The portal’s shimmer collapsed behind them, sending the Zin and the goblins tumbling out onto

  solid ground. Greeb, clinging onto Tulli, hit a damp stone with a grunt. And Tulli, always quick

  to roll with the impact, landed with a softened thud, glancing up toward the distant spires of

  Solsthenar’s High Court. But it was not the regal, sprawling tower that caught her attention. The

  air smelled wrong. Thick, like smoke, blood, and charred wood. Cries echoed around them—war

  cries. Screams of terror. Zin's body hit the ground hard, face-first into the muck of a riverbed.

  Her black hair was plastered to her face, her clothes now soaked through with mud and water.

  For a moment, there was no movement. Nothing but the relentless hum of distant destruction.

  “Lady Zin’kael!” Tulli’s voice snapped through the ringing in her ears.

  Her strong hands grabbed the dazed Zin by the shoulder and roughly yanked her upright,

  checking to make sure she hadn’t broken anything.

  Zin’s head snapped up, her sharp eyes now filled with the haze of shock. She wiped the mud from

  her lips, glaring at the devastation that stretched across Solsthenar. “This wasn’t supposed to

  happen. This wasn’t—”

  The words hung in the air as they looked upon the destruction. The High Court was barely

  visible through the smoke, its once-stately marble towers now marred with fire and explosions.

  The city beyond was no better—a mosaic of chaos. Fires licked at the edges of rooftops, casting

  an orange glow that mixed with the heavy gray of smoke. Screams echoed from every corner,

  mingling with the clash of metal on metal.

  Men and women alike fought in the streets, their faces smeared with blood and soot. The ground

  trembled with the weight of massive, rolling war machines, casting their shadows over the fleeing

  citizens. There were no clean lines of battle here. It was a massacre. The very air was thick with

  the stench of burning flesh and crushed stone.

  Greeb, still dazed from the abrupt travel, muttered something about survival, tightening his grip

  on his sling. His sharp eyes scanned the chaos, ever calculating, while Tulli stood tall, her

  muscles tensed, ready for the fight that was no doubt coming.

  “We need to get up there,” Zin said through clenched teeth, her tone one of steel. She didn’t waste

  time. She didn’t hesitate. They had been on the ground for mere seconds, and they were already

  moving up through the high court.

  The trio cut their way through the madness—fighting off soldiers, aiding civilians, and offering

  fleeting moments of hope to the few allies still brave enough to stand. Each flick of Zin’s fingers

  sent guards to the ground, her movements and use of magic a blur of precision. The strength in

  her arms was unmatched, and the way she commanded herself seemed almost effortless. She was

  the person they— Solsthenar— had always known her to be: a fierce defender.

  "Lady Zin'kael!" A soldier cried out, voice shaky with relief. He had been pinned down by several

  enemies moments before but now had freed himself. He threw a sword to her—an ornate, well

  designed sharp blade. It flew through the air like a bolt of fate, landing perfectly in her hand.

  With barely a glance, she adjusted her stance and was back in the fight.

  As they climbed the steep path toward the High Court’s entrance, the gates before them suddenly

  burst open, and out stepped Mesmera, flanked by two loyal guards.

  “Zin’kael,” Mesmera muttered, her expression determined. “I see you’ve finally come home.”

  The instant Mesmera’s sharp eyes locked onto Zin, a shift in the air made the blood rush to her

  head. The three guards flanking Mesmera spread out in a semi-circle, forming a deadly perimeter

  around the three of them. The High Court was a battleground now—a place where duty clashed

  with defiance, and every move could mean life or death. But there would be no death here—not

  today.

  “A fair fight. No magic,” Mesmera barked.

  Zin felt the familiar thrum of battle stir in her chest. It had been so long since she had been in

  the thick of it. And though the sight of Mesmera brought a rush of memories—of loyalty,

  betrayal, and things best left forgotten—she didn’t hesitate. Not this time.

  Without a word, the clash began.

  Mesmera’s blade was a blur as it shot toward Zin’s throat in a single, fluid motion. But Zin was

  ready. With a calm, practiced movement, she parried the strike, her own sword catching

  Mesmera’s with a sharp clang that echoed through the alley. The sound reverberated like a death

  knell in the chaos of the war-ravaged city.

