The throne room's air grew heavy with the scent of ozone and ichor as Valorius, the crowned specter, unleashed waves of shadowy warriors, their forms twisting like smoke. Elian Valorian parried a spectral blade with his Epic Aetherial Blade, its golden light flaring with each strike. The marble floor cracked under the onslaught, and the throne room's shattered windows rattled as Valoria's defenders—soldiers, orc berserkers, dwarven axemen, and Fey mages—fought desperately. Liora's spellweavers, their chants rising in a fevered crescendo, clutched the Mythic Aetherial Core, its radiance struggling against the specter's darkness. Sylvara's silver wings glowed as she wove barriers, but the shadows pressed closer, their cold touch draining the defenders' strength.
"Liora, the anchor!" Elian shouted, dodging a spectral claw. His Expert Realm senses burned, every movement precise as he carved through the enemy. Liora's emerald eyes flicked to him, her face pale. "We need a relic of equal power to bind the Core's energy and banish Valorius. The royal crypts—there's a Crown of Dawn there."
Elian nodded, his mind racing. The crypts were beneath the palace, a maze of ancient stone and forgotten relics. He summoned the Faith System. [Current Belief Points (BP): 500]
The battle's defiance had sparked faith. [BP increased to 2,500 due to rising morale.]
"Show me options for 2,500 BP," he thought.
[Gold: 250,000 gold coins] [Aether Crystals: 250 crystals] [Rare Aether Compass: 2,000 BP]
"Convert 2,000 BP to Rare Aether Compass," Elian decided. A glowing compass materialized, its needle pulsing with Aether. Veyra, fending off a specter nearby, glanced over, his daggers pausing. "Another relic, sire? Your vaults never cease to amaze," he said, his tone sharp with curiosity.
"Valoria's past guides us," Elian deflected, gripping the compass. Its needle pointed to the crypts. "Veyra, with me. Liora, hold the line. Sylvara, protect her."
Krag's orcs and Gromm's dwarves formed a perimeter, their axes and cannons roaring as they held back the shadows. Elian and Veyra sprinted through the palace's lower halls, the compass guiding them to a sealed stone door etched with runes. Veyra's lockpicks worked swiftly, and the door groaned open, revealing a dark stairwell. The air grew cold, heavy with the weight of history.
Inside the crypts, ancient statues of Valoria's kings loomed, their stone eyes watching. The compass led to a pedestal where the Crown of Dawn rested, its golden spikes shimmering with Aether. But as Elian reached for it, a spectral guardian—a knight in tattered armor—rose, its blade drawn. "None may claim the crown," it intoned.
Elian's Aetherial Crescent clashed with the guardian's blade, sparks flying. Veyra's daggers struck from the shadows, but the guardian was relentless. Elian's new blade hummed, its power surging, and a final slash banished the specter to dust. He seized the crown, its warmth pulsing in his hands.
As they raced back, a tremor shook the palace. General Korran met them, his face grim. "Sire, Ironhold's legions are two days out, and the specter's growing stronger." His eyes lingered on the crown. "Another relic? Speak plain, king."
Elian ignored the jab, rushing to Liora. The Crown of Dawn flared as she linked it to the Core, but Valorius's laugh echoed. "You delay the inevitable, boy." The shadows surged, and Ironhold's horns sounded in the distance.