Blade Of Betrayal
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The heavy stone door creaked open again, the seer's voice just fading.
Cain stepped in with blood on his gauntlets and a sharp edge in his eyes. "It's time."
Asteria looked up. "What happened?"
Cain's jaw clenched. "The palace guards are no longer just watching. They're surrounding the lower halls—more aggressive. Someone's tipped them off. We can't stay."
Seri rose without hesitation, her eyes still lingering on the seer, who stood like an unmoving tree against the flickering torchlight.
Cain turned to her. "Come with us. You've seen what's coming."
The seer smiled faintly, sadness woven into her age-wrinkled face. "My place is here, among the ruins. I've waited too long to leave now. But you… your path still burns."
Asteria hesitated, but the sound of marching boots—dozens of them—echoed down the corridor like war drums.
He gave her a final look, then nodded. "Thank you… for showing me."
The seer simply bowed her head. "The storm has already chosen its sky."
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They slipped through the narrow hallway, Cain leading, Seri covering the rear.
But this time, it was different.
No more hiding. No more hesitation.
The first squad of guards appeared—armored and confident, their spears pointed, their orders sharp.
> "Stand down! You are trespassing sacred gro—"
Cain moved like thunder.
His foot slammed the stone, and a pulse of air cracked outward. The lead guard flew into the wall before he could finish his sentence. Asteria followed, his palm alight with golden flame that spiraled into a whip of molten light, disarming three guards at once. Seri darted between them, her blades humming—twisting, dancing, never still.
They didn't just fight.
They overwhelmed.
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More soldiers poured in—twice as many. Then three times.
Still not enough.
Cain's war form surfaced: each strike shattered shields, each motion left trails of blue lightning.
Asteria moved like the fire itself remembered him—his control now instinctive. Walls flared behind him with sigils, and every flame responded like an old friend.
And Seri—calm, beautiful death. Not a single blow touched her. Not even close.
The guards began to retreat.
Some dropped their weapons.
One whispered, "They're not normal… they're not human."
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The battle had left the room in utter ruin.
The walls bore scorch marks and craters from elemental clashes, their once-smooth marble cracked and crumbling. Smoke curled in thin tendrils from shattered sconces and torches, and debris littered the cold stone floor. Pillars had collapsed, statues of former monarchs lay decapitated or shattered into irreparable fragments, and the throne itself had toppled sideways, like a crown stripped from a dying king. The heavy scent of charred stone, blood, and sweat filled the air. The aftermath of betrayal clung to every corner like a cursed veil.
Mira was the first to fall.
A burst of flame had thrown her back across the room. She slammed into the edge of a fractured balcony, the stone giving way beneath her weight. Her scream was lost in the thunderous crash of rubble. When the dust settled, she was dangling. Dangling.
Her fingers clutched the jagged edge, knuckles white, legs kicking in the empty air below. Her eyes were wide—filled with fear but still burning with resistance. Wind whipped through the ruined chamber, pulling at her hair, her limbs.
Seri saw her. She reacted instantly.
Her boots pounded against the ground as she rushed across the broken battlefield. Her sword was still in her hand, cracked from blocking one of Valron's earlier strikes, but her focus was no longer on the enemy. Her only thought was Mira.
"Mira—hold on!" she cried out.
Her arm reached out, fingers just a breath away from Mira's wrist—
—but that breath never turned into touch.
A shadow flickered behind her. Valron.
He moved with merciless precision. Faster than thought, swifter than regret.
His blade pierced through Seri's side.
The steel slid in beneath her ribs, angled cruelly upward. Her breath hitched violently, her body going rigid. Blood sprayed the stone floor like the bloom of a crimson flower.
Mira screamed from the ledge, eyes full of horror as she watched the betrayal unfold.
Seri turned slightly, her hand still reaching out, eyes filled with disbelief and pain. Her knees buckled. Valron's gaze remained hard, cold—without sorrow or fury, just an unreadable void.
He wrenched the blade out with a swift pull, and with the same hand, shoved her backward.
She stumbled, boots scraping against the blood-slick floor, and fell with a heavy thud. Her back hit the stone, limbs splayed, blood soaking rapidly into her armor and pooling beneath her. Her sword skittered out of reach, clinking once before falling silent.
Asteria watched.
He had frozen the moment he saw Valron move. His instincts screamed, but his body refused to act in time. As Seri collapsed, something in him cracked.
His heart thundered. His fingers curled into fists, nails biting into his palms. And his voice—
"SERI!"
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