  “Still alive, I see,” Zin muttered under her breath, as she adjusted her stance, eyes never leaving

  her adversary.

  Mesmera’s lips curled into a cruel smile. “I was hoping for a more personal reunion.”

  Zin’s eyes narrowed. But before she could press her advantage, the two guards rushed forward,

  weapons raised. The first—a hulking, scarred Thulgarim -an ogre with a massive warhammer—

  swung it in a wide arc, aiming to knock Zin off balance. But she was faster. She ducked low, her

  movements as fluid as the river that had once dragged her through a different life.

  With a swift motion, Zin’s blade cut upward, grazing his thigh and sending him staggering

  backward with a grunt. He swung again in retaliation, but this time, she anticipated the move,

  sidestepping to her left, her sword slashing a cut across his exposed arm.

  The second guard—a wiry, lithe woman with twin short blades—was already on Zin’s tail. She

  darted in, forcing Zin to shift her weight and turn. The two exchanged a series of rapid strikes—

  swords clashing with sparks flying. Zin could feel the heat of battle rising as her arm burned with

  each blocked strike. But it didn’t matter. She was in her element. Her focus was absolute.

  Meanwhile, Tulli had her hands full with Mesmera’s hulking ally. With a roar, the ogre slammed

  his hammer into the ground, sending shockwaves through the air. Tulli leaped backward just in

  time, but the force of the blow left cracks in the stone beneath her. She grinned. This was her

  kind of fight.

  Tulli’s legs were coiled like a spring. She lunged forward, moving with surprising agility for her

  size. Her fist collided with the man’s chest with a sickening thud, knocking the wind out of him

  and sending him stumbling back a few paces. But he wasn’t out. He swung his hammer

  horizontally, aiming for Tulli’s head, but she ducked under the swing, using her small stature to

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  her advantage. She grabbed the handle of the hammer with both hands, twisted, and used the

  man’s momentum against him.

  With a grunt, she yanked hard, sending the hammer off-course. In one fluid motion, she released

  it, spinning around to land a solid punch to the man’s ribs. The sound of the blow was muffled by

  the hammer’s thudding fall to the ground. But Tulli wasn’t done yet. She dashed forward again,

  her fists like sledgehammers, landing two brutal hits to his abdomen before shoving him to the

  ground. The giant’s head slammed into the stone beneath him with a loud crack that sent a wave

  of satisfaction through Tulli’s veins.

  But just as the giant staggered to his feet, he howled in fury, his vision swimming with blood.

  Tulli cracked her knuckles, ready to finish him, but that’s when Greeb decided to intervene.

  With a flick of his wrist, Greeb sent a sharpened stone from his slingshot whistling through the

  air. It slammed into the giant’s temple with pinpoint accuracy, causing him to stagger once more.

  The goblin grinned, his teeth flashing in the smoke-filled air.

  “Nice hit, Greeb!” Tulli called out, delivering a final knee to the giant’s gut to keep him down.

  Zin’kael, meanwhile, was still tangled with the two guards. The lean woman had pressed her

  attack, pushing Zin back toward the wall of the High Court. Every strike was calculated—one to

  disarm, one to cripple—but Zin was too fast. She ducked a wild slash, then grabbed the guard’s

  wrist in a vice-like grip. With a brutal twist, she sent the woman’s blade flying from her hands,

  followed by a sharp jab to the woman’s ribs.

  The guard staggered back, gasping for air. She lunged again, aiming for Zin’s throat, but Zin was

  already in motion. She swiftly moved aside, using the guard’s own speed to throw her against the

  stone wall with a thud. The woman groaned, dazed, and slumped to the ground.

  Now it was just Zin and Mesmera.

  The two stood across from each other, their eyes locked in silent defiance. The world around

  them seemed to slow, the sounds of war fading into the background.

  Greeb scurried to grab the ogre’s hammer from the cracked floor.

  Mesmera lunged forward, her blade a streak of silver, aimed straight for Zin’s chest. Zin parried

  the strike, her body moving with practiced grace. The clash of steel rang out, but there was

  something deeper in the silence between them—something unspoken.

