The tunnels beneath King's Landing were alive in a way the city above could not imagine. Every stone whispered with magic, faint but enduring, and the Veil Anchors thrummed like a heartbeat in Aurelian's hands. The power surged, not chaotic, but aware—attuned to him, to Nightbloom, and now to Westeros itself.
Elayne moved beside him, tense but controlled. "Every step we take, the crown tightens its noose," she whispered. "They've doubled patrols, and Vayne's agents are searching every alley, every tunnel. We can't linger here."
Aurelian's green-gold eyes glimmered in the half-light. "We do not linger. We move, but we listen. The Anchors tell more than the ears ever could. They show the pulse beneath the city, the currents of fear and ambition."
They came to a wide chamber where the walls were etched with ancient sigils, long faded and half-erased by time. The floor was cracked, as if some great weight had pressed down upon it centuries ago. One of the Anchors pulsed violently as they approached, responding to the hidden presence beneath the stone.
"This is it," Aurelian said softly. "The chamber beneath the city where the Anchors were first placed. Where magic and history meet."
Elayne's hand tightened on her sword. "And you think we can take it? No one has entered this place in generations. If the crown finds us—"
"They will not," Aurelian interrupted. His shadow shifted around him, elongating, stretching like living ink. "Not yet. The Anchors are our guide. And in these shadows, the city cannot touch us."
He stepped into the center of the chamber. The floor vibrated faintly beneath his feet. With the Anchors held aloft, he murmured words older than the Iron Throne, letting his magic weave with theirs. The runes on the walls brightened, resonating with power.
Suddenly, the ground shuddered. A faint, green light emerged from the cracks in the stone, coalescing into shapes that flickered like shadows with minds of their own.
Whispers, barely audible, drifted through the chamber: old names, old battles, forgotten oaths.
"Elayne," Aurelian said, "do you hear it? The city's past, alive beneath our feet. Every secret, every betrayal. It speaks now."
Before she could respond, a familiar presence intruded upon the chamber: Ser Alric Vayne, stepping silently through a hidden passage, flanked by four cloaked figures who radiated subtle, dangerous power.
"You never learn, do you, prince?" Vayne said calmly. "You meddle with forces you cannot control."
Aurelian's shadow coiled like a living cloak, responding to the threat. "I control nothing except what I must," he replied. "And what I claim, I protect."
Vayne's eyes flicked to the Anchors, sensing their resonance. "You've awakened them," he said. "Do you understand what that means?"
Aurelian's gaze hardened. "Yes. They are not tools for men. They are sentinels. And now, they are aware of you."
The shadows in the chamber surged, rising from the walls, twisting around the gold-cloaked intruders. The four cloaked figures hissed, retreating slightly as the Anchors' pulse deepened, revealing the full force of their magic.
Elayne moved to Aurelian's side, sword ready, but it was not steel that would defend them—it was shadow, and the echoes of Nightbloom's power.
Vayne stepped forward, face calm but tense. "You are bold, prince. But the city will not allow this. The crown will respond. We will find a way to claim what you now wield."
Aurelian's green-gold eyes gleamed. "Then let them come. Shadows endure longer than crowns."
A tremor ran through the chamber. The Anchors' light flared, illuminating the ancient runes fully. In that instant, the boundaries between King's Landing and the hidden magic beneath it thinned. The city itself seemed to pulse, aware of the power now stirring in its veins.
Elayne glanced at him. "You're awakening something far bigger than us, aren't you?"
Aurelian's lips curved into a faint, determined smile. "Bigger than the crown. Bigger than Westeros. Bigger than fear itself."
Above, unseen in Nightbloom, Queen Maleficent extended her wings. She felt the pulse, the surge of her son's will, and allowed herself a rare smile. The game had truly begun.
And the city above, oblivious and unready, was about to learn that shadows can strike without warning, and darkness always remembers.