They ran.
Kaelen's boots struck stone as they descended from the Flame Sanctum. Behind them, broken walls groaned. The sphere's destruction sent tremors through the Archive's foundations.
Riven stopped. His hand shot out against the wall.
The stone trembled beneath his palm.
Riven pressed his palm flat against the stone. "The wards are failing."
The pendant pulsed—erratic, like a failing heartbeat.
Halden tested another section of the wall. "They are collapsing."
Another tremor. Stronger. Dust rained from the ceiling.
Riven cut himself off. "The sphere is destroyed, but the foundation crystal continues to fail."
The building shook. Hard enough to throw Kaelen against the wall.
Halden's hands shook. "Without it, every ward in the city dies. The sun-stone. The wardlights. Everything."
War horns echoed from below. Closer than before. Wood splintering. The gates are giving way.
Kaelen pushed off the wall and moved faster down the stairs. "Then we go to the foundation chamber."
"The gates—"
Halden was already ahead of them. Moving deeper into the Archive instead of towards the fighting. "The gates will not matter if the crystal dies. The entire city goes dark."
Mordane's laughter echoed from the Sanctum above.
"Run then! See how far you get!"
They did not stop.
. . .
The stairs spiralled deeper into darkness.
Stone cracked behind them. The sphere's destruction sent tremors through the Archive's foundations.
Riven stopped, turned. "The crystal is failing."
The pendant's pulse matched the tremors. Every ward they had rekindled, strained and buckled under pressure never meant to be channelled this way.
Halden moved faster down the stairs. "Then we restore it. Before the entire structure collapses."
Kaelen's words echoed. "How? The sphere is gone—"
"The source remains." Halden did not slow. "The foundation crystal. We go to where the power originates."
"But Verrian's forces—"
"They are fighting upward. No one thinks to look in the depths."
The stairs ended at iron-bound doors. Wards glowed faintly across the metal surface.
Kaelen pressed her palm against it. The wards brightened. The door held fast.
"When I came before, the Council used a different entrance."
Halden produced a brass key from his robes. Flame script covered its surface. "This is the original door. Sealed since the Archive's founding, this key passes only to High Senior Scribes."
The lock turned with a crystalline crack.
Complete darkness lay beyond.
"Stay close."
Halden stepped through first.
. . .
"I cannot see anything."
Riven spoke from her left. "The pendant. Use it."
She gripped the pendant. It warmed in her hand. Flame erupted, casting warm light across ancient stone.
The chamber stretched beyond the pendant's reach. Stone pillars disappeared into darkness overhead. And at the centre, pulsing with failing light, stood the foundation crystal.
Dying.
"By all protection," Halden whispered.
Cracks covered the crystal's surface. Fine lines branched and multiplied with each pulse. Light ran through the fractures into the floor and walls, powering every ward that kept Erathil alive.
The pulse stuttered. Weakened.
Riven moved closer. Ice spread where his feet touched the stone. "Malachar's sphere did this. Look at the cracks. The pattern of damage."
"How long?"
Riven counted pulses. His lips moved silently. "Soon. Before nightfall, perhaps."
Kaelen pulled her mother's journal free. She flipped through quickly. Found the entry. "Then we repair it."
Day 1,872. The foundation crystal differs from standard formations. Seven bloodlines bound together. Seven powers maintain balance.
Kaelen stared at the words. "Seven bloodlines. The original families."
"House Virelle for flame. House Drae for ice."
Riven paused. "And five others. All purged. All dead."
Footsteps echoed from above. Multiple. Heavy. Descending.
Halden moved towards the stairs. "They found us. I will hold them."
"Father, no—"
Different footsteps. Running. Stumbling.
Thorne burst through the doorway.
His breastplate buckled inward. Blood streaked his face. Two guards stumbled behind him. One collapsed immediately.
Thorne braced against the wall. Each breath rasped. "Father. Verrian breached the inner ring. Moments. Perhaps less."
He looked at the crystal, at the spreading cracks. "What is happening?"
Kaelen looked back at the journal. "We are trying to save it. But we need all seven bloodlines. The families who forged this."
"They are dead."
Riven placed his hand on the crystal. Ice spread from his palm. Not damaging. Sealing. The cracks stopped where his ice touched. "Then we use what remains. House Drae endures."
Kaelen pressed her hand beside his. "And Virelle."
Heat meets cold.
The crystal pulsed brighter. Cracks closed slowly—one hairline fracture, then another.
"It is working."