  Mesmera’s next attack was a flurry of brutal slashes, each one designed to overwhelm Zin’s

  defenses. But Zin’s blade moved like lightning, intercepting each strike with precision and poise.

  Sweat beaded on her forehead, but she didn’t slow. This fight was about more than just skill; it

  was about history. It was about proving who was stronger.

  Mesmera’s eyes burned with determination. “You always were the better fighter, Zin'kael,” she

  snarled, backing up to catch her breath.

  “You never understood why,” Zin replied coldly, stepping forward, eyes narrowing. “Because it

  was never about fighting, Mesmera. It was about loyalty.”

  Mesmera attacked again, but this time, Zin was ready. She stepped inside the swing, trapping the

  assassin’s wrist and twisting it with a sharp motion. Mesmera’s blade fell to the ground, clattering

  in the dirt. With a scream of rage, she kicked Zin in the gut, sending her staggering back.

  Zin gasped and barely recovered, but before she could regain her balance, Mesmera rushed

  forward, throwing a flurry of punches. The blows landed in a storm of fury, each one feeling like

  it could crush bones. But Zin didn’t flinch. She didn’t back down. With a low growl, she caught

  Mesmera’s next punch and spun her around, locking her in a hold that pinned the assassin’s arms

  behind her back.

  Mesmera struggled, but she couldn’t break free.

  Before Zin could land one last blow, Greeb moved swiftly towards them. The hammer was as

  nearly as tall as he was, but Greeb’s wiry strength allowed him to swing it with surprising speed.

  Without hesitation, Greeb lunged forward, swinging the hammer down with all his might. The

  thick, iron head of the hammer collided with Mesmera’s face with a painful thud. She wheezed

  upon impact, blood spraying from her nostrils as she staggered backward, whimpering.

  She managed to stay on her feet for a moment, her breath ragged, but the damage was done.

  Mesmera’s knees buckled, and with a final gasp, she collapsed beside the ogre. Her nose was

  broken, and blood poured freely from the wound, but she was unconscious—rendered

  completely out of the fight.

  "You’re on a roll, Greeb!," Tulli called again, grinning, but there was no time to rest. The fight

  wasn’t over yet.

  They stood, panting, their eyes scanning the chaos around them. Zin wiped the sweat from her

  brow, exhaling slowly as she surveyed the battlefield. They’d won this round, but the war was far

  from over.

  * * *

  The echo of Mesmera’s collapse still lingered in the air, but Zin’kael wasted no breath on triumph.

  Her boots pounded against the blood-slicked stone as they climbed the last spiral to the Grand

  Hall. Greeb’s shoulders hunched with urgency, and Tulli kept glancing back, watching for more

  guards—none came. All around them, the High Court burned.

  The Grand Hall was a battlefield of its own.

  Stone columns, cracked and shattered. Banners once bearing the golden sigil of Solsthenar now

  torn and blackened by fire. The scent of blood and iron thick in the lungs. Screams and clangs of

  steel echoed in from shattered windows and distant corridors. And at the hall’s center, chaos.

  Loyalists and traitors clashed in brutal skirmishes. There was no formality, no order—just raw

  survival. But one corner of the room had gone quiet.

  There, in a pool of his own blood, lay the High Elder of Solsthenar.

  Zin didn’t remember running to him. One moment, she was beside Greeb. The next, she was

  falling to her knees, her fingers trembling as they brushed his battered face.

  "Father," she whispered.

  He was barely breathing. His chest rose and fell in shallow gasps. One eye swollen shut. Blood

  caked in his hair. His once-regal robes were little more than scorched cloth clinging to open

  wounds. Zin cradled his head in her lap, trembling.

  “Oh, Zin’kael...” he rasped. The word clung to his breath like it had been waiting all his life to be

  spoken.

  “I’m here,” Zin whispered, her voice breaking. “I’m here, Father. I came back.”

  His remaining eye fluttered open, barely. A ghost of a smile touched the corner of his mouth.

  “My daughter. My light... you returned in time.”

