The Masked Gathering
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The masks were cold.
Forged from thin obsidian layered with etched spiritrunes, they fit flush against the skin, muffling expression and reflecting no light. Each bore a false sigil—borrowed from forgotten houses long extinct—to blend into the sea of cloaked figures gathering deep beneath the Glaedr ruins.
Riven adjusted his mask in silence, standing on the crumbling ridge overlooking the ritual hollow. His cloak, dyed in inverted silver, made him indistinguishable from the others now streaming in. Beside him, Kael's mask shimmered faintly, hiding his sharp grin and too-recognizable eyes. Elen crouched low in the shadows, scouting ahead. Liora lingered near the back, her presence masked by a rune of spiritual haze.
And Lyra...
She wore no mask.
Her role was different.
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The ruins of Glaedr's Mouth had once been a fortress-monastery. The wind whispered through collapsed stone archways and charred prayer towers. At the center, an amphitheater of bone-white marble descended in spirals—each level lined with black-robed figures chanting in soft synchrony.
The Eclipse had transformed it.
Not with destruction.
With devotion.
Spires of obsidian had been raised in deliberate symmetry. Glyphstones floated in the air, spinning slowly above ritual pools. Bound spirits hovered in glass pillars, writhing silently. And at the heart stood a single elevated platform, lit by flickering spiritflame.
That's where she would appear.
Seris.
---
They made their move.
Elen scouted a side route through the collapsed south tower, bypassing the central stair. From there, the group merged with a cluster of late-arriving cultists. Riven lowered his head, adopting the gait he'd observed earlier: slow, reverent, almost solemn.
The deeper they moved into the amphitheater, the thicker the magic became.
It wasn't just ambient mana.
It was controlled pressure—a dome of arcane silence meant to keep words in and gods out.
> "Be careful," Liora whispered. "There are spirits watching. Not bound ones. Willing ones."
Kael's jaw tightened beneath his mask. "Great. Fanatics."
---
At the center of it all, the gathering reached its peak.
Dozens of masked figures now lined the marble tiers, standing in precise formation. Riven counted over sixty—more than he'd ever seen in one place. All loyal. All quiet.
Then the platform flared.
And Seris appeared.
No mask.
She didn't need one.
Her robes were dark velvet threaded with red sigils. Her hair was pulled into a long braid wrapped in bone rings. Her eyes were black—too black—like pits that swallowed fire. And when she raised a single hand, the entire crowd went still.
> "My kin," she said, voice like silk soaked in ash. "The last veil falls."
A murmur passed through the crowd.
Riven stood frozen.
> "For generations, the false kings have sealed our birthright," Seris continued. "But the stars shift. The blood sings. The heir has awakened."
Riven's breath caught.
> She knows.
> "He walks with a shattered pendant and the blood of a king," Seris said. "And soon, he will come to us. Not as an enemy. Not as prey."
She smiled.
> "But as the key."
---
Kael shifted slightly. "We need to get out. Now."
"No," Riven said.
His voice was quiet.
Firm.
"We stay."
---
Seris raised both hands.
Below the platform, three chained figures were dragged out—mages, broken and trembling. Their Seals were cracked, their bodies marked with spirals of drawn blood. They weren't sacrifices.
They were vessels.
Lyra's eyes widened.
"They're going to merge them."
Seris nodded to her acolytes.
The ritual began.
---
Riven had seen many rituals.
Binding. Severing. Channeling.
But this was different.
The mages were arranged in a triangle. Glyphs activated in sync, forming a vortex of dark light. The bound spirits in the glass pillars above flickered wildly, then descended—ripped from containment, screaming soundlessly as they were forced into the bodies below.
The mages screamed.
And then—
They stopped.
Not because it ended.
But because they were no longer human.
---
The new thing that rose was faceless, cloaked in elemental storm, its presence so heavy the crowd knelt instinctively.
Except Riven.
And Seris noticed.
She turned.
And for a heartbeat, their eyes met.
> "Valenhart."
The name wasn't shouted.
It didn't need to be.
Riven flinched.
Kael drew his blade under the cloak.
Elen vanished.
Liora's protection runes flared.
Then—
Everything shattered.
---
An explosion tore through the outer glyph tower, where Elen had set charges earlier. The crowd panicked, some scattering, others summoning defensive barriers.
Kael threw a flame burst into the nearest guard.
Liora activated her spirit shield, covering Lyra as they retreated up the stairwell.
Riven charged forward—not away.
Straight toward Seris.
---
Their blades met midair.
Hers: a curved glaive of obsidian glass, humming with bloodline-seals.
His: a silver-edge saber wrapped in spiritchain.
Seris grinned. "You're faster than your father."
He swung again, harder.
She deflected. "But you hesitate. Just like him."
"I'm not him," Riven growled.
"No," she whispered. "You're worse."
Then she vanished in a burst of smoke and mirrorlight.
---
The team escaped into the storm-churned hills east of Glaedr's Mouth.
Riven didn't speak for a long time.
When he finally did, it was to Lyra, once they were alone.
"She called me by the name I can't remember."
"She remembers everything," Lyra said softly.
He looked at her.
"She wants me to remember too. But not for me."
"No," Lyra whispered. "She wants your memory so she can unlock something no one else can."
Riven's hand tightened on his pendant.
> The final Seal.
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