Chapter 70: Real Forms and Hidden Truths
The guardians of the chosen ones stood in radiant silence, their forms casting otherworldly light across the battlefield. With a reverent gaze, they each lifted one unconscious girl into their arms. Then, with the softest hum of energy, they vanished into the wind, bound for the crevice—the sacred space where the chosen ones would find safety once more.
Far away, the Shrouded One dropped down from a high tree branch, cloak fluttering around him. His eyes narrowed, mind churning with questions that refused to quiet. He had come early, drawn by the disturbance the Master's appearance had caused in the air. He'd arrived just in time to witness what should have been the end of Elara and Ariella—only for the impossible to unfold before his eyes.
He had thought of intervening. Truly, he had. But when he saw Percy, the ever-composed healer, tossed to the ground like a rag doll, the notion died instantly. There was no defeating what had come. No facing it. Even the Master had fled.
But what haunted him more was the girls. Once, they had turned into birds and chased him off. Now, they summoned gods. Gods who bested the Master in a single blow. What were they?
Back in the crevice, the Guardian of the Crevice felt the moment it happened. The appearance of the guardians of the chosen ones sent a shiver through the stone walls. He prepared for their arrival, sweeping the chamber clean and lighting the carved torches along the moss-covered stone walls.
As he bowed deeply, the glowing forms materialized, carrying the girls.
"You've done well," he said quietly.
One of the godlike beings gave a relaxed nod. "We will leave them in your care."
Kai—revealed as the name of one of the celestial guardians—grinned. "It's been ages since I walked this world in my real form. Refreshing. Brother, are you sure you don't want to stay around for a while?"
His brother merely tapped his head playfully and clutched his hands tightly.
With that, the two guardians shimmered once more and disappeared into the ether. Kai and his partner were gone. The girls now rested in the quiet protection of the crevice.
Meanwhile, in the village, silence had blanketed the homes like snow after a storm. The bloodstained square bore testimony to what had transpired. No one spoke above a whisper. No one dared move near the darkened spot where the Master had fallen.
Mrs. Johnson stared from her window, hand trembling on the sill. "It was real," she whispered. "Those young men... they were divine."
Beside her, Mrs. Bristow clasped her hand. "Do you think... our girls are alive?"
"They're safe," Mrs. Johnson replied, voice soft but certain. "I can feel it."
And then, almost as if on cue, a breeze swept through the village—and two figures appeared on the path, walking steadily forward.
"Elara!"
"Ariella!"
Screams of joy erupted. Mothers ran down from their porches, tears already streaming. Mrs. Johnson threw her arms around Ariella, sobbing into her shoulder. Mrs. Bristow nearly collapsed as she hugged Elara, her hands trembling as she touched her daughter's face.
"You're alright," she whispered over and over again.
Behind them, villagers emerged from their homes, hesitant but hopeful. When they saw the girls, alive and whole, relief spread like wildfire. Cheers and praises rang out, the village square once again filled with life—this time from joy, not terror.
Elara glanced around, overwhelmed. "We didn't think we'd make it back," she murmured.
"You brought gods to fight for us," one of the elders said reverently. "You're no longer just girls—you're protectors of this village."
Ariella exchanged a look with Elara. The weight of those words settled on their shoulders—but this time, they didn't feel crushed by it. They felt ready.
But elsewhere, far from joy and reunion, pain and fury stirred.
Deep in a hidden mountain hideout, the Master dragged his broken body into a dimly lit chamber. Percy lay motionless behind him, unconscious from the earlier blow. The Master's hands trembled as he tapped a series of grooves in the wall. With a low creak, the stone shifted, revealing a hidden door. Behind it, the cursed mirror awaited.
The Master stepped into the chamber, breathing heavily. "Show yourself," he rasped.
The mirror darkened—then pulsed. A shadow emerged from the glass, curling into the shape of a tall, imposing figure with glowing crimson eyes.
"Well, well," the shadow sneered. "Did the mighty Master forget who he was dealing with?"
"I underestimated them," the Master admitted, lowering his head. "I didn't know they'd summon gods."
"Gods?" the shadow echoed with a hiss. "Those were the guardians of the chosen ones, you fool. You never face them head-on. Even I—I—wouldn't confront them unless necessary."
"I had no choice! The situation was unraveling—"
"You panicked," the shadow interrupted coldly. "You failed. And now you stand before me, broken and pathetic, begging for scraps of power to fix your mistakes."
The Master growled low in his throat but held his tongue. "Heal me," he finally said. "I will fix it."
"You will fix it," the shadow snapped. "Or I'll deal with the boy myself. And you? You'll wish you'd died today."
Dark tendrils surged from the mirror, latching onto the Master's body. Agony pierced through every vein, every nerve—until the pain turned to warmth. Until the power returned. He gasped, falling to one knee.
"Rest," the shadow whispered. "And do not return to me until the job is done."
With strength barely restored, the Master stumbled back to Percy and placed a glowing hand on his chest. Percy stirred slightly, eyes fluttering open.
"We live," the Master whispered more like to himself. "But not for long if we fail again."
They both retired to their rooms—two broken pieces of a war that had only just begun.
Elsewhere, the Shrouded One moved quickly through the forest, cloak trailing behind him. He made his way to the Master's former stronghold, hidden beneath a collapsed mansion on the edge of the darkened woods. The entrance was familiar—a small slab of stone marked with a crest only the chosen few could see.
But something was wrong.
The door was ajar. The air was still. Inside, dust hung in the silence like a funeral shroud.
He stepped through cautiously, boots echoing on the stone. The underground chambers were empty. The energy that once pulsed through the walls—gone. The soft flicker of enchanted fire—dead. Even the scents of herbs and poison that Percy often used were no longer in the air.
He moved faster now, checking every hall, every corridor.
"Gone," he muttered. "Completely gone."
He reached the chamber where the Master always spent his days on his throne, still there was nothing. The glasses on the walls were covered, the room cold.
Fury surged through him.
He had been left behind.
Again.
Snarling, the Shrouded One slammed his fist into the wall. "You think you can hide from me? From me?"
But the Master had vanished, retreating into a new den far from prying eyes.
And as dusk settled over the lands, all three forces—the chosen, the cursed, and the concealed—lay in wait.