The shattered Crown

Shadows And Flames

Aeric awoke to the feeling of cold earth beneath him, his body aching with a dull, relentless pain. His vision was blurred, the world around him hazy and unfocused. For a moment, he couldn’t remember where he was—or why every muscle in his body screamed in protest when he tried to move. Then, the memories flooded back all at once: the Shadow Warden, the battle, the ritual.

He gasped and sat up abruptly, his hand instinctively reaching for the medallion around his neck. Relief washed over him when he felt its cool surface still resting against his chest, though it no longer pulsed with the wild energy it had before. The protective spell had worked.

But the victory was hollow.

He glanced around, blinking against the dim light filtering through the canopy of the Veilwood. The clearing was littered with the debris of their battle—scorched earth, broken branches, and the faint scent of burned magic lingering in the air. His eyes darted to where Taryn lay a short distance away, his sword still clutched in his hand. The Shadow Warden was gone.

“Taryn!” Aeric croaked, his throat dry and voice hoarse.

Taryn stirred at the sound of his name, his face twisted in pain as he tried to push himself up. Blood smeared his arm where the Shadow Warden’s magic had ensnared him, the tendrils having left deep, angry burns across his skin. But he was alive.

“I'm fine,” Taryn grunted, his voice strained as he slowly rose to his feet. “Where’s Elora?”

Aeric’s heart skipped a beat. He scanned the clearing, panic surging through him when he didn’t immediately see her. His mind raced. She had been beside him, casting the final part of the ritual. Had the blast of magic thrown her farther than he realized?

“Elora!” Aeric called, his voice louder this time, filled with fear.

A soft groan answered him from the far side of the clearing. Aeric scrambled to his feet, wincing as pain shot through his limbs, and rushed toward the sound. Elora lay sprawled beneath the twisted roots of a fallen tree, her cloak torn and her face pale. But she was conscious, her eyes fluttering open as he knelt beside her.

“Elora!” Aeric’s relief was palpable, his voice barely holding back the panic that had gripped him moments before. “Are you all right?”

She winced, her hand moving to her side, where blood stained the fabric of her clothes. “I’ll be fine,” she muttered, her voice weak but steady. “Just… give me a moment.”

Aeric glanced at her wound, worry tightening in his chest. The blast of dark magic had struck her harder than he realized, and though she was trying to put on a brave face, he could see the strain in her eyes. “You need healing,” he said urgently. “We have to get you somewhere safe.”

Taryn approached them, his expression grim but focused. “The Shadow Warden’s gone—for now. But we can’t stay here. Malgorn’s forces will be hunting us even harder after this.”

Elora struggled to sit up, her face pale but determined. “The ritual worked,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “The medallion is shielded, for now. But that was too close. We need to regroup, gather our strength before Malgorn strikes again.”

Aeric’s heart pounded. They had barely survived this encounter, and the realization that Malgorn’s reach extended even here—so close, so relentless—made him feel like they were walking a thin line between life and death. The Shadow Warden had nearly killed them all, and there was no guarantee the next attack would be so fortunate.

“What do we do next?” Aeric asked, his voice tight with urgency. “We can’t just keep running. Sooner or later, Malgorn will find us, even with the medallion hidden.”