The palace dungeons, the training courts, even the throne room—none of them held the fear that the inner sanctum did.
Because this place wasn’t for prisoners.
It wasn’t for nobles.
It was for magic.
Ancient magic.
Forbidden magic.
Magic that had bound Ariaxa and Kaedan together—blood, soul, and fate.
And now that same place was under attack.
Shattered.
Desecrated.
Kaedan and Ariaxa tore through the palace corridors like twin storms. Marble cracked beneath their boots. Guards scrambled to follow, but the Emperor’s command was one thing—
The bond dragging them both toward danger was stronger.
“Faster,” Kaedan snarled, voice nearly feral.
“I’m right behind you,” Ariaxa gasped, though her lungs burned.
The bond pulled, guiding them like a living compass.
Down stone steps.
Through carved archways.
Past wards flickering desperately.
Until—
The corridor burst open into the sanctum.
Ariaxa froze.
Kaedan roared.
Because the doors—
Were gone.
Not damaged.
Blown inward by shadow force so strong the hinges lay twisted on the ground like melted silver.
Inside—
The chamber boiled with shadow magic.
The once-sacred runes on the floor blazed with corrupted energy. Gold sigils flickered, struggling against suffocating darkness.
And at the center—
Three elite Triarch mages stood over the bond altar.
Their robes whipped in the storm of magic.
Their hands bled from runic carving.
Their mouths chanted in sickening harmony.
Shadow-fire spun in circles around them, crackling with lethal intent.
Ariaxa’s heart stopped.
Kaedan lunged.
He didn’t think.
He didn’t plan.
He simply attacked.
A blood-rune ignited in his palm—
“KAEDAN, WAIT—!” Ariaxa shouted—
Too late.
One mage whipped around, hissed a spell—
And a blast of shadow slammed into Kaedan’s chest.
The force lifted him off his feet.
He hit the wall with a crack so violent the stone caved inward.
“KAEDAN!” Ariaxa screamed.
He slumped, stunned, blood trailing down his temple.
Another mage turned toward the altar.
“SEVER THE BOND,” he commanded. “KILL THE SUNBORN!”
Ariaxa’s pulse raced.
No.
No—NO—
She stepped forward—
But she didn’t run blindly.
She called on what she had learned in the forbidden texts of Elyndor’s history.
Old Solar tongue.
Spells older than kingdoms.
She raised both palms, Sun magic spiraling like molten gold around her wrists.
Her voice rang through the chamber—
clear, sharp, ancient:
“Sol’haran ven’aris!”
The runes on the floor bucked.
The room shook.
The air split open between Sun and Shadow, magic clashing so violently the sanctum trembled like it might collapse.
The mages staggered—
But didn’t fall.
One hissed, “She resists!”
Another screamed, “Strengthen the circle!”
Ariaxa pushed harder, pouring everything she had into the counter-spell—
Her heartbeat thundered.
Her magic blazed.
Her body shook with the effort.
The bond flared gold-red—
power feeding power, Kaedan dragging himself upright despite the pain, their souls pressing together with instinctive desperation.
But the mages were prepared.
They finished the second verse of their severing ritual—
Right as Riven stormed into the sanctum.
“MOVE!” he roared, slicing through one mage’s ward with a glowing blade.
Ariaxa didn’t look back.
She was seconds from breaking.
Kaedan staggered toward her, shouting—
“ARIA—STOP—YOU’LL TEAR YOURSELF APART—”
But she couldn’t.
She wouldn’t.
This was their bond.
Their souls.
Their fate.
No mage would ever take that from her.
She lifted her hands higher—
The mages shrieked:
“THE BOND MUST BE BROKEN!”
Shadow-magic surged—
And all three Triarch mages unleashed their spell at once.
The force slammed into Ariaxa’s chest like a star collapsing.
Her scream tore the sanctum apart.