The gates of Velharrow loomed before them—black stone forged in a time before memory, veined with crimson veins that pulsed as if alive. The fortress seemed to breathe, as though aware of their presence.
Lucien stood still for a long moment.
The mist curled around his boots. Eiran was just behind him, flanked by Seraphina and two of her elite shadows. They had traveled through the forests in silence, cloaked by enchantments, watched by things that did not belong to the living world.
Lucien's hand tightened around the hilt of his sword.
"You don't have to go in alone," Eiran said, his voice quiet but steady.
Lucien turned to face him, and for a heartbeat, he let down the walls he had built so high.
"I do. It's my past waiting in there."
Seraphina stepped forward. "And if that past bites?"
Lucien gave her a faint smile. "Then I bite back."
He stepped forward, toward the gate. As he did, the stones groaned—groaned like something ancient awakening. The gates opened of their own accord.
Eiran's hand twitched toward his sword, but Lucien raised a hand. "Not yet."
The inside of Velharrow was worse than the legends.
The air was heavy with whispers, voices from the stone. Hallways stretched and shifted when not watched directly. Shadows crept where no light dared fall. And at the end of one corridor, she waited.
She.
His sister.
Lucien stopped at the edge of the chamber. The figure on the throne of black marble was wrapped in flowing obsidian silk. Her face was identical to his—if twisted by bitterness and something far older.
"You came," she said.
Lucien stepped forward slowly. "You didn't give me a choice."
She laughed—light, musical, terrifying. "There's always a choice, brother. You just never liked the ones you were given."
He looked at her. The last time he'd seen her, she had been burning—trapped beneath rubble. He had believed she'd died with the rest of the Order.
"Why didn't you reach out?"
Her smile vanished. "And say what? 'Hello, Lucien. You left me for dead. Want to have tea?'"
He winced.
"I didn't know."
"You never looked."
The words were knives. He didn't deny them.
Behind him, Eiran's presence was a steady warmth. Silent. Patient.
She stood.
"You want peace, brother? Then bend the knee. Join me. Let us remake the world."
Lucien shook his head slowly. "You don't want to remake it. You want to rule it in ashes."
Her eyes darkened. "Then we are enemies."
Lucien's fingers wrapped around his sword. "No. We are what we've always been. Family."
She screamed—a sound not human—and launched toward him.
The chamber exploded into motion. Shadows rose. Spells ignited.
And outside the fortress, as the first tremors hit the earth, Eiran whispered:
"Hold on, Lucien. I'm coming for you."
---
Lucien barely raised his sword in time. Her claws scraped against enchanted steel, sending sparks skittering across the floor. The air cracked with raw magic as the darkness around them twisted like a living thing.
"You always were faster," Lucien grunted, deflecting her next strike. "But I've learned to see past your tricks."
His sister hissed, eyes blazing. "You don't know anything anymore."
Spells erupted between them—runes etched in ancient blood illuminating the chamber. The fight wasn't just steel and magic—it was grief unleashed, betrayal unanswered. Every blow carried years of silence. Every parry echoed a wound never spoken.
Outside, Eiran charged into the shifting corridors. Velharrow fought him at every turn—walls closing, illusions screaming. But he pressed forward, slicing through shadows with his blade glowing faintly gold.
"Lucien!" he shouted, voice echoing.
In the heart of the fortress, Lucien heard him.
For a breath, he faltered.
A bolt of dark energy slammed into his chest, sending him sprawling. His sister advanced, hands glowing.
"You're weaker," she whispered. "That prince... he makes you soft."
Lucien coughed, blood on his lips. "He makes me stronger. Because I know what I stand to lose."
Before she could strike again, Eiran burst into the chamber.
The sight of Lucien wounded made his vision blur with rage. In one leap, he was between them, blades crossed against the darkness.
Her laughter echoed again. "Oh, the lover boy comes."
Eiran didn't flinch. "Touch him again, and you won't leave this chamber."
Lucien sat up slowly, touched by the fury in Eiran's voice.
"You're not alone anymore," Eiran said without looking back. "So stop acting like you are."
Lucien rose, hand trembling as he summoned his power again. He moved beside Eiran, shoulder to shoulder.
"Let's end this," he said.
Together, they struck. Magic and steel. Light and shadow. Twin forces against the heart of darkness.
The chamber cracked. The throne shattered.
She screamed one last time—rage, sorrow, a thousand regrets—and was consumed by the collapse of the chamber's magic.
The silence afterward was deafening.
Lucien knelt beside her fallen form, breath catching. She wasn't dead—but changed. Bound. Her power sealed.
"She'll live," Seraphina said, stepping into the ruins with the shadows. "But she's not our threat anymore."
Lucien looked at Eiran.
Their hands found each other's. No words were needed.
They had survived.
But the war wasn't over. Only now, it had become personal.
---
To be continued...