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The Immortal’s Vow Deadly Pursuit
The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting a soft, orange glow over the land as Lyra and Zarekth left the treacherous Gloomwood Forest behind. The once ominous, whispering trees now seemed far away, though their looming presence still haunted Lyra’s mind. She walked with a noticeable spring in her step, her heart lighter than it had been in days. They had escaped—survived the riddles and the illusions of the forest’s ancient woodmen, and Lyra felt a surge of pride.She glanced at Zarekth, who remained silent as usual, his brooding figure a stark contrast to the warm hues of the sky. But for once, his stoic demeanor didn’t faze her. Lyra was too caught up in her own triumph.“We made it,” she said to herself, her voice barely above a whisper. “I survived Gloomwood.”A small smile crept onto her lips. For once, she hadn’t needed to be saved. She had faced the riddles, solved them, and found a way through the forest’s tricks. Zarekth had been there, of course, but he hadn’t done
The Immortal’s Vow The Weight of Helplessness
Two long days had just gone and nights passed, still the trip had not resumed. The nights were long, filled with the quiet whoosh of the blowing wind and the faint sound of Lyra's shallow breaths. The poison from the shadow assassins' blade had taken root in her veins, leeching at her strength with every passing hour.Zarekth had tried everything to stave off the inevitable decline—binding her wounds, laying her in the shade, keeping watch—but he could not stop what was already in motion. And it enraged him.The weight of it all pressed down on him like an unbearable stone. He was a god, wasn’t he? A god of immense power, yet here he was, powerless to save this one mortal. He glanced down at her, wrapped in the black cloak he’d taken from one of the assassins. Slumped against the rough face of a large boulder, her face pale as moonlight, with remote eyes.Her breathing came in short, shallow catches, and the cold, clammy sweat that dewed her skin was all that showed life in the
The Immortal’s Vow The Village of the Eternal Grove
The road had been long and arduous, but at last, Zarekth arrived at Sylvaen. The village seemed almost to materialize out of the very fabric of some ancient forest, nestled in its protective embrace. Towering trees, their trunks as wide as houses, stood sentinel around the village, their branches weaving together like a protective canopy, blocking much of the sky.The air hung thick with the sweet smell of pine and wild herbs, the soft hum of nature rustling leaves, nearby trickling streams—could be heard. The Heartwood Tree stood among the center of the village, a giant, ancient oak, with roots that run as deep as the earth itself.The bark glimmered faintly in the poor light, seeming almost to glow with a sacramental force.Said to be a direct link with the god of nature, a living testimony to the blessings that he hath bestowed upon this serene village.The villagers moved quietly, their lives seemingly in rhythm with the pulse of the forest itself. But Zarekth, with Lyra’s life
The Immortal’s Vow A Healing Mystery
The first thing Lyra noticed when she opened her eyes was the unfamiliar ceiling. Wooden beams crossed above her, and the soft flicker of light suggested candles, not the harsh bulbs of her world. She groaned, shifting on the bed, her body heavy and stiff. Her head spun as she tried to recall what had happened. The poison. The shadow assassins. Zarekth.Zarekth?!Panic swelled in her and she sat up in bed, wincing as a sharp pain coursed through her arm. Her gaze flitted around the room, expecting to be alone, abandoned. But then, in the dim corner of the room, she saw him. Zarekth stood with his back to the wall, arms crossed, his silver eyes catching the low light.His presence filled the space as though he'd been there the whole time, just waiting."You're finally awake," he said, his voice even. "Good."Lyra blinked, her mind racing to catch up with everything. "How...how much time has gone by since I've been out?" Her voice was raspy, hardly audible above a whisper.“Seven cy
The Immortal’s Vow The Hunt
The soft morning sunlight gently stirred Lyra from sleep, filtering through the thick canopy of tall trees. The harmonious chirping of birds and the subtle rustling of leaves welcomed her, creating a feeling of soothing familiarity.This serene environment enveloped her in a profound tranquility.She extended her arms in a wide stretch, a slight wince crossed her face, a reminder of the lingering ache in her muscles, a testament to her ongoing healing journey. Yet, this discomfort paled in comparison to the agonies she had bravely endured before.Alda, the older woman who healed Lyra, the elder of Sylvaen, had been a quiet yet strong presence during her recovery. Though old, the woman carried herself with a grace and wisdom that seemed to be woven into the very fabric of the village. Her hair, silvery-gray and long, reminded Lyra of the moonlight itself, and her voice always calm and soothing.“You have healed well, child,” Alda had said that morning when Lyra first got out of bed.
The Immortal’s Vow The Sylphids’ Tricks
The mist of the morning hung in the air, lazily swirling among the ancient trees of the Eternal Grove as the village of Sylvaen began to stir, accompanied by the gentle hum of life gradually permeating the crisp atmosphere. Even though the villagers were familiar with the forest's whispers, they detected an unsettling presence creeping through the grove—a faint dissonance that tainted the typically peaceful beauty of their environment.A sense of foreboding loomed. The crops wilted at an accelerated pace, animals grew restless in their enclosures, and the elders exchanged hushed conversations about the escalating disturbances near the Heartwood tree. Amidst this atmosphere, Zarekth stood in the clearing, gazing pensively into the depths of the woods with a troubled expression.His silver eyes glowed faintly, scanning the trees as if they held some hidden secret, some invisible threat that danced just beyond his reach.But there was something about Zarekth today—something different.
