The chamber quaked with ancient fury. Beneath their feet, the bone-laid floor fractured with a groaning crack, a gaping chasm splitting the Citadel's sacred mosaic. From its depths surged a pulsing red light, washing over the green runes etched into the walls and drowning them in a crimson tide. The air turned hot, metallic with blood and old magic.
Magnus's claws sank into Lysara's throat, his grip unrelenting as her vine-laced bone armor splintered beneath the force. Her moonlit eyes never flinched, defiant even as blood welled at the corners of her lips. Her staff lay shattered beside her, yet her will remained unbroken.
Nearby, Gavrek collapsed to one knee, his Suldari form shrinking under the weight of pain. His amber gaze, dulled but aware, locked on the chasm as though it called to him. The Citadel's ancient power still pulsed within him, fraying but not yet severed.
Across the ruin, Kiera stood over Veyne's fallen body, her twin daggers drawn and gleaming. Her face was set in grim determination as the tracker's chest rose with shallow but steady breaths. Faint runes pulsed along Veyne's skin—weak, but present. Life still lingered.
Jakob emerged from the shadows, cradling Magnus's sword in both hands. The wolf-blood runes etched along its blade blazed brighter in the red light, singing in resonance with the chasm's pulse. He tossed the weapon to Magnus, his hands trembling, his resolve steel-hard.
"The shard's below," Magnus said, his voice raw, thick with the curse burning beneath his skin. The scar on his chest throbbed in perfect rhythm with the chasm, each beat a call, a command. The beast inside him snarled for release—for the Key. For the power buried in the heart of the Citadel.
Lysara coughed, her laugh brittle and cold. "You'll never take it," she rasped, her voice like cracking ice. "The Citadel's heart calls for blood—your blood, Varik. You can't claim the shard without surrendering yourself."
Magnus raised his sword, the runes on its blade glowing white-hot where they neared her armor. "Then I'll carve it from the stone."
He moved to strike—but a sound pierced the chamber. A hiss—not from Lysara, nor Gavrek—but something older, something dead and beautiful. The sound slithered like silk soaked in venom.
From the chasm's edge, a figure stepped into the red light.
Isabella.
Her cloak of black shimmered as though woven from moonlight and ash. Her silver eyes gleamed like polished blades, the pendant at her throat pulsing in time with the Citadel's core. Behind her, shadows shifted—her vampires, pale and hollow-eyed, emerged like specters. Their psychic laughter scraped against every mind in the room, splitting thought from reason.
The ravens above shrieked and scattered. The air thickened until it suffocated. The curse in Magnus's blood surged like a tide gone mad.
"Magnus," Isabella purred, her voice a blade wrapped in velvet. "So close. But the Key belongs to me."
Kiera stepped forward, her daggers raised, her fury a flame. "You burned our village. You don't get to walk out of here."
Isabella smiled—cold and cruel. "The fire was necessary. Truth only awakens through sacrifice. The Citadel chose us both, Varik. Man and monster, kin by blood and shadow."
Magnus's growl shook the very stone. "You're no kin of mine. You're a disease."
Gavrek stirred, agony in his voice. "She… lies. The Key is bound to her—but not her alone…"
Lysara laughed, a gurgle of blood and prophecy. "The Suldari pact links you all—pendant, curse, void. Kill me… and she takes everything."
The words struck Magnus like a hammer to the spine. His vision blurred. The chasm's pulse became his heartbeat. The curse spread like wildfire. Isabella lifted her pendant. It shone brighter, feeding on the chasm's light. Her vampires lunged.
Kiera met them with steel and wrath, blades dancing in arcs of blood. Jakob shielded Veyne with his body, spear flashing through undead ribs. Black ichor sprayed across the stones.
Magnus roared and charged Isabella, sword raised. But she vanished into smoke and shadow, her laugh trailing behind like poison perfume.
Then the chasm exploded.
Red light consumed the room as the chamber's heart opened. And from the abyss rose a beast—the Key's guardian. A wolf forged from bone and flame, its eyes bottomless voids, its voice the echo of the First Howl.
Lysara crumbled, her body unraveling into ash and vine. Her moon-eyes faded, her last whisper carried on the air like a dying breeze: "The heart claims its due…"
Magnus screamed—not from pain, but from transformation.
The curse broke free.
Fur erupted from flesh. Bone twisted. The man was gone. What stood in his place was a werewolf god, all rage and bloodlust and destiny fulfilled. The wolf's roar ripped the chamber open, and he launched himself at the bone-flame beast.
All around them, fire met fang. Blood met power. The shard beneath the chasm pulsed, beckoning.
Promising salvation.
Or damnation.