The sky above the borderlands of Aetherys cracked open as storm clouds gathered like a divine omen. Thunder rolled in slow, ominous waves. But it wasn't weather—it was war.
Within the sanctum of the Thorn Council's war room, a map lay scattered with tokens, plans etched in urgency. Lyra stood at the head, obsidian eyes burning with barely restrained fury. Around her, the remaining Thorns gathered: Valdran, Iridia, Serik, and even the usually elusive twins, Luna and Eclipse—quiet now, subdued in guilt.
"We strike at dusk," Lyra said, her voice cold steel. "Kael doesn't have time for diplomacy."
Valdran grunted. "We'll be outnumbered. That place is more fortress than cult."
"Let them bring numbers," Iridia sneered. "We bring fire."
No one dared disagree. The tension between them was thick, but there was unity now—grief and guilt welded into resolve.
Deep Beneath the Cult's Stronghold
Kael knelt in chains. Blood trickled down his arms, breath ragged. The sigils branded into the floor pulsed with crimson light. Runes of suppression coiled around his wrists, draining him, poisoning his aura.
The mad sorcerer stepped into view—Xal'Vareth, the one who had once bought Kael as a child. His robes flowed like smoke, his smile sharp as a dagger.
"Even now, you resist," he mused, crouching before him. "You should be grateful. You're a vessel of something ancient. We're only helping you… ascend."
Kael spat blood into his face. "You don't understand power. You only fear it."
Xal'Vareth grinned like a man possessed. "And you… you will beg for release before this is over."
Nightfall — Assault on the Cult Fortress
The Thorns struck like a storm.
Serik led the vanguard, crashing through the outer gates with summoned beasts of stone and fury. Valdran shattered the inner defenses, his blade gleaming with divine light. Iridia moved like a shadow, assassinating guards with brutal efficiency and merciless precision.
Lyra was the heart of it all.
She moved through the chaos like a tempest, her magic lashing out with unrelenting power. Walls of fire, lances of pure energy, and sonic booms of wrath tore through the cultists. Nothing stood before her.
Inside the Inner Sanctum
Kael, half-conscious, felt the chains rattle. A shift in the air.
Then it came.
The blast of Lyra's aura shattered the chamber doors. Xal'Vareth turned, but it was too late. She stepped in—eyes glowing, hair wild, and her very presence radiating divine fury. And when she saw Kael… chained, bleeding… something inside her snapped.
She didn't speak.
She screamed.
The entire room cracked as her aura surged beyond containment. She didn't care who watched. She would bring ruin to this place.
Luna and Eclipse arrived moments later, flanking her and shielding Kael as she lunged at the sorcerer. The duel was short—but devastating. Spells clashed like falling stars. And though Xal'Vareth vanished in the chaos, wounded, he had bought time.
A portal ripped open behind Kael. Clawed hands dragged him in.
"No!" Lyra lunged, but the portal closed with a thunderclap—leaving only Kael's blood in her hands.
Epilogue — The Echoes of the Fall
Kael awoke chained again, suspended over a void of whispering black. He was alone. No—he was being watched.
The voice echoed in his mind.
"You survived longer than most… but even kings fall."
Chains rattled. Blood dripped.
Kael's golden eyes slowly opened—one flickering red.