Chapter 228: Beneath the Abbey

The moon hung like a silver sentinel in the sky, casting ghostly light across the moss-covered stones of Solence Abbey. Time had forgotten this place. Its once-proud spires lay crumbled, and vines had claimed the sacred halls. But beneath the ruined beauty, something sinister pulsed like a heartbeat.

Lysara crouched behind a weathered statue of a fallen saint, her hand on the hilt of her blade. Corven knelt beside her, drawing a crude map in the dirt.

"The vault is beneath the main altar," he whispered. "Hidden under a false crypt. The mechanism is triggered by pressure—three tiles in sequence: right, left, middle. One wrong step and the entire floor collapses into a spiked pit."

"How poetic," Lysara muttered. "And after the trap?"

"A spiral descent. Dozens of meters below ground. That's where the Ember stores their toxin."

She nodded. "And the guards?"

Corven's expression darkened. "Not human. At least, not anymore."

Before she could ask what he meant, a faint clink of steel echoed through the courtyard. They vanished into the shadows as two figures in crimson cloaks passed by, their faces hidden by metal masks. Ember sentinels.

Lysara's hand tensed.

"Not yet," Corven warned. "We go when they enter the sanctum."

She watched them disappear into the abbey's heart. Then she exhaled slowly. "Let's move."

Meanwhile, back in the fortress, Kael strode into the council archive chamber, a torch in one hand and a sealed document in the other. He'd spent hours dissecting encoded letters, following trails that pointed to a disturbing pattern: a Councilor was siphoning funds into a foreign account—masking it as trade subsidies.

The culprit? Lord Meren.

Kael tossed the document on the scribe's desk.

"Have this authenticated," he ordered. "Then send a copy to the High Chancellor. I want Meren under observation."

The scribe blinked. "But, my Lord… he's attending tonight's masquerade. Publicly accusing him could—"

"I'm not accusing him. Not yet. But if the Ember strikes tonight, I want to know who hands them the blade."

In the ballroom, chandeliers of crystal danced with the light of a thousand candles. Nobles in masks laughed, sipped wine, and spun in elegant circles across the polished floor. The masquerade was meant to celebrate the renewal of the Council's charter—but to Kael, it felt like a funeral march in disguise.

He entered in full regalia, black and silver cloak billowing behind him. His mask, shaped like a hawk, concealed none of his intensity.

Lord Andrin approached with a wineglass. "Evening, Commander. You look like a hawk among peacocks."

"I prefer owls. They see in the dark."

Andrin chuckled nervously.

Kael scanned the room. Councilors, ambassadors, foreign merchants... and among them, one man stood too still, his eyes hidden behind a mask of flame.

The Ember.

He moved toward the figure—but as he approached, a servant "accidentally" spilled wine across his path, blocking him for just a heartbeat. When Kael looked again, the masked man had vanished.

He turned sharply. "Riven," he barked.

From the shadows, the agent appeared.

"Follow the man in the flame mask," Kael said. "He's not one of ours."

Riven melted into the crowd like a ghost.

Beneath the Abbey, the descent had begun.

Lysara and Corven moved silently through the ancient crypt, lit only by the flicker of their lanterns. The air grew colder with each step. The walls pulsed faintly, as if the Abbey itself breathed in dread.

Then came the scent—sour, metallic, like blood and decay.

"We're close," Corven murmured.

Ahead, a stone door stood slightly ajar. Strange red symbols glowed faintly on its surface. Lysara traced them with a gloved finger. "These weren't made by human hands."

"Alchemy," Corven replied. "Mixed with old magic. The Ember has learned how to twist the arcane into obedience."

They pushed the door open.

Inside was a massive chamber—a vault of black stone, humming with containment glyphs. Glass cylinders lined the walls, each filled with swirling red liquid. Suspended within them were creatures—humanoid shapes with pale skin, blackened veins, and hollow eyes.

Lysara stepped back. "Gods…"

"They're not dead," Corven whispered. "They're sleeping. Infected. The toxin doesn't kill—it rewrites."

"Mind control?"

"Worse. It rewires the soul. Removes empathy. Turns them into weapons without hesitation."

A noise behind them.

They turned—and a figure stepped from the shadows.

Dressed in white, face hidden beneath a golden veil, the figure raised a hand. "Welcome, Lysara. Corven. We've been expecting you."

Corven drew his daggers. "Who are you?"

The figure removed the veil.

Lysara gasped. "Councilor Thelen?!"

He smiled. "Oh yes. And I must thank you both. You've done what I couldn't—reach the vault undetected. Pity it must end here."

He clapped twice.

From the corners of the room, the sleeping creatures stirred.

Then they opened their eyes.

In the ballroom, chaos erupted.

An explosion rocked the far wall as masked assailants stormed in—Ember agents, blades drawn. Screams pierced the air. Nobles scattered. Kael flipped a table and shielded a group of civilians, barking orders.

"Protect the Council! Lock the doors!"

Riven appeared beside him, blood on his blade. "They were waiting. It's coordinated."

Kael growled. "This was never about the ball—it was a distraction."

He grabbed a fallen crossbow and fired, dropping an enemy mid-charge.

"We need to get to the Tower," he said. "Now."

Back in the vault, Lysara moved like lightning.

Steel clashed as she parried a lunging creature. Its speed was unnatural, its movements jerky and precise. She rolled beneath its slash and stabbed upward—piercing its throat.

No blood.

The thing snarled and kept coming.

Corven flung a vial of fire-dust, engulfing two more in flame.

Thelen stood calmly amid the chaos.

"You don't understand," he said. "The Council is rotten. The world needs the Ember. Order through will. Peace through control."

"You mean tyranny!" Lysara shouted, driving a dagger into another infected soldier.

"We call it clarity," Thelen replied.

Corven lunged for him.

But Thelen raised a hand—and a burst of force slammed Corven into the wall.

Lysara screamed, "Corven!"

He slid down, unconscious.

She turned, eyes blazing.

"Then let's burn your clarity."

She pulled two fire charges from her belt and hurled them into the central pillar. The containment glyphs shattered in a blast of heat.

Liquid fire spread across the chamber.

Thelen screamed. "NO!"

The vault began to collapse.

Lysara grabbed Corven and ran.

Stone cracked and fell around her as the whole chamber caved in. She barely reached the crypt steps before the entire vault exploded behind her in a thunderous roar.

Atop the council tower, Kael faced off against a masked swordsman. Each clash of steel echoed like thunder.

"You've failed," Kael growled. "Your toxin is gone."

The swordsman hesitated.

"How do you know that?"

Kael grinned grimly. "Because I trust the right people."

With a final strike, he disarmed the man and knocked him unconscious.

Lady Theris appeared, bloodied but alive. "Thelen is missing. Meren's fled."

"Then the Ember isn't finished," Kael said. "But they've lost their weapon. And we've won a war."

"For now."

Kael looked toward the horizon, where a pillar of smoke rose from the east—Solence Abbey.

"I hope Lysara made it out."