  “Don’t speak. We can get you—”

  “No,” he coughed, and blood spilled down his chin. “Listen.”

  Greeb and Tulli stood back, silently watching the moment unfold. Even Greeb’s fidgeting had

  stilled.

  “The device,” the High Elder gasped, “the Alerion. In the royal lab. You remember it, child...”

  Zin nodded, eyes wide with tears. “I know. I used it to leave. I shouldn’t have.”

  He gave a single, trembling nod. “There’s no time to grieve, Zin’kael. It needs the riftfuel to

  function. Go, before it is taken by these traitors too. Use it..and bring them. The

  Veilborn. The Chosen.”

  “The Chosen?” Tulli echoed, her tone sobering.

  “They are scattered across the Veils, the realms. But they are Vaeltharyn’s only hope now... You

  must bring them here. Hide them. Train them. Protect them.”

  Zin shook her head, tears falling freely now. “You’re going to be okay. You’ll—”

  “Zin’kael,” he whispered, his voice a thread. “The darkness is here. Just like the prophecy

  mentioned. The veil tears. You must lead. You... and the Veilborn.”

  His eyes drifted skyward. Something distant, beyond the crumbling dome of the Hall.

  “I see her,” he breathed, a tear running from his good eye. “Your mother...”

  Zin let out a shuddering sob.

  And then the High Elder of Solsthenar was still.

  No final breath. No thunder. Just silence.

  Tulli lowered her head in respect. Greeb swallowed thickly, then placed a hand on Zin’s shoulder

  —brief, quiet, and grounding.

  “We’ll go secure it,” he said gently. “The Alerion.”

  Zin didn’t speak. She lowered her father’s head slowly to the stone floor, closed his one open eye

  with trembling fingers, and rose.

  Her face was stone.

  Greeb took Tulli’s wrist, and the two turned, sprinting toward the passage that led to the lab.

  Behind them, the High Court crumbled.

  * * *

  The Alerion. A name whispered in awe across the nations, a relic of ancient and forbidden

  power. The device was like no other—a high-tech marvel of unimaginable complexity. To call it a

  portal generator would be an understatement. It was far more than just a machine capable of

  creating a passage between worlds; it was a bridge to all possibilities. With the right calibration,

  the Alerion could open a gateway to anywhere, even to places that shouldn’t exist.

  Those who controlled it would have the power to travel freely across time and space, peer into

  the lives of others without them ever knowing, and even manipulate the fabric of reality itself. Its

  technology was so advanced, so beyond the understanding of all but a few, that entire nations

  would gladly kill to possess it.

  For the people of Solsthenar, it was both a blessing and a curse. For centuries, it had been kept

  under the strictest security—until now. The High Elder’s last wish had made it clear: the Alerion

  had to be protected at all costs, and the only ones who could stop the incoming darkness were

  the Veilborn.

  As Greeb and Tulli sprinted through the corridors of the High Court, their hearts pounded in

  their chests. The sound of clashing steel, screams, and the crackling of magic filled the air. They

  barely avoided a group of guards, but the real battle was ahead. The lab was within their reach.

  Tulli’s eyes scanned the path ahead. She had a feeling something was off. The further they went,

  the more hostile the atmosphere grew. The corridors were littered with bodies, soldiers and

  civilians alike, locked in desperate combat. Every step forward felt like a struggle, and every

  corner they turned promised yet another enemy.

  “We can’t let them stop us,” Greeb grunted, clutching his makeshift weapons. “The Alerion has to

  be secured, no matter what.”

  “Stay sharp,” Tulli responded, glancing over her shoulder. Her fingers twitched with readiness,

  itching to unleash her fury if needed.

  They reached the lab door. It was slightly ajar, but as Greeb pushed it open, a group of well-

  armed soldiers, their faces masked in black steel, confronted them. Without a word, they

  charged.

  The fight that followed was brutal. Tulli took the lead, her punches sending enemies crashing

  into lab equipment, while Greeb hurled anything he could grab—bits of shattered glass, stray

  metal beams—using them as makeshift projectiles. The soldiers fought fiercely, but they were no

  match for the pair’s relentless determination.

