The journey to Helios became a relentless chase. Kaelen and Lysandra, driven by adrenaline and the pulsing urgency of the Soul Tide, pushed their horses to the breaking point.
As they neared the capital, the differences between their worlds became sharply apparent. Helios was a magnificent city of blinding white and gold marble, towering structures built to funnel the light toward the Great Sunwell at its heart. But beneath the veneer, the city was exhausted. People were thin, the streets were too quiet, and the Solarian guards at the gate moved with weary slowness.
They rode straight to the Royal Citadel, the center of governance and the location of the Sunwell. Kaelen bypassed his confused guards and found his way to the highest governing body: the Solarian Grand Council.
The council members—a dozen ancient, wizened men and women who held the kingdom's ritualistic power—were outraged by Kaelen's sudden appearance, his disarmed state, and the sight of the Sea Witch stepping into their sacred hall, her presence causing the air to chill noticeably.
"Prince Kaelen! Where is the Sun Blade? And what is this... creature?" demanded Arch-Councillor Theron, his voice trembling with fear and indignation.
Kaelen slammed his hand onto the massive obsidian table, the faint Soul Tide mark pulsing on his palm.
"Silence! My kingdom is bleeding, and you fret over appearances!" Kaelen's authority was absolute, honed by years of managing the dying realm. "The Gloom is lifted, thanks to the Sea Witch, Lysandra, who risked everything to stabilize the world's core magic. But in doing so, we have awakened Amon of the Scorched Earth. He is hours behind us, and he intends to drain the Great Sunwell and destroy the world!"
The council was in chaos. They feared Amon, but they feared the Sea Witch and the loss of the Sun Blade more.
Lysandra stepped forward, her cool dignity contrasting with the panic of the Council. "The only hope is the Sunwell. It is the last major reserve of old Solarian magic, and therefore the only location where we can contain him. We must open the upper chamber of the Sunwell, draw his power towards the concentration of light, and use the ancient wards to imprison him."
"We cannot open the Sunwell chamber! It is sacred! Only the Sun Blade can activate the highest ward-locks!" Theron cried.
"Then your wards are useless," Kaelen retorted grimly. "The blade is gone. But I am the Heir of the Sun, and I am now bound to the magic of the sea. Together, we are the new lock."
He looked at Lysandra, a silent agreement passing between them via the Soul Tide. They knew they had to activate the ancient wards using a risky, experimental method: channeling their combined, unstable power directly into the Sunwell's control mechanisms.
Kaelen ordered the Grand Council to clear the city of all non-essential personnel and ordered Valerius, who had arrived with their horses, to secure the outer citadel gates.
"Commander," Kaelen said, clasping Valerius's shoulder. "No matter what happens, you must trust the Sea Witch. She fights for us now."
Lysandra and Kaelen descended into the deepest, oldest parts of the Citadel—the subterranean chamber housing the Great Sunwell.
It was breathtaking. A colossal shaft of polished gold stone descended into the earth, at the bottom of which pulsed a glowing, contained sphere of pure, golden light—the concentrated life force of Solaria. Ancient Solarian runes pulsed weakly on the walls, designed to contain and filter the Sun's power.
"The activation points are here," Kaelen pointed to four embedded stone discs around the chamber. "The Sun Blade would connect them. We will use the Soul Tide."
They stood opposite each other, placing their hands on two of the discs. They closed their eyes, letting the bond flow freely. Lysandra channeled the steady, immense flow of water magic, cooling and stabilizing the chamber. Kaelen channeled his raw, internalized Solarian heat, amplifying the light.
When the two energies met at the center of the Sunwell, the ancient runes flared to life, not just gold, but a shimmering, protective gold-and-silver light. The wards were activated, humming with combined power, ready to receive Amon.
Just as the final ward sparked to life, a tremor ran through the city. The air in the chamber grew instantly cold and sterile, and a familiar, grating voice echoed down the shaft.
"You should have kept your toys to yourselves, children. Now, the Sunwell belongs to the Scorched Earth."
Amon had arrived. And he was standing directly above them, preparing to descend