The barrier shattered.
A deafening crack split through the air as Erevan and his dark followers burst inside, their twisted forms silhouetted against the cold moonlight.
Shadows swirled around them like living tendrils, their presence distorting reality itself.
My breath hitched—there were far more of them than I had expected. It was as if the darkness had multiplied them.
This wasn't just a battle between light and dark elves.
This was a battle between light and darkness itself.
And Erevan's body pulsed with dark energy, his features warped by something ancient and cruel.
His once-beautiful elven armor was barely recognizable beneath the black corruption creeping up his arms and neck.
His golden eyes—once bright like Oregon's—had turned into endless pits of void. He wasn't Erevan anymore.
He was something else.
Silvanor, the proud and noble leader of the light elves, stepped forward. His silver hair gleamed under the magical chandeliers, his emerald cloak billowing slightly as the wind from the shattered barrier rushed inside.
His expression was sorrowful, but there was steel in his voice as he called out to his estranged nephew.
"Erevan, stop this madness," Silvanor urged, his voice steady but laced with sadness.
"You don't have to do this. You can still turn back."
Erevan let out a low, bitter chuckle.
"Turn back?" he echoed mockingly, his voice layered with something unnatural. "Turn back to what, Uncle? A world that cast me and my father aside? A throne I should have inherited but was denied? You think I want your pity?"
Silvanor's fingers clenched into fists, but he did not move.
"I did not deny you your birthright, Erevan. Your father's actions did."
The air crackled with tension. Erevan's face twisted with rage, his dark aura flaring.
"Lies!" he roared, his voice shaking the very walls of the palace.
Silvanor sighed, his green eyes heavy with regret.
"I do not wish to fight you, nephew."
Erevan sneered.
"Then you will die first."
Without warning, he lunged, his corrupted blade screaming through the air.
Silvanor barely managed to dodge, the edge of Erevan's sword slicing through his cloak.
The elder elf summoned a shimmering barrier of golden light, pushing back against the dark tendrils seeking to ensnare him.
"Enough," Vesperia's voice rang out, filled with command.
The Elven Queen's presence burned like a star in the dim room. She raised her arms, magic surging through the air like golden ribbons.
With a flick of her wrist, her power wrapped around Erevan like glowing chains, attempting to purge the darkness from him.
For a moment, Erevan faltered, his body twitching as if struggling against unseen hands. His face contorted in agony.
But then—
He broke free.
A magical shockwave erupted from him, rippling through the hall. Vesperia staggered backward, gasping as a thin line of blood trickled from her nose.
"Mother!" Oregon and Holumis shouted at the same time.
Panic surged through me. Through all of us.
Erevan let out a guttural laugh, his dark army surging forward like an unstoppable tide.
The dark elves were no longer themselves—just hollow vessels of corruption, their once-glowing eyes now black as ink. They lunged, attacking mercilessly.
"Defend the Queen!" Silvanor commanded.
The battle erupted.
Swords clashed. Magic exploded against magic. Screams echoed through the great halls.
Oregon turned to me, urgency in his voice. "Leighton, take this."
He handed me a sword—a beautiful, silver-bladed weapon pulsing with ancient elven runes.
I hesitated.
"I—I don't know if I can—"
Oregon placed his hand over mine, steadying my grip.
"Trust yourself."
Xander and Vlad stepped closer, their expressions unusually serious.
"Don't worry," Xander added, smirking slightly despite the chaos.
"I'll be by your side."
"Count me in," Vlad said, his voice hushed but determined.
Oregon nodded.
"Stay close to me. I'll share my shield with you. Mother made an invisible barrier for my sister and me—now, I'll share it with you. You're my consort."
I swallowed hard but nodded. There was no turning back now.
And then—we fought.
It was brutal.
Though I had never fought in my life, something compelled me. My blade moved with an unexpected precision.
I cut through the dark elves as though I were a seasoned warrior. My muscles screamed in protest, exhaustion threatened to overwhelm me, yet I persisted.
But the darkness could not be killed.
No matter how many we struck down, they got back up, their bodies repairing themselves in mere moments. Their corruption made them invincible.
"This isn't working!" I shouted over the clash of battle.
"How do we stop them?"
"Never give up!" Oregon called back.
"I'll summon my followers! Make sure Hollow Hamlet is visible!" Vlad shouted.
Oregon nodded.
Then, from afar, I saw it.
A sea of warriors rushing forward, fighting against the dark elves.
At first, I thought they were Vlad's feral vampire team, but then I saw them.
Werewolves.
And not just werewolves—Lycans.
I blinked in shock as the massive beasts tore through the darkness, their claws glowing faintly.
But that wasn't all. As they fought, they scattered something into the air—a white powder that shimmered like moonlight dust.
Wherever it landed, the dark elves screamed and writhed in agony.
"What the hell is that?" Xander muttered, eyes narrowing.
I adjusted my sight—and then I saw him.
Lukas.
Once Dylan's bitter enemy, now standing among their ranks. Despite their fraught past, he led the werewolves and Lycans into battle, fighting alongside them.
Beside him, dozens of Lycans carried a massive, rune-carved staff.
A weapon? A relic? I wasn't sure. But whatever it was—it was powerful.
The battle raged on.
A few moments later, like a wave crashing against the shore, a new force surged into the battlefield.
Vlad smiled.
The ferals had arrived.
And not just the ferals—other vampires, Xander's kind, had come to fight, too.
I caught sight of Xander's face—proud, determined.
An ancient energy rippling through the air, pushing back against the darkness.
Amid the chaos of screams and war cries, my focus locked onto a familiar hunched figure—steady despite the turmoil.
Could that be her?