Riven's hand trembled. "No. Two bloodlines cannot replace seven. The balance—"
The crystal pulsed faster, erratic. The light shifted red.
"What is it?"
"Too much power. Without the others to channel it, we are breaking the balance."
The cracks stopped healing and spread faster than before.
Halden rushed towards them. "Remove your hands. Before you—"
The pendant blazed. Kaelen pressed harder. "No. Mother found another way. I know she did."
She flipped pages with her free hand, faster, one-handed.
There.
Day 1,875. Discovery: The seven bloodlines were never separate. All descended from one source. One original power split seven ways. If that power could be reunited—
The text ended. Someone had torn out the rest.
Thorne moved closer. "What did she discover? Tell me!"
Heavy footsteps descended from above.
Mordane's voice carried down. "Block the doors! Trap them below!"
Halden drew his blade. Light caught the edge. "They are upon us. I will hold them as long as possible."
"Father—"
"Protect them, Thorne. I command it."
Thorne drew his blade. "I will not leave you."
Halden gripped his son's shoulder briefly, then turned towards the stairs. "Then together."
Father and son stood with weapons ready, facing the darkness above.
Mordane appeared at the top.
Five warriors stood beside him, armour gleaming, weapons drawn.
Mordane descended, each step measured. "Touching. Father and son at the end."
"This is not the end."
Mordane gestured at the failing crystal. "No? Your foundation crumbles. Your wards collapse. Your people burn." He smiled. "This is exactly what endings look like."
Thorne stepped forward. "We choose how it ends."
Mordane drew his blade. The dark steel bore runes carved along its length. "Brave words. They will not save you."
The blade moved.
"No!" Kaelen screamed.
Steel punched through Halden's stomach, angled upward—precise, meant to kill slowly.
Halden gasped. Blood on his lips.
He fell against the wall, both hands clutching the wound. Blood seeped between his fingers.
Mordane cleaned his blade on a cloth. "You have what you wanted. The crystal fails. The Archive falls."
He sheathed the sword and turned away.
"Your resistance ends here."
His warriors followed, boots echoing on stone.
They left Halden bleeding on the stones.
. . .
Thorne lifted his head carefully. Halden's face had gone grey. His breathing came shallow and wet.
Blood bubbled with each word. "Save them. The people. That is... a command."
"I am not leaving—"
Halden's fingers dug into his arm. "You must. Promise me."
Kaelen pressed her hands against the wound. The blood was warm, slick—too much of it. "We need to get him help—"
Blood ran from the corner of his mouth. "Go. The city needs you."
"No. I will not—"
Halden's voice strengthened. "Promise me, Thorne. Save them."
Thorne stood slowly. "Riven. Stay with him. Keep him alive."
Riven released the crystal. Ice remained where he had touched. The cracks had stopped spreading but had not closed.
He knelt beside Halden. "I will do what I can. Go."
Kaelen looked at the crystal, the cracks, and Halden bleeding.
No choice. There is never a choice.
Thorne gripped her arm. "Come. We finish this."
. . .
Chaos.
They burst from the chamber into slaughter.
Steel rang on steel. Screams. Blood and smoke filled the air. Warriors in Verrian's colours cut through Archive defenders.
"Where are the archers? We need cover!"
"Dead! All dead!"
Thorne's blade found the first warrior's throat. The man had not even turned. The next fell with steel in his chest.
A warrior raised his shield. Thorne's blade punched through metal and flesh.
A spear thrust at him. Thorne sidestepped, grabbed the shaft, and drove the butt into the man's face before cutting his throat.
Marcus appeared. Blood streaming from his forehead. He blocked a strike. Steel shrieked. "Too many! We are losing!"
Thorne drove forward, seeking gaps in armour—throat, heart, anything vital. "Then they bleed for it."
Kaelen stood frozen.
The pendant blazed. Fire sparked at her fingertips, weak and flickering.
Her feet would not move.
Through the shattered doorway, the main square sprawled before her. Verrian's warriors flooded every street and alley—thousands, more than she could comprehend.
Cavalry blocked escape routes. Infantry marched in endless ranks. Siege engines rolled forward in ordered lines.
How do you fight this? How does anyone survive?
Her legs refused to obey. Fire flickered, died, sparked again.
"Kaelen!" Thorne called back.
She could not speak.
"The entrance ring has fallen." Marcus blocked another strike. "Eastern quarter. Northern gates. All gone."
"Fall back!" A voice screamed above the din. "Fall back!"
But there was nowhere left to fall back to.
. . .
Verrian sat on his warhorse. Watching his warriors advance through Erathil's shattered defences.
