Spell

The trees were moving again. Not because of the wind, but something else. The leaves shook for no reason, and the air grew heavy with every breath they took.

Rye gripped the hilt of her sword. It still felt cold to her, distant, like it wasn't really hers. Ever since the strange man appeared on the cliff with that glowing blue stone, everything had felt off. Unnatural.

Elian led the way, moving fast, clutching the emerald in his hand. It still pulsed gently, a blue glow seeping through his fingers.

"I think it's reacting," he said.

"Reacting to what?" Jor asked from behind, keeping his bow drawn.

"I don't know," Elian muttered. "Something close. Or… maybe far. It's hard to tell."

He stumbled, one hand reaching for a tree to balance himself. The emerald pulsed harder now.

"Wait," Rye said, stepping toward him. "You okay?"

"It's like… something is waking up inside this stone," Elian said, squinting against a pain in his head. "And it's looking for the rest of itself."

Before anyone could answer, a heavy cracking sound echoed through the woods. Not a normal branch. It had weight, like something ancient snapping open.

They all turned.

Maeron was the first to raise his blade. "We're not alone," he said flatly.

From the shadows, the light bent like heat waves rising off stone. Something shimmered — not a beast, not a soldier, but a figure.

It stepped into view. Tall, thin, its coat black with silver threads woven into the sleeves. A mask covered its face, smooth and white. Around it, red threads floated like smoke trails that wouldn't settle.

Elian's voice dropped. "A Seeker."

Eris swore quietly. "That's Concord?"

"No," Elian replied. "Worse."

The figure took a step. The ground under it didn't crunch, it whispered. Magic leaked from its steps like fog rolling across stone.

"We need to move," Rye said. She didn't wait. She grabbed Elian and darted into the brush.

Maeron covered the rear. "Move! Fast!"

Branches scratched their faces. Roots caught their boots. But they ran.

Behind them, the Seeker vanished.

"Where'd it go?" Jor yelled.

Too late. The Seeker blinked back into view, right ahead of them.

They skidded to a stop.

"No—" Eris began, but the Seeker raised its hand.

The red threads in the air coiled into a net.

"Now!" Maeron shouted.

Rye swung the sword. For a moment, it flared red again, lighting up like before. The glow sparked, but faltered, then died.

"No, no," she muttered. "Don't stop now."

The blade dulled again.

Elian stepped forward, emerald raised. "Back off!"

The stone burst with light. Not force, but enough to scatter the net. The Seeker staggered slightly, just for a second, then disappeared.

They didn't waste the moment.

Eris grabbed Rye's arm. "Go!"

Down a slope. Fast. Sliding. Until they stumbled into a hidden cave covered by moss and stone. Not deep, but enough.

They ducked inside.

Breathing hard. Shaking hands.

Rye leaned against a cold wall, eyes on the sword.

Elian sat nearby, still holding the emerald like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

"What was that?" Jor asked.

"A Seeker," Elian said. "Not just Concord. They're trackers. Built to follow magic, especially strong magic."

"It found us through the emerald?" Maeron asked.

"Maybe," Elian said. "Or maybe the sword too."

Rye looked at her blade. "It glowed again."

"But only for a second," Eris said. "It's still rejecting you."

Rye nodded, her voice quiet. "It doesn't see me as worthy. Not yet."

Elian looked up. "Then we better find out what it's waiting for. Fast."

Outside the cave, the forest returned to silence. But above them, in a place not bound to Kaelthar or Aeloria, in the hidden folds of the Veil, somewhere deep beyond the reach of time and stars, past stone, past void.

Pod Ten let out a soft hiss.

Inside was Varyn, his body untouched by time. Magic pulsed faintly around the pod, red and blue veins like old memories reawakening.

A rune carved on the side flickered.

——

The Seeker stood in a chamber of mirrors.

Reflections of nothing flickered across the glass-like walls. Time didn't flow here. It waited.

The Seeker's mask peeled open at the mouth, not with a hinge, but like paper unfolding in water. Blue vapor escaped. A circle of robed figures stood around it, shrouded in shifting cloaks of smoke and layered silk. Their faces were hidden behind smooth silver masks, shaped with runes too old to name.

The Seeker bowed its head. Then spoke.

A whisper. Not made of sound.

The language of Nytherion was not meant for human ears. But the meaning was clear in pulse and rhythm.

"The vessel evades.

The shard interferes.

Each time I strike, the blue light consumes my reach.

The spell responds to him, not me.

I am dimmed in its presence."

One of the elders stepped forward. She moved like fog. Her voice slid into the chamber low, elegant, sharp at the edges.

"The emerald resists suppression.

That is expected.

Its origin was not clean."

Another elder raised his hand slowly. His mask was different, three-eyed, with a fracture down its side. When he spoke, his words dragged across the space like grinding stone.

"We knew the shard would call to the core.

And now… it does.

Pod Ten is shifting."

A quiet moment passed. Then the oldest among them, voice thin as ash, made the final decree:

"Enough trials.

Enough delay.

Send the one they cannot turn away.

A copy of the blood-bound."

The Seeker's head tilted, slow and curious.

"You mean… him?"

"Yes," said the elder. "Send him."