerned. He lowered his tone. "We're still in the forest. Let's not start this here."

Selene's jaw tightened, but she took a step back, forcing her hands away from her weapons. Her knuckles were white, and her lips pressed into a thin line, but she said nothing.

Liora exhaled shakily. Her entire body was trembling faintly, but she kept walking.

The campfire crackled low, casting flickering golden light over the forest floor. The Veilbound sat in tense silence, their food untouched. The woods around them were dark and restless, shifting with low, hollow whispers. The temple's presence still lingered in the air—faint but undeniable.

Liora sat by the edge of the fire, her knees drawn loosely to her chest, staring into the flames. The crystal shard lay beside her, half-wrapped in cloth, but she could still feel its sickly pulse against her skin.

Alaric sat beside her, his elbows resting on his knees. His sword lay within easy reach. Selene crouched nearby, perched on a fallen log, sharpening one of her daggers in slow, deliberate strokes.

No one spoke.

But Alaric's voice finally broke the silence. "It's changing you."

Liora didn't look at him. She didn't respond.

He let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair. "I saw what you did back there," he said softly. "That wasn't just magic." His voice lowered slightly, almost hesitant. "It was… more."

Selene's eyes lifted from her blade. Her gaze was sharp. "She almost lost control."

Liora's hands tightened around the edge of her cloak. She could feel the magic still coiling beneath her skin, restless. She closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing.

Alaric's voice was gentler this time. "You need to tell us what's happening."

Her hands shook slightly. She glanced down at her fingers and saw the faint glimmer of violet light still flickering along her skin.

She didn't answer.

But they both knew.

The Heart of Mourning was changing her.

It was already too late.