Volume 3 — Chapter 16: The Shadowed Heir
The cloaked figure stepped fully into the molten glow of the chamber. The air chilled instantly, as though the light itself recoiled.
Aryn's voice was barely a whisper.
"…It can't be."
Lyriana felt the Moonstone pulse anxiously in her palm. "Who are you?"
The figure lifted their hood.
Silver eyes—cold, calculating, painfully familiar—stared back.
"I am Eryon Vael," he said softly, "rightful heir of the Moonlit Throne… and your brother, Lyriana."
The world tilted. Lyriana staggered backward, heart hammering.
"My brother died during the council purge. You're a lie. A trick."
Eryon's lips curled into a thin smile.
"I survived. They took me. Raised me. Molded me. The council showed me the truth of power… and the weakness of love."
Aryn stepped protectively in front of her. "If they twisted you into a weapon, we can undo it. You don't have to fight us."
Eryon's laughter echoed sharply.
"Fight? I intend to claim what was always meant to be mine. The relic. The throne. And your bond…"
His gaze flicked to the Moonstone, then to their intertwined hands.
"…it will shatter when I destroy him."
Dark energy exploded from his palm. Aryn reacted instantly, shielding Lyriana as the blast shook the chamber. The obsidian walls cracked, spilling molten light.
Lyriana forced herself to breathe. Eryon—her brother—alive, but consumed by the council's poison.
She lifted the Violet Relic. "I won't lose you again—but I won't let you take everything we've fought for."
Eryon's aura darkened.
"Then you stand in my way."
The battle ignited.
Eryon conjured blades of shadow, striking with ruthless precision. Aryn countered with flashes of emerald light, the relic revealing weak points in Eryon's attacks. Lyriana used the Moonstone and Violet Relic together, pushing back the darkness—but every hit she landed hurt her deeper than any wound.
Eryon was powerful. Too powerful.
The council had bound ancient magic into him—magic meant to counter the relics themselves.
Mid-battle, he seized an opening and hurled Aryn backward into a pillar. Aryn slid to the ground, dazed.
"NO!" Lyriana cried, racing to him.
Eryon's voice softened, almost gentle.
"You see? He makes you weak. Let him go, Lyriana. Join me. The throne is ours by blood."
Aryn forced himself up, blood on his lip.
"Don't listen… he wants to break us. Lyriana—look at me."
She did, and in his eyes she saw everything they had survived—every trial, every sacrifice, every moment their love had strengthened them.
"We are strongest together," Aryn whispered. "Don't let him take that from you."
The Moonstone flared—bright, defiant, unbreakable.
Lyriana rose to her feet, power surging through her.
"I choose my own destiny, Eryon. I choose love. I choose Aryn."
Eryon's expression cracked into fury.
"Then you are my enemy."
The chamber trembled violently as he summoned a storm of shadow, preparing a strike that could destroy them both—and the relic.
Lyriana and Aryn stood side by side, relics glowing, hearts aligned.
The final battle for the Obsidian Relic—
and for the future of Arvandor—
had begun.