The wind over the Serathian Highlands was bitter, slicing through cloaks and flesh alike. Snow, sharp as glass, fell in flurries that painted the sky a dim gray, turning the world below into a canvas of cold silence. Mara led the group across the high ridges, her eyes narrowed against the gale. Each step was a battle, each breath coated in frost.
Aelthar lay beyond the jagged peaks—a forgotten city buried beneath centuries of ice and war. Once a beacon of magical brilliance, it had become a tomb long before Mara's time. Now, it was the key to the second Seal.
"We shouldn't be up here without protection," Elira shouted over the howl of the wind. "These cliffs are sacred to the Skybound."
"Good," Mara replied, her voice steady. "Let them come. I'm done running."
Adrian, trudging beside her, cast her a sidelong glance. "You've changed."
"I know what I am now," she said. "And I know what I have to do."
Below them, the path curved along a sheer drop into a ravine where the clouds swirled like restless spirits. The mountain groaned under the pressure of a coming storm.
Cormac, the last of their group, trailed behind with a hand on the hilt of his axe. "I don't like it. This place reeks of old magic."
"It's supposed to," Elira said. "Aelthar was the last city to hold against the Empress. If any Seal survived intact, it's buried there."
They made camp before dusk beneath an outcropping of stone shaped like a claw reaching skyward. Mara barely slept. The dreams came again—visions of fire and blood, of Ilyra walking through a palace of mirrors, her reflection warping into Mara's own.
In the dream, the Empress spoke:
"Each Seal you find weakens the lock. You are the key, little shadow. Come find me."
Mara awoke before dawn, sweat freezing against her skin. The others stirred slowly. They sensed the tension but didn't speak of it. They all felt the pull now—something waiting in Aelthar, calling not just to Mara, but to the Seal itself.
The descent into the city began with the opening of a narrow stone gate etched with runes long lost to time. Adrian brushed the frost away with gloved fingers. "These are Warder glyphs. Meant to bind spirits."
"Will they hold her back?" Elira asked.
"No," Mara said before he could answer. "Not anymore."
They passed into a cavern of ice and bone. Giant statues lined the path—warriors carved from obsidian and jade, frozen in mid-battle. At the center of the plaza stood a broken tower pierced by spears of crystal. Beneath it, a staircase spiraled downward into the dark.
Torches flared as they entered, their flames flickering oddly—as if reluctant to burn. Shadows danced ahead of them, shifting like memories.
Adrian hesitated. "This place… it's not just old. It's alive."
"Not alive," Cormac muttered. "Haunted."
The lower chambers of Aelthar had been untouched for ages, but not undisturbed. Scratches marred the walls. Piles of bones lay scattered, some still in rusted armor. A faint hum vibrated through the floor, rising through their boots like a heartbeat.
At the heart of the ruins, they found a door—round, obsidian, with a symbol etched in silver: a flame bound in chains.
Mara reached out, and the Seal inside her responded.
The door groaned open.
Beyond it lay a chamber vast enough to swallow the sky. At its center floated a sphere of molten crystal, spinning slowly above a pedestal of silver and ash. The Seal.
But they weren't alone.
A figure stood between them and the artifact—cloaked in dark robes, face hidden by a mask shaped like a weeping sun.
"Step away," Mara warned.
The figure did not move.
"Elira—" Mara began.
But before Elira could draw her blade, the figure raised a hand—and the ground exploded.
Adrian tackled Mara to the floor as shards of ice and stone rained around them. Cormac surged forward with a roar, his axe swinging through the air—but the masked figure moved like smoke, vanishing and reappearing behind him.
A whisper, like a curse, echoed through the chamber. "You were not meant to wake."
The figure unleashed a wave of dark energy, flinging Elira and Adrian against the far wall. Mara rolled to her feet, blood in her mouth, rage in her chest.
She reached for the Seal.
It pulsed in answer.
Power exploded from her skin, ripping through the air in a surge of crimson light. The figure staggered, cloak torn by the force—but did not fall.
"You are the vessel," it hissed. "You must not ascend."
Mara advanced, her voice deeper now, laced with something older.
"I am already ascending."
She struck.
The chamber shattered.
Light clashed with shadow in a battle of wills. The masked enemy weaved spells from forgotten tongues, but Mara—guided by the Seal—countered every one. Her movements weren't just skill—they were memory. Echoes of Ilyra's power moved through her like a tide.
She dodged a blade of void, caught the enemy's wrist, and whispered, "Let the truth find you."
With a final pulse of energy, she unleashed the Seal.
The mask cracked.
The figure screamed—not in pain, but in fury.
The voice that followed chilled her.
"Fool… you've doomed them all."
And then the figure vanished—disintegrated into cinders that faded into the crystal air.
Silence fell.
Elira limped to her side. "You alright?"
"No," Mara said, her eyes fixed on the Seal still spinning above the pedestal. "But we're closer now."
Adrian groaned as he stood. "What was that thing?"
"Not human," Mara said. "Not entirely."
Cormac scowled. "A guardian? A servant of the Empress?"
"Something worse," Elira whispered. "A harbinger."
Mara stepped toward the Seal. As she touched it, a surge of memory flooded her—visions not just of Ilyra's empire, but of her downfall. Of betrayals committed by those closest to her. Of fear that power might never die—only change shape.
She saw herself.
Not as Mara.
As the Empress Reborn.
She pulled back, gasping.
"It's done," she said. "The second Seal is mine."
"But at what cost?" Adrian asked.
Mara turned to them, her voice steadier than ever.
"At any cost."