The Immortal’s Vow The Blessing of Nature
The night had settled heavily over Sylvaen, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and ancient wood. At the village's center stood the Heartwood tree, its immense, gnarled trunk glowing faintly under the moon's pale light. Revered as the lifeblood of the forest, its silent presence seemed almost sentient, its branches stretching skyward as though reaching for something unseen.Zarekth stood before it, his hand pressed against the rough bark. His silver eyes were closed, his brow furrowed in concentration. The whisper of his voice was barely audible, but the air around him pulsed faintly, as though the tree itself was listening.He had little choice. The Sylphids' attack had left him drained, his divine energy frayed and fragile. He needed strength. And the Heartwood tree—nurtured and protected by his mother long before the world had turned against him—was his last hope in this forsaken place.His voice broke through the stillness, low and reverent.“Give me strength,” he murm
The Immortal’s Vow A Trio Forms
The morning in Sylvaen was still, as if the village itself knew this was a day of farewells. The soft rustle of leaves and the faint hum of life in the forest were the only sounds as Lyra packed the final items into her bag. Viana had given it to her, filled with all the essentials—herbs, food, and clothing, all carefully packed with an unspoken message: You’ll need these where you’re going. Lyra’s fingers brushed over the fabric, gratitude welling inside her. This village, nestled deep in the ancient woods, had offered her more than shelter—it had given her a sense of community, a place to breathe and find her strength again. But their time here had come to an end.Zarekth stood at the heart of the village, his gaze fixed on the towering heartwood tree. Its ancient, gnarled roots twisted beneath the earth, drawing from an age-old power that pulsed in harmony with the land itself. He placed his palm on the trunk, closing his eyes. Words, both silent and potent, slipped from his l
Latest Chapter
In The Quiet Hours
The night settled over the deserted village like a suffocating shroud, its silence almost as oppressive as the lingering destruction. Shadows danced on the crumbled walls as the faint glow of a makeshift fire flickered in the shelter. Viana, Tharion, and Lyra sat in a loose circle, their voices hushed but tense, as if afraid the ruins themselves might overhear their words.“People lived here,” Viana murmured, her gaze scanning the broken remnants of homes. Her voice carried a sadness that made the silence heavier.“Not anymore,” Tharion replied, leaning back against the wall. His tone was deep and heavy and sounded exhausted and a little hopeless, as if he had witnessed this kind of devastation countless times before.Lyra gazed into the flames, which reflected the confusion in her own head.She whispered, as if afraid of the sound, “Where are they?”Viana shook her head and waved her hands as if to say she didn't know."Who knows?" she replied.At that moment, the only noise was th
Ruins of Despair
The plains eventually gave way to a small village—or what was left of one. What had once been a thriving community, a vibrant setting of homes, lay transformed into nothing more than a scorched expanse of rubble and decay. Roofs bobbed like wilted flowers, doorway entrances gaped like dark mouths, and the ghost of charred wood mingled with the faint hint of lingering odorless smoke. Lyra gradually tempered her pace, her fingers coolly squeezing her bow instinctively as she took in the scene.“What… what happened here?” Her voice was soft, almost lost in the stillness.Tharion came up beside her, his expression unusually somber. “It just keeps getting worse,” he muttered, his usual humor absent.Viana moved ahead of them, her curved knives drawn. She walked cautiously, scanning the remains of the village. “Not even a soul left,” she said grimly, her tone carrying a weight that silenced them all.Zarekth paused at the edge of the ruins, his silver eyes focused on the devastation a
The Whispering Dark
The plains stretched endlessly, beneath a pale and dull sky. The air was eerily still, as if the land itself was holding its breath. Far behind them, Emberfall was a distant memory, its warmth and safety now replaced by the vast, silent openness.Zarekth led the group, his steps purposeful but his silence heavier than usual. The sword of equilibrium rested on his back, his grip on its hilt tight. The muscles in his jaw flexed, a sure sign of unease.Lyra trailed close behind him, her gaze flickering to Zarekth’s rigid stance. His unease was contagious.Lyra’s hand unconsciously brushed against the quiver of arrows strapped to her back.Tharion froze mid-step, his eyes narrowing. Something large moved in the corner of his vision, a ripple through the shadows of the grasslands. Slowly, he turned his head, and there it was—wolf-like, massive, and made of writhing darkness. Its crimson eyes burned like embers, locked on him. He blinked, his throat dry.The creature was gone.“Uh… guy
Farewell to Emberfall