  Amidst the chaos, Tulli’s eyes found the device they’d come for. It was massive. It sat on a

  pedestal in the center of the lab, surrounded by an intricate network of control panels and

  glowing lights. She bolted towards it, diving into her satchel for the shrinking vial.

  “Where is it… where is it…” she muttered to herself, rifling through the items. Her hands found

  the vial, and with a flick of her wrist, she tossed it onto the Alerion. The device shimmered for a

  moment, shrinking down to the size of a small stone.

  Without hesitation, Tulli snatched it up and stuffed it into her pouch. She ran across the room to

  grab as much as riftfuel vials as she could. “Got them!” she shouted.

  But the moment she turned to run, the door to the lab slammed open, and more enemies

  flooded the room. “We need to go. NOW!” Greeb yelled, taking a defensive stance.

  They fought their way out, breaking through the enemies with precision and speed. With every

  step, they got closer to the exit. The shrill sound of battle echoed in the hallway as they made

  their way through the twisted remnants of the High Court.

  Suddenly, an unnatural shrieking noise reverberated through the air. It was like the sound of a

  thousand wailing voices—distorted, foreign, and terrifying. A deep, pitch-black darkness seemed

  to fill the corridor, a swirling portal opening in the distance.

  Tulli’s heart raced. “What the hell is that?” she whispered, eyes wide.

  “A portal?” Greeb’s voice was low, the realization settling in. “Someone’s coming.”

  But they didn’t have time to process it further. The air around them grew heavy, and before they

  could move, everything went black for a moment. They ran as fast as they could, trying to get

  back to Zin’kael.

  * * *

  Meanwhile, Zin was still in the grand hall, surrounded by the aftermath of the battle. The smoke

  in the air seemed to settle into her lungs, but it did nothing to quench the fire building inside her.

  Rage. Sorrow. Determination. These were the emotions that drove her now, as she wiped the

  blood from her face, stepping over the bodies of fallen enemies and allies alike.

  She no longer cared for the futile skirmishes around her. Her focus was singular. Her father—her

  only family—was dead, and she couldn’t afford to be weak anymore.

  No one who stood in her way would survive.

  A soldier lunged toward her with a dagger, but with a twist of her wrist, Zin redirected his strike

  and threw him into the nearest pillar with such force that he crumpled to the ground,

  unconscious.

  Another soldier raised his sword, but Zin was faster. With a burst of magic, she summoned a

  wave of raw energy, knocking the sword from his hands and sending him flying into the stone

  wall. He hit the floor, stunned but alive, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

  “Thorne…” she muttered, her voice sharp. “Where is he?”

  “I… I don’t know! Please, spare me!” the man pleaded, his knees shaking as he crawled before

  her.

  Zin’s eyes narrowed. She stepped closer, towering over him. “Tell me, or I will make you wish you

  had never been born.”

  The man whimpered but broke under her pressure. “I don’t know. I’m just a soldier! Please...”

  Zin sighed, her hand tightening into a fist. “Useless skavrenn.” She shoved him aside and turned,

  her mind focused on the tower.

  But as Zin took her first step toward the exit, a sharp yank wrenched her backward.

  Fingers tangled in her hair, jerking her head so violently she staggered. Her body hit the stone

  floor with a sickening crack, pain exploding in her cheek as it scraped along the jagged ground.

  Before she could rise, a force hauled her up by the roots of her hair, dragging her gaze skyward.

  “Zin’kael Vaerra.”

  The voice slithered from the shadows above her—low, smooth, and steeped in venom. “Back just

  in time to watch it all burn.”

  It was Thorne.

  His breath ghosted over her skin as he released her, only to send her crashing down again. The

  impact stole air from her lungs. She rolled, coughing, tasting blood.

  Bootsteps—slow, deliberate. Then his silhouette loomed, outlined by the flickering firelight of the

  ravaged hall. His eyes shimmered with cruel delight.

  “I waited for this moment,” he said, crouching beside her like a wolf savoring the cornered kill.

  “Your father choking on his pride. His blood on my hands. And you—”

  He seized her throat in one swift motion, lifting her halfway off the ground.

  “Let’