Adrian Valorian drifted in a haze of pain, his blood a faint pulse against the darkness. The crypt's cold stone pressed against him, Lira Vey's arms a fierce anchor, her tears hot on his cheek. His sacrifice—driving the Heart of Eldoria's shard into his palm to shatter its power—had broken Lord Veyren's spell and the noble pact's grip, but at a cost. His vision blurred, the guardian's whisper—You've won—fading, replaced by a new voice, cold and ancient: The Heart's not gone. The pact was dead, but its shadow lived, and Eldoria's war was far from over.
Lira's voice cut through, desperate but steady. "Adrian, stay with me!" Her hands pressed against his wound, blood seeping through her fingers, her bruise-darkened face pale but fierce.
He tried to speak, his throat raw, the Draven ring heavy on his finger, its sigil dim but warm. His cloak was in tatters, his spell-burned arm a map of scars, his weak magic a dying spark. "Lira," he rasped, "the voice… It's not done."
Princess Eryn knelt beside him, her dagger bloodied, her eyes sharp despite the chaos. "Healer!" she shouted, her voice a command that echoed in the crypts. King Alaric stood over them, his crown steady, his face grim as guards swarmed, binding Veyren, whose screams had faded to curses.
Professor Elara pushed through, her robes torn, her hands glowing with Academy magic. "Hold on, Corveth," she said, her voice strained but focused, pressing a spell into his palm. Warmth spread, dulling the pain, but the blood loss was a tide, pulling him under. The journal's torn pages, clutched by Elara, gleamed faintly, their runes a reminder of the pact's reach—nobles, merchants, and Veyren, the Calethar envoy who'd funded Seryn's treachery.
Toren Vael knelt nearby, his bloodied blade at his side, his gaunt face etched with guilt. "I didn't mean this," he whispered, his voice breaking, the journal page naming Veyren crumpled in his hand. His sister's death, the lie that drove his betrayal, was a mirror to Adrian's loss, but trust was a shattered thing.
"Save it," Adrian growled, his strength fading, Lira's grip his only tether. The new voice stirred again, not the guardian's but something deeper, tied to the Heart's remnants. The Draven ring pulsed, its sigil flaring, and Adrian's blood hummed, a warning he couldn't ignore.
Elara's spell stabilised him, her voice urgent. "He's losing too much blood. We need the infirmary—now."
Guards lifted Adrian, Lira refusing to let go, her hand locked in his. The crypts blurred, the palace's halls a chaos of clashing steel and loyalist cries, their serpent sigils fading under Alaric's forces. Eryn led the way, her dagger ready, while Toren followed, a shadow of remorse. The infirmary's sterile air hit like a shock, healers swarming, their spells a flurry of light and heat. Adrian's consciousness flickered, Lira's voice—Stay with me—a beacon in the dark.
He woke to pain, sharp but distant, his palm bandaged, his body heavy on a cot. Lira sat beside him, her sleeve bloodied, her eyes red but fierce. "You're an idiot," she said, her voice thick, a faint smile breaking through. "But you're alive."
Adrian's lips twitched, a weak grin. "Had to keep you on your toes." His voice was hoarse, his gaze flicking to the room. Eryn stood by the door, conferring with Alaric, while Elara studied the journal's pages, her face grim. Toren was gone, likely under guard, his fate a question mark.
"How long?" Adrian asked, his hand brushing the Draven ring, its sigil cool but alive.
"Hours," Lira said, her voice low. "The palace is secure, but the court's a mess. Veyren's talking—naming names. Calethar's involved, but there's more. That voice you heard…"
Adrian's blood ran cold, the memory sharp. "The Heart's remnants," he said, sitting up despite the pain, his scars protesting. "They're scattered, but they're waking. Someone's still pulling strings."
Eryn approached, her face weary but resolute. "You're right," she said, holding a journal page, its script naming foreign envoys beyond Veyren. "The pact wasn't just Seryn or Calethar. There's a network—merchants, mages, and even priests across the continent. They want the Heart's power, and your blood's the key."
Adrian's stomach churned, the journal's list a hydra, its heads endless. Morna's escape, her silver cloak a ghost in the void, was a loose thread. "Morna," he said, voice raw. "She's out there, and she knows the Heart's secrets."
Alaric's voice cut through, steady but heavy. "We've purged the court, but the kingdom's fractured. If the Heart's remnants are active, we need to find them before Morna does."
Elara set the journal pages down, her eyes dark. "The Veil's gone," she said. "Seris's death, the watcher's betrayal—they broke it. But the Heart's power isn't just crystals. It's in you, Adrian—your blood, your line."
