28

The journey back to the ruins was fraught with tension. The warriors moved swiftly, their senses heightened, aware that at any moment, the entity could descend upon them. The air was thick with an unnatural chill, as if the world itself recoiled from the presence of the monster they had unleashed.

Amara led the way, her mind racing. Whatever had contained the entity before, Magnus had known about it. That meant there had to be something left in the ruins, some remnant of its prison.

Kian walked beside her, his grip tight on his blade. "We need to be quick. If it realizes where we’re going, it’ll try to stop us."

"I know," Amara muttered, glancing at Fenrir. "Anything you remember about how it was sealed?"

Fenrir’s silver eyes were dark with thought. "The chamber was built centuries ago. Before Magnus, before any of us. I only heard whispers—rituals, old magics lost to time. But whatever it was, it kept the entity contained."

Dorian, trailing just behind them, exhaled sharply. "Then we need to hope something of it remains. Otherwise, we’re walking straight into our graves."

The forest thinned, giving way to the clearing where Magnus’s stronghold had once stood. Now, it was a smoldering ruin. The walls had collapsed inward, shattered stone and broken wood littering the landscape. Smoke still drifted from the rubble, the scent of fire and blood lingering in the air.

The warriors spread out cautiously, searching through the wreckage.

"If anything survived, it’ll be underground," Jarek muttered, kicking aside a fallen beam. "We need to find the chamber."

Amara’s heart pounded as she scanned the debris. Then, a faint pulse of energy brushed against her senses—something deep below.

"Here," she called, moving toward a section of collapsed stone. "It’s still here. We dig."

Without hesitation, the warriors set to work, clearing away the rubble. Minutes stretched into hours as they uncovered what lay beneath. Finally, the remains of a stairwell came into view, leading down into darkness.

"That’s it," Fenrir murmured. "The prison."

Kian glanced at Amara. "Are we ready for this?"

She swallowed hard, steeling herself. "We don’t have a choice. We go down. We finish this."

With weapons drawn, the warriors descended into the ruins, the weight of the past pressing in around them. Below, something ancient awaited.

And the entity was coming.

The descent into the ruins was suffocating. The air was thick with dust, the remnants of collapsed stone coating the steps beneath their feet. Amara led the way, the flickering light of her torch casting long shadows against the walls. The deeper they went, the colder it became, an unnatural chill that pressed against their skin like the breath of something watching from the darkness.

Kian moved beside her, his grip firm on his sword. Behind them, Fenrir, Dorian, and Jarek followed closely, their warriors moving in formation, tense and ready. The weight of centuries pressed down on them with every step.

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, they stepped into a vast underground chamber. The architecture was ancient, the walls lined with intricate carvings depicting battles long past. At the center stood an altar, cracked but intact, its surface adorned with strange symbols that pulsed faintly with an eerie light.

Fenrir exhaled slowly. "This is it. The prison."

Amara ran her fingers over the carvings. "Whatever sealed the entity was tied to this place. Magnus must have broken it when he lost control."

Dorian’s expression darkened. "Then we need to figure out how to restore it before that thing finds us."

As if summoned by his words, a tremor shook the chamber. Dust rained from the ceiling, and a deep, guttural growl echoed from above. The entity was close.

Jarek unsheathed his axe. "We don’t have much time."

Kian turned to Fenrir. "You said it was sealed through ancient magic. Can it be done again?"

Fenrir hesitated, his gaze sweeping over the altar. "Maybe. But we don’t know the full ritual. We’d be guessing."

"Then guess fast," Amara snapped, scanning the room for anything useful. "There has to be a way."

Another growl, closer this time. The shadows in the stairwell began to shift unnaturally, tendrils of darkness seeping into the chamber like living smoke. The entity was coming.

Fenrir moved to the altar, pressing his hands against the markings. The pulsing light brightened slightly, as if responding to his touch. "It needs a power source. A sacrifice. That’s how these things always work."

A cold realization settled over them.

Dorian exhaled sharply. "Then we have to give it something."

Jarek’s grip on his axe tightened. "You’re not suggesting we—"

"Not a life," Amara interrupted, shaking her head. "Something else. Energy, magic, something with power."

Kian’s eyes darkened as he pulled a dagger from his belt. "Blood magic. It’s the closest thing to a direct conduit."

Fenrir nodded grimly. "It might be enough."

Without hesitation, Kian pressed the blade to his palm, dragging it across his skin. Blood dripped onto the altar, and the symbols flared to life. The chamber trembled as an unseen force awakened.

The growl at the stairwell turned into a roar.

"It’s working!" Fenrir shouted. "But it’s not enough!"

Amara stepped forward, slicing her own palm. Her blood joined Kian’s on the altar, the pulsing light surging outward. The tremors grew stronger, the energy in the room rising.

The entity appeared in the stairwell, its crimson eyes locking onto them.

Kian gritted his teeth. "Whatever happens, hold the line!"

With a final surge of power, the altar exploded with light. The chamber shook violently, and the entity let out a monstrous roar as the magic seized it.

The battle was not over, but the prison was awak

ening.

One way or another, this would end tonight.