The day of the ritual arrived. The sky above the capital was a sickly orange, churning with unnatural storms as the Abyssal Core reacted to the approaching celestial alignment.
The air crackled with oppressive energy. The Council of Whispers had done all it could. Their agents had sabotaged key light-artillery emplacements and created diversions at the city gates.
It was a mere nuisance, but it was all the distraction the trinity needed. Using Vorlak's tunnels, the core group—Haruto, Lyra, Kaito, and Vorlak—slipped back into the bowels of the capital.
The descent into the Sepulcher was a journey into madness. The obsidian walls seemed to pulse like a living heart. Whispers, promises of power and threats of oblivion, slithered into their minds.
Kaito's light flickered nervously, while Haruto's shadows writhed in sympathetic agitation. Only Vorlak seemed calm, his familiarity with the energy a grim advantage.
They reached the final door, a massive slab of star-metal etched with the first king's seal. As they pushed it open, the scene before them was both majestic and horrifying. The Sepulcher was a vast, circular cavern. In its center, the Abyssal Core raged, a miniature violet sun of chaotic power.
Arrayed around it on a raised platform was Duke Valerius, surrounded by his most powerful mages, standing within a brilliantly complex golden magic circle. "Welcome!" Valerius's voice boomed, amplified by the cavern's acoustics.
"Welcome, my honored guests! I have been awaiting your contributions!" He didn't order his guards to attack. He simply smiled and gestured to the Core. "The alignment begins. You can either die pointlessly trying to stop me, or you can join your power to mine and witness the birth of a god. There are no other options."
Haruto looked at his companions. Lyra gave him a nod, her bow nocked with an arrow glowing with anti-magic enchantments. Kaito met his gaze, his expression grim but steady, his Sun-Blade held in a ready stance. Vorlak simply growled, his claws extending. "There is always another option," Haruto said, his voice calm, his own shadows erupting from him like wings of pure night. "We make our own."
The final battle for the soul of Esteria had begun. But it was not a battle of swords and spells. It was a race against time, a duel of rituals in the heart of the abyss, as two tripartite magics—one of harmony, one of domination—reached for the same catastrophic power source.