His throat tightened, the guardian's hum a faint echo. His Valorian heritage wasn't just a curse; it was Eldoria's last defence. "Then we hunt the remnants," he said, his resolve iron despite his body's protest. "Morna, the network—whosever's left."
Lira's hand brushed his, her voice fierce. "Not alone. We're in this together."
Before Adrian could reply, the infirmary's walls trembled, a low hum rising—not the guardian's, but the void's voice, cold and ancient: The Heart calls. The Draven ring flared, its sigil burning, and runes glowed faintly on the floor, their light pulsing in sync with Adrian's blood. He staggered to his feet, pain a distant roar, his eyes locked on the runes.
"Get back!" Elara shouted, her hands sparking, but the runes flared, a portal opening—a sliver of the void, dark and endless. A figure emerged, not Morna but a man in black robes, his face scarred, his eyes gleaming with the Heart's light. "Valorian," he said, his voice a hiss, "the Heart's not yours to destroy."
Adrian's heart pounded, the ring's pulse a warning. "Who are you?" he demanded, stepping forward, Lira's hand steadying him, Eryn's dagger raised.
"Call me Korran," the man said, his scarred lips curling. "The pact's shadow, the Heart's keeper. Seryn was a pawn, Veyren a tool. The network lives, and your blood's mine."
Korran's magic surged, a wave of shadow that knocked Elara back, her spell fizzling. Eryn lunged, her dagger flashing, but Korran's hand caught it, twisting her arm with inhuman strength. Lira tackled him, her fists desperate, but his magic hurled her against a wall, her cry piercing Adrian's chest.
"No!" Adrian roared, his weak magic flaring, a spark against Korran's storm. The ring burned, its sigil a beacon, and he dove for Korran, his bandaged hand screaming. The portal pulsed, the void's voice louder: Claim it. Adrian's blood answered, pain lancing through him, but he grabbed Korran's robe, tearing a crystal shard from his belt—a Heart remnant, glowing with stolen power.
The shard burned, its light searing, but Adrian held on, his blood the key, his will the lock. The guardian's hum surged, faint but defiant, its voice a whisper: End it. Korran's eyes widened, his magic faltering, and Adrian drove the shard into the floor, runes shattering, the portal collapsing. Korran screamed, his form dissolving into shadow, the shard crumbling to dust.
The infirmary stilled, the hum gone, but Adrian's strength failed, his knees buckling. Lira caught him, her arms trembling, blood trickling from her lip. "You're impossible," she gasped, her eyes fierce but wet.
Eryn helped Elara stand, her face grim. "He's gone—for now. But the network's out there."
Alaric's voice was steel, his eyes dark. "We seal the palace, hunt the remnants. Corveth, you're our edge."
Adrian nodded, his chest heaving, the ring's sigil cool but alive. Korran's words—the network lives—were a noose, tightening with every breath. The Heart's remnants were scattered, Morna was a ghost, and the void's voice was a promise of war. He scanned the infirmary, spotting a healer's satchel, its contents gleaming—a vial, etched with runes, glowing faintly like the Heart.
"What's that?" he asked, his voice hoarse, pointing at the vial.
Elara's face paled, her hands trembling as she lifted it. "A relic," she said, her voice low. "Found in the crypts. It's tied to the Heart, but… It's blood. Valorian blood."
Adrian's heart stopped, the ring's pulse surging. His blood, or his family's, preserved for centuries, a key to the Heart's power. "Whose?" he demanded, his voice raw.
Elara's eyes met his, her voice a whisper. "Your father's."
The world tilted, pain and rage warring in Adrian's chest. His father, framed by the Dravens, dead by their hand—or so he'd thought. The vial was a lie, a trick, or a truth too heavy to bear. Lira's hand tightened, her voice urgent. "Adrian, we'll find out. Together."
But the runes on the vial flared, the void's voice returning, colder, sharper: The Heart wakes. A shadow moved in the infirmary's corner—not Korran, not Morna, but a woman, her face veiled, her cloak black as the void, her eyes gleaming with the Heart's light. "Valorian," she whispered, her voice a blade, "your father's blood is mine."
The portal reopened, a sliver of darkness, and the woman vanished, the vial gone with her. Adrian's scream was silent, his blood a fading heartbeat. The pact's shadow was alive, the Heart's power unbound, and his father's legacy was a trap. As Lira's arms held him, the void's hum surged, and Eldoria's fate hung by a thread.