His hand tightened on the reins. "They are fighting better than expected."
Mordane rode up beside him, armour still spotless. "My lord?"
Verrian gestured towards the fighting. "The formations. Someone trained them properly."
Mordane watched Thorne cutting through men below. "They are—"
Verrian interrupted. "Dying. As expected."
. . .
Captain Korrath led the main assault. His sword swept in brutal arcs.
A young warrior stumbled, shield broken. Korrath grabbed his collar. "Stay close, boy. Watch what I do."
A spear slipped past his guard and cut across his ribs. Korrath grunted and turned. The spearman's head hit the ground before his body.
"Remember. Defence first. Always defence first."
. . .
Thorne's strikes slowed as fatigue set in. A hammer swept past his head. He twisted and blocked.
Marcus panted. "Too many."
For every one they killed, two more pushed through.
"How do we—"
Thunder interrupted.
. . .
The ground shook.
Marcus grabbed Thorne's arm. "What is that?"
From the east came riders—hundreds of them, banners bearing the phoenix of House Draconis.
A guard shouted. "Reinforcements!"
Thorne watched. "Look at the banners."
Black. Not gold.
Black.
Marcus said. "Traitors. Draconis turned."
Thorne screamed. "Retreat! Fall back! Everyone, fall back!"
Too late.
Mordane grinned and drew his sword. "A second plan. You never mentioned a second plan."
Verrian replied. "I always have one. End them."
Mordane charged.
Behind him came his personal guard—veterans who gave no quarter.
. . .
Retreat became slaughter.
Thorne's men died running, blades in their backs. Archive defenders could not match Verrian's veterans.
Thorne stumbled. A blade meant for his heart caught his shoulder. He fell.
Marcus stood over him, blocking. "Get up! We have to—"
An axe took Marcus in the side. He looked down, then up at Thorne.
He fell to his knees. "My lord. The city... protect..."
His voice faded with his life.
. . .
Verrian's warriors broke through the gates and flooded the city streets.
Mordane led the charge. Behind him, his warriors ran wild.
They smashed into homes. Dragged families out. Set shops burning.
Killed anyone who resisted. Killed many who did not.
Captain Korrath fought through twisting streets, trying to rally the city guard against overwhelming numbers.
A building collapsed in flames. Screams rose from the rubble.
Erathil burned.
. . .
Thorne stood in the main square.
Everything is falling apart around him.
Smoke rose. Bodies lay everywhere. His family's banners lay torn and trampled in mud.
Failed them all. His people. His father. Everyone.
His sword hung loose, chipped and stained. Blood covered him from head to toe.
Mordane's men closed in, street by street.
It was over.
. . .
A blade struck stone.
The ring was clear, impossible to ignore.
Every man stopped and looked.
Riven stood at the eastern entrance. His sword was embedded three inches deep in solid rock. Ice crystals spread from the blade, spiralling outward.
Mordane whispered. "Riven."
Beside Riven, Kaelen raised her hands.
Fire erupted from her palms.
The flames writhed and consumed everything she touched.
Heat intensified beyond natural fire. Riven's ice melted, water spreading where ice should hold.
Impossible.
He turned.
Kaelen stood beside him. But not Kaelen.
Fire consumed her, wrapping its arms around her, crawling up her shoulders, and moving through her hair. The flames did not burn her.
They were hers.
Fire blazed across her features. Her eyes burned with orange light, making her face sharp and inhuman.
Her hair whipped in the winds the heat itself created.
Riven stepped back. The heat was too intense even for ice magic.
Stone walls cracked nearby from the sheer intensity radiating from her.
Thorne stood frozen. His blade forgotten.
The flames. He knew these flames.
Kaelthorne. Nine years ago. Flames are consuming everything.
Princess Lyanna in the centre.
Eyes of fire. No recognition.
Only rage.
"Lyanna!" he had screamed. "Stop!"
She could not hear. Could not hear anything beyond the roar.
The same terrible power.
Fifty thousand screaming, then silent.
Thorne whispered. "It is happening again."
His sword clattered to the ground.
"Run."
"Everyone run!"
. . .
End of Chapter 15
. . .
Next Chapter: Ashes and Betrayal
Kaelen's power erupts beyond control, turning the battle into an inferno that consumes friend and foe alike. When the flames finally die, hundreds lie dead—and the pendant meant to protect her has vanished. But the greatest shock comes when Thorne's impossible healing reveals a blood binding between them, one that ties their fates together in ways neither of them understands.