Final Volume — Chapter 3: First Strike
The air crackled with tension as Lyriana, Aryn, and Eryon advanced toward the northern ridge. The twisted shadows writhed across the sky, stretching tendrils of darkness toward the valley below. They weren't simply clouds—they were alive, pulsating with ancient, malevolent intent.
"Whatever this is," Eryon said, his shadowy aura flaring, "it's been waiting centuries for the relics to reunite. And now it's found its conduit."
Lyriana's hand rested on the Moonstone, feeling the heartbeat of all four relics in unison. Power surged through her veins, a blazing warmth that steadied her fear. "Then we'll be ready. We've faced impossible odds before. This won't be different."
Aryn scanned the ridge ahead, eyes narrowing. "Not different, perhaps—but stronger. That darkness… it moves like it has intent."
The first tendril struck. Solid, black as night, it lashed toward the ground, crushing trees and splintering stone. Villagers below screamed as a shockwave rolled through the valley. Lyriana raised her hands, the relics' combined power igniting in blinding brilliance. The Moonstone, Emerald, Violet, and Obsidian flames intertwined, forming a shield that absorbed the strike.
Eryon stepped forward, shadows spiraling around him into jagged blades. "We need to push back. If we let it settle, it will consume everything."
Lyriana nodded, eyes blazing. She extended her hands, releasing a torrent of fused energy that surged into the ridge. The darkness shrieked—a sound like grinding metal and frozen wind—writhing under the force of the relics.
But it was not defeated. It recoiled, then split into multiple tendrils, striking from different angles, faster than the eye could follow.
Aryn blocked one with his blade, but another lashed toward Eryon. Shadows clashed, creating sparks that scorched the earth. Lyriana realized with a chill that raw power alone might not be enough. The darkness seemed to anticipate their every move.
She gritted her teeth. "It's intelligent. Adaptive. It's… learning."
Eryon's voice dropped, grave. "Then we must teach it something it has never known—human will, love, and defiance. That is our weapon."
Lyriana inhaled deeply, the relics responding to her resolve. The battle had begun—not just for survival, but for the fate of Arvandor itself.
The first strike had been met.
And now the counterattack would come.