The echo of the last battle still lingered in the cold air of the academy's shattered chamber. The cloaked man stood unmoving, his dark robes barely shifting as he pointed a gloved finger directly at the Vessel. The boy's vacant eyes reflected nothing but shadow.
Rylan's breath caught. Beside him, Blaze's fiery gaze burned with barely contained fury.
"We don't wait," Blaze growled.
"No," Rylan agreed, tightening his grip on his sword's hilt. "We fight now."
The tension snapped. Rylan surged forward with the raw determination of a tempest, boots thudding against marble cracked by the earlier struggle. He aimed his blade directly at the cloaked figure.
But before his strike could connect, a voice slithered through the silence like cold smoke.
"Do not move, Vessel. Not until I command it."
The Vessel froze mid-step, his vacant expression unwavering.
Without warning, the cloaked man summoned an enormous obsidian scythe etched with fractured stars and dripping runes. The weapon swirled in shadowy tendrils as he lunged toward Rylan with terrifying speed.
Steel clashed with shadow.
Rylan, Blaze, Frost, and Rant launched into ferocious hand-to-hand combat, exchanging blows with a precision born of desperation. Blaze's fists ignited with flame, striking with the heat of a forge; Frost's icy limbs slammed like frozen hammers; Rant's swift movements cut through the air like blades of wind.
Behind them, their allies wove a protective web. Grace's silver staff radiated buffs that shimmered like morning light; Riley and Joy fired relentless bolts of magic energy, brilliant and fierce. James conjured a barrier dome, shielding healers as they worked feverishly to mend wounds.
Yet the cloaked man was a tempest they couldn't withstand.
Every swing of his scythe bent and crushed the arcane currents. Rylan's arms shook violently from each parry; Frost was slammed into a wall, wind knocked from his lungs; Rant was thrown across the chamber; Blaze's blazing punch was caught and crushed.
The cloaked man's voice cut through the chaos.
"No more games."
A black, smoky aura pulsed outward from his body. His lips moved in an ancient, forgotten tongue, weaving a spell that silenced every spark of magic in the room. Grace's staff dimmed, Riley's spells fizzled to nothing, James's shield shattered like brittle glass.
Rylan's sword grew heavy—dead weight in his trembling hands.
"I cast the Null of Erebon," the cloaked man intoned, voice cold and unyielding. "One hour without magic or light."
Helplessness crushed them all.
Rylan barely rose before a brutal strike sent him crashing to his knees, blood trickling from cracked lips. His gaze swept the battlefield.
Grace lay shattered; Riley's arm was twisted; Blaze was motionless; Frost and Rant pinned beneath rubble.
The cloaked man's voice boomed again, hollow and ancient.
"Rylan Ashford…"
The name struck like a curse, echoing off cold stone.
"I have waited centuries to have this conversation with you, Mr. Chosen One."
Rylan coughed. "Who… are you? And what is this Chosen One nonsense?"
The cloaked man loomed over him, scythe dripping shadow.
"You'll learn soon enough. But not now. Your friends lie broken. Your beasts unconscious. Do you believe you have won?"
Rylan's heart shattered.
"Vessel," the man commanded.
The boy stepped forward, obedient and lifeless.
"Begin the corruption."
Dark energy pulsed between the Vessel's fingers. Jagged rays of black and violet shot from his hand, striking Rylan's friends in the chest. Obsidian crystals burrowed beneath their skin, pulsing dark energy that slowly spread like creeping poison.
Then came the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps.
The Dark Mystics appeared—figures cloaked in chaos, wearing twisted animal skull masks. Their presence sucked the warmth from the air.
Around them lay the soul bounds, unconscious and broken.
Rylan's voice trembled.
"No…"
He tried to rise, failing, then summoned his last hope.
"Fuzzle."
A soft pop, and the small, round, fluffy creature appeared atop Rylan's head.
The cloaked man laughed, cruel and mocking.
"This is your champion? This pathetic creature?"
He gestured sharply. "Dark Mystics. Vessel. Kill them all."
Rylan's voice faltered as he spoke to Fuzzle.
"So… Fuzzy. I guess this is the end. I summoned you to tell you to run. Escape while you still can."
The fuzzle looked at him with wide, tear-filled eyes.
"But I'm too late, aren't I? I couldn't protect my friends. Not even you."
A single tear slid down Rylan's cheek.
"I'm sorry."
He closed his eyes, ready to meet his fate.
The Vessel and Dark Mystics charged.
Suddenly—a blinding flash of silver light engulfed the chamber.
A shockwave ripped through the ruins, tearing shadows asunder. The dark spells screamed, then shattered.
When the light faded, the cloaked man stood alone, his scythe lowered.
"Until we meet again, Rylan Ashford," he said quietly, voice colder than the void. "Next time, I will kill you myself."
---
The world shifted.
Pain vanished.
Gone were the ruins and the darkness.
Rylan opened his eyes.
He and his friends lay in a vast forest clearing unlike any they had ever seen.
Trees towered above them, ancient and majestic, their trunks wider than castles. Glowing vines twined around roots, humming with a quiet magic. Ethereal insects flitted, weaving luminescent melodies.
The air was thick with enchantment—an ancient power alive in every breath.
Ahead stood two colossal wooden gates carved with intricate sigils: leaves, stars, and archaic runes swirling in harmonious patterns. The gates seemed to pulse with life.
Before them stood a figure, regal and commanding.
The Princess of the Elves.
Her presence radiated an ethereal light, her robes shimmering with the glow of dawn. Golden hair cascaded down her back like liquid sunlight. Her emerald eyes bore into Rylan's very soul, ancient wisdom shining in their depths.
In her hand, she held a staff entwined with living ivy, blossoms unfurling as if touched by her mere presence.
She spoke no words.
Neither did Rylan's friends.
The breeze stirred, the vines at the gates quivered.
Her gaze pierced deeper still.
And then, with a faint, knowing smile—one that seemed to hold the weight of centuries and the promise of destiny—she raised her hand.
The clearing fell silent.
The gates creaked open, revealing mysteries beyond.
Rylan's heart thundered.
The battle was over—but a new journey was about to begin.
And in that moment, the darkness that had crowned their defeat was met by the first true flicker of hope.