Chapter 76: Embers of Resistance
The flames had died, but the air still tasted of ash and sorrow.
In the heart of the forest, Elara and Ariella sat in silence, the moonlight weaving silver strands through their hair. Each girl bore the weight of the night's battle, and though they had forced the Master to retreat, something darker lingered in the air.
Then, as if carried by the wind, a presence settled over them.
Light shimmered faintly above the mossy ground. It was not the Queens in body—but in essence. A vision, clear as moonlight and powerful as thunder, filled the clearing.
The Blue Queen's voice echoed first, soft but firm. "The Master was never the end. Only a vessel. The true evil—the shadow behind him—is far older than you can imagine."
Elara leaned forward. "What is it?"
The White Queen's form flickered with pale brilliance. "A remnant of the first war. Before kingdoms rose. Before names mattered. It was sealed away in the forgotten age, buried beneath layers of magic and time. Until the Master made a pact."
"So he unleashed it," Ariella muttered, rage simmering. "And now it wants more."
The Blue Queen's gaze darkened. "It seeks to take form… to walk freely without a host. What you saw—it was becoming."
Elara exchanged a glance with Ariella. "Then we have to stop it before it succeeds."
"You will not stand alone," the White Queen said. "There is a place lost to mortals—the Hall of Forgotten Bonds. Within it lies the last remnants of the guardians who once fought the shadow. Their knowledge, their relics. Their secrets."
"Where is it?" Ariella asked.
"In the North," said the Blue Queen. "Beyond the Weeping Canyons. The path is treacherous, but it is the only way. You must go. At once."
The vision flickered, beginning to fade.
"Beware the Weeping Canyons," the Queens' voices echoed in unison. "The dead remember. And they do not forgive."
Elara exhaled slowly, her breath a pale mist. "We leave at dawn."
---
Far away, in the ruins of the Master's stronghold, the wind howled through blackened beams and crumbling stone. The Master crouched in the dark, sweat slicking his brow. His hands trembled—not from pain, but from the voices gnawing through his thoughts.
You failed. You failed. You failed.
He clutched his head, staggering as memories twisted into visions. He saw Little 7's final scream, Little 9's body crumpled in the dirt, the way Percy had turned away from him.
"No… no… I did what I had to!" he rasped.
But the shadows only laughed.
"You killed them," one whisper hissed. "You will be alone… always."
Another voice followed—softer, familiar.
"You made me. Then broke me."
The Master froze. Before him stood a vision of Little 9, pale and bloodied, eyes full of quiet betrayal.
"No…" the Master choked. "You're dead."
But the image tilted its head. "So were you."
The Master screamed and flung out a hand—but there was nothing. Just dust. Just dark.
---
Miles away, Percy stood at the edge of a scorched field, staring at the place where the Master had vanished. The truth had struck him harder than any blow ever could.
They were right.
The girls' voices echoed in his mind. Their warnings, their pity, their defiance. And now? Only ruin remained.
He turned his face to the wind. Somewhere out there, Elara and Ariella were still fighting. Still trying.
"I need to find them," he whispered. "Before he does."
---
At first light, Elara and Ariella moved beneath twisted boughs, each step guided by instinct and fear. The Queens were gone now, their light only a memory. But their message lingered.
Elara tightened her grip on the hilt of her blade. "Are you ready?"
Ariella's gaze was sharp. "For him. For the shadow. For whatever comes next."
Then they pushed forward—northward, into the unknown.
---
Back in the ruins, beneath layers of broken stone and charred debris, something stirred.
A soft pulse.
Faint—like the flicker of a dying ember. The shabby-looking pot, still darkened from fire and magic, shimmered with a subtle glow.
A crack crept slowly along its side.
Magic hissed into the air—warm, ancient, and laced with something unnatural.
A whisper escaped the vessel, barely audible.
"Elara…"
It wasn't over.
Not yet.