The first light of dawn crept over the horizon, painting the city of flames in hues of gold and crimson. The embers of countless fires still smoldered from the night before, their heat lingering in the air as if Emberfall itself refused to let go of the celebration. Lyra stood at the edge of the central courtyard, the weight of her pack resting on her shoulders. Her eyes drifted across the scene—Viana adjusting the strap of her bag, Tharion muttering about his sword, and Zarekth standing tall, his presence as unshakable as the mountains beyond.The dwellers of Emberfall had gathered in clusters, their somber faces marked by both pride and farewell. Warriors lined up beside Ignir, their weapons glinting under the rising sun. Ignir stood at the forefront, a pillar of fire-forged strength, but it was Zarekth who naturally drew the eye. Even here, surrounded by flame and iron, Zarekth’s presence was unmatched, as if the dawn itself bent to acknowledge him.Ignir turned his head and s
Flames of Celebration
The city of Emberfall had transformed into a spectacle of light and shadow. As twilight deepened and bled into full night, flames roared to life in every corner of the city—pyres that reached for the skies, torches that lined every walkway, and bonfires that bathed the streets in gold and orange. Emberfall glowed like a city born of fire itself, and as the first notes of distant drums rang out, the celebration began.Lyra stood with Tharion and Viana at the edge of the central plaza, taking in the scene. The heat shimmered in the air, a visible wave that made the flames dance twice over, their golden glow mirrored across the stone streets. Long wooden tables groaned under the weight of feasts fit for warriors: roasted meats glistening with juices, steaming bowls of spiced stews, baskets of bread still hot from the oven, and mugs of firewine that caught the firelight like molten rubies.“Now this,” Tharion said, eyes gleaming as he surveyed the spread, “is the kind of celebration I
A Dance of Embers
The air in Emberfall carried a heat that clung to the skin, a heavy warmth that never truly dissipated. Flames burned endlessly in braziers scattered across the training grounds, illuminating the dark edges of the volcanic city. The crack of wooden swords clashing echoed in sharp, rhythmic bursts as Lyra, Viana, and Tharion sparred alongside Emberfall’s warriors.Lyra gripped the wooden hilt of her practice sword tightly, her muscles burning with effort as she parried the strikes of her opponent—one of Ignir’s people, tall and lean, with a sharpness to his movements that forced her to stay focused. She ducked under an arc, swung back, and caught him just barely in the ribs. The warrior stumbled back, grinning.“Nice,” he said, nodding at her with approval.Lyra stepped back, chest heaving. She couldn’t remember the last time she had fought so hard—or at all, for that matter. But something about this time, this place, demanded strength.A few feet away, the sound of a sharp thud t
The Path to Discovery
Above, the sky stretched vast and endless, littered with stars that gleamed like scattered fragments of shattered glass. Zarekth sat on a weathered stone, his silver eyes fixed on the heavens. He had been drawn here by the stillness, by the need to think without the noise of questions or expectations pressing down on him.The soft squeak of a creature in distress pulled his attention away from the sky. Turning, he saw it—a small, trembling thing, no bigger than his hand. Its body was slick with blood, one of its wings bent at an unnatural angle. It looked up at him with wide, frightened eyes.Zarekth tilted his head, studying the creature in silence. Its pain seemed to echo within him, though he didn’t understand why. Once, he would have ignored it—dismissed its struggle as insignificant in the vastness of existence. Yet now, something stirred.He knelt, his movements slow and deliberate, and extended a hand toward the trembling creature. His fingers stopped above it for a mome
Umbravus: Echoes of Malice
The air grew colder as they stepped into the ancient ruins, the stone underfoot slick with moisture and shadow. The faint glow of moonlight filtered through the canopy of dark trees, casting fractured beams across ancient stones worn by centuries of wind and time. A feeling of weight pressed upon them, as though the very air had become thick with forgotten whispers. These ruins were buried deep in the shadowed lands—remnants of an age that predated the gods’ imposition of order upon Nerathia, ancient relics abandoned and now claimed by darkness.Kaelen’s breath came slow and deliberate as he took another step forward, his shadow whip coiling behind him like a serpent eager to strike. His hand was steady, but his chest felt tight, as though the ruins themselves were alive, watching, judging.“You can feel it, can’t you?” he murmured, his voice low and sharp, an echo carried by the wind. His dark hair shifted as he turned his gaze toward the swirling, restless shadows that danced an
Whispers of Chaos
Thaloria was a forgotten city, its ancient stone walls and towering spires standing as a testament to the age of gods and power long past. The air was cold here, clinging to the shadows and the mist that twisted between the narrow cobblestone paths. Once, this had been the heart of order—the seat of Aureon’s dominion in Nerathia. Now, it felt abandoned, a hushed whisper of history.Vaeryn stood in the center of an opulent chamber, the pale light of distant stars glinting through stained glass windows depicting scenes of ancient gods and their victories. Her golden hair glimmered faintly as it cascaded like molten light over her slender shoulders. The air felt sharp, a faint breeze stirring the sheer, elegant folds of her robes—robes that shifted colors like liquid silver, reflecting the movement of the mist outside.She was beautiful. Exquisite, even. Ethereal and untouchable in a way that suggested divinity itself. But as her emerald eyes stared into the space before her, they
