The smoke from the battle still clung to the halls of the ancient chamber, curling between the stone pillars like wounded serpents. Kael knelt in front of the weapon—if one could even call it that. It pulsed with a soft, ghostly glow, runes etched into its surface trembling faintly as if trying to awaken. The construct was no mere sword or staff—it resembled a crystallized heart, veined with glyphs too old for even Kael to decipher in full.
"It's dormant," Kael whispered, sweat dripping from his brow. "But unstable."
Alaric, still recovering from the near-fatal confrontation with the controlled warriors, stood behind him, arms crossed, his breathing measured but labored.
"Can you seal it?" Alaric asked.
Kael nodded, but not with certainty. "If I disrupt even one glyph improperly, it could activate again… or explode. This thing draws from the energy of the Ancients. It's like sealing thunder inside glass."
Kael reached into his satchel for the notes—only to find nothing. His expression froze. "No... no, no, no—"
"What's wrong?" Alaric's tone sharpened.
"The notebook. My notebook. It's... gone."
There was silence, the kind that feels like the air itself holds its breath.
Flashback: The Theft
Days earlier, during the chaos of the battle against Damba, while Kimpa and Alaric had been focused on protecting the weapon and rescuing the villagers, Gobinot, presumed dead, had slipped into the shadows.
Clad in a cloak of ethereal darkness, Gobinot moved like a ghost, eyes gleaming unnaturally. He found Kael's discarded pack near the battlefield—a moment of distraction, a drop of blood, a half-second too long—and there it was: the calepin, the notebook filled with every detail of the journey, the runes of the ruins, legends whispered by the Gardiens d'Âme, and the symbol Kael had uncovered that linked directly to the forbidden rites.
Gobinot grinned, clutching the book to his chest like a sacred relic.
Back in the Present
Kael looked pale. "Alaric, if he has it… If Gobinot has my notebook—he knows everything. Every rune we translated, every mistake we avoided… The weakness of the weapon. Damba's vulnerabilities. Even… the original ritual used by the Ancients to trap the spirits of Mbanza's protectors."
Alaric's eyes darkened. "We need to find him."
Kael stood, trembling, hands clenched. "There's something worse. The last pages… the ones I never even shared with you or Kimpa… contained references to a corrupted rite. An incomplete ritual that I thought was theoretical. Gobinot must be using it."
Elsewhere, in the Shadows
In the forgotten corridors beneath Mbanza, Gobinot, now a hollow shell of his former self, stood beneath a pillar of living obsidian. His body pulsed with dark veins of power, his voice almost a chant.
In his hand, the calepin glowed—its ink darkening as he read each word, each symbol feeding the pulse of magic that surrounded him.
"Ancient blood… fractured line… balance lost," he murmured.
Behind him, a semi-formed portal flickered—distorted silhouettes clawed at its edge.
The ritual was not complete.