The air shudders, thick with power. The shape beside me—a force of Vellidra's final will—rises in full form, silent and unstoppable. Its presence distorts the space around it, and for a fleeting moment, the rival hesitates.
His eyes narrow as he studies the apparition, his fingers twitching.
"Interesting," he says, the bone-threaded cloak swirling around him like ink in water. "You think this will stop me?"
His words are sharp, biting, but the certainty in his voice falters. The figure beside me steps forward, a reflection of Vellidra's will and power, something beyond the rival's reach.
I push forward, the ground beneath my feet trembling as the memory of Vellidra burns hotter in my mind. The rival's presence doesn't just distort reality—it rips at it, carving holes where nothing should exist. I focus, grounding myself in the stormlight coiling through my veins.
The rival lunges, his cloak rippling with shadow, but the figure beside me moves in perfect unison, blocking his strike with an effortless, haunting grace. They clash, and I feel the shockwave ripple through the plaza, shaking loose stones and dust.
But the rival doesn't stop. His laughter echoes in the stillness, sharp and unsettling. "You cannot match my power. Not with this city's ghosts."
I push harder, feeling the pulse of the ring surge in response. The ground trembles as the Vault beneath us groans—its seals now broken, the chains of memory loosened.
Lira steps forward, blade in hand. "We don't need to match you. We just need to survive long enough."
The rival's gaze flicks to her, and he raises a hand, his fingers snapping. The space around us warps, warps too much, and suddenly, the plaza is no longer what it was.
It's the city's heart, dark and bleeding.
I see the threads now—lines woven in the air, stretching across the skyline, reaching down into the foundations of every building. The city is alive with them. They're fragile, delicate, like veins that pulse with history.
And the rival? He's pulling them.
Twisting them.
Pulling them to unravel.
My breath hitches. "No."
I slam the ring to the ground again. The figure beside me answers, its arms rising in synchronized motion.
The stormlight intensifies, flooding the plaza. The rival stumbles, his steps faltering as the city itself pushes back. The threads scream, snapping against the rival's control.
"Stop!" he roars, but the voice is weaker now. The shadow-bound figure moves closer to him, pulling tighter, dragging him back toward the ground, where the Vault's memory reaches up to meet him.
But he's not alone.
The shadow steps forward, a silent sentinel, eyes hollow. Branvel steps to intercept, a wave of flame bursting from his hands, cutting through the darkness. The shadow recoils, but it doesn't burn.
"We need to close this," I say. My voice is low, tight, like the very air around me is closing in.
"Seal him," Kett urges. "Before he can rebuild it all."
The four seal-holders, still standing firm, begin to chant. Symbols form in the air, dancing on the breeze as they lock into place. Nera hums louder, her voice vibrating with force as she weaves the threads of power. Fenn's light flickers, but it burns with precision. Jeral's blade carves through the space, cutting the air with purpose.
But the rival resists.
He's stronger than we thought.
The ground cracks. The plaza shakes harder.
I can feel the ring in my hand, its pulse steady now, synced with the figure beside me. It knows what must be done.
I reach forward.
And the city answers.
Stormlight erupts from the Vault below, flooding the plaza like a tidal wave of memory, of power, of silence.
The rival's scream is lost in the storm.
His power falters, crumbling like sand slipping through a cracked glass.
And then, for a moment, there's nothing.
Silence.
I exhale. My heart pounds in my chest. The figure beside me dissipates like smoke in the wind, its task done.
The city holds its breath.
The rival is gone.
But I know it's only a momentary reprieve.
And when the storm settles, I look to my companions. The four seal-holders stand tall, breathing hard, but their resolve unwavering. Kett grips her hands together, a determined glint in her eyes.
"We've won the first battle," she says.
But we all know. There will be more.
And this war, the one that's been silent for so long, has only just begun.