Chapter 45 Forty five
Chapter 45 Forty five
Eryndor woke with a sharp inhale, as if breaking the surface after being pulled underwater. His instincts reacted before his thoughts caught up. Fire sparked under his skin, rising fast, but he forced it back down. His surroundings came into focus. Stone walls. Faded carvings. A broken roof letting in dim light.
He was still in the shrine.
Still alive.
Lyra stood at the entrance, alert and steady. She turned when she heard him shift. “You slept longer than I expected.”
He pushed himself upright. “How long?”
“A few hours.” She stepped toward him. “You needed it.”
He nodded and rubbed a hand over his face. The rest had helped, but it did not ease the heaviness inside him. He could feel the energy beneath his skin, restless and unbalanced. At least it no longer pushed to break free. Not yet.
Lyra studied him for a moment. “Your power is quieter.”
“For now.”
She didn’t press. Instead, she handed him a small canteen and sat down across from him. He drank, letting the cool water steady his breathing.
“Anything happen while I was out?” he asked.
Lyra hesitated. It was subtle, but he noticed. She rarely paused unless something mattered.
“There was nothing dangerous,” she said. “But something arrived.”
She reached to her side and pulled out a small sphere of pale stone. It was smooth, almost perfectly round, with a faint spiral carved along one edge.
Eryndor stared at it. “That is a messenger core.”
“Not an ordinary one.” She held it out. “This was placed outside the shrine. No footsteps. No signs of approach. Nothing disturbed.”
He took the core carefully. The surface was cool, almost icy. “It is a celestial design, but the energy inside is not council-based.”
“Can you open it?” Lyra asked.
“Yes, but it will activate the moment I break the sequence.”
She positioned herself beside him. “Do it.”
Eryndor pressed his thumb against the carved spiral. A soft pulse rippled across the sphere. The top split open, releasing a faint glow that drifted into the air. Light gathered into a small projection, forming the translucent image of a face.
Eryndor tensed. It was not Seraphiel. It was someone older.
A man with white hair, lined features, and eyes that carried both strength and sorrow. His robes were tattered, as if he had been traveling for a long time without rest.
Lyra whispered, “Who is he?”
Eryndor’s jaw tightened. “High Seer Calithor.”
Lyra frowned. “I have never heard of him.”
“You would not have.” Eryndor’s voice was quiet. “He disappeared twenty years ago. The council told everyone he died during an expedition into the temporal rifts. But Seraphiel never believed it.”
The projection flickered, then Calithor’s voice filled the small shrine.
“Eryndor, if you are hearing this, then the council has already moved against you. You must leave the border realms immediately. The corruption has spread farther than you suspect.”
Lyra and Eryndor exchanged a tense look.
Calithor continued. “There is a name you must seek. One the council erased from the archives. The traitor who aided Zariel is the same one who silenced me. Their influence reaches every vault and every channel. Trust no summons from the higher planes. Trust no voice but Seraphiel’s.”
The projection weakened, as if interference pushed against it.
Calithor’s voice dropped lower. More urgent.
“There is another truth you must know. One the council hid from you, Eryndor. It concerns your parents. Their death was not an accident. They were targeted.”
Eryndor’s heart stopped. The room fell silent around him.
Lyra leaned forward, eyes fixed on the projection.
Calithor’s image flickered again. His voice strained, as if fighting through a barrier.
“It was not the collapse of the balance that killed them. It was a deliberate strike meant for someone else. Someone the council could not allow to survive.”
Eryndor’s hands tightened around the sphere until the stone creaked. His pulse hammered.
Calithor’s voice cut through the tension one last time.
“Find the one called Lumerian. He holds the final record. But beware. The council hunts him still.”
The projection broke apart. The light faded, drifting upward before dissolving completely.
The sphere in Eryndor’s hand turned dark and split into dust.
Neither of them spoke at first. The silence was thick, heavy enough to choke on.
Lyra watched him, knowing the words struck deeper than any enemy attack.
Eryndor finally stood. He moved slowly, as if each step carried weight he was fighting to keep upright. His breathing was controlled, but the tension radiated from him in waves.
Lyra approached. “You need to sit.”
He shook his head. “No. If I sit, I will break something.”
His voice was steady, but the edges were sharp.
“Eryndor.” Lyra stepped in front of him. “Listen to me.”
He stopped. Not because she blocked him, but because her tone reached him.
“You do not know the full truth yet,” she said. “Do not let a fragment be the thing that destroys you.”
He looked at her, eyes burning. “My parents might have been murdered because of something the council wanted. Something they hid. And now I am supposed to wait calmly until we learn more?”
“You are supposed to stay alive until we learn more,” she said.
Eryndor closed his eyes for a moment, then forced his breathing to slow.
“We find Lumerian,” he said.
Lyra nodded. “We do.”
She touched his arm, light but steady. “You are not carrying this alone.”
He opened his eyes again. The fire inside him had not vanished, but it was contained. For now.
“We leave before the next shift,” he said. “The council will track that message eventually.”
Lyra nodded once. “I will prepare.”
As she stepped outside the shrine, Eryndor looked down at the dust of the broken core. His parents’ faces passed through his mind. Calithor’s words echoed through him.
Someone on the council had targeted his family.
Someone had covered it for decades.
Someone was still out there, pulling strings.
Eryndor felt the fire rise again, but this time he let it burn quietly inside him. Not in rage. In purpose.
Whoever the traitor was, they had just made the greatest mistake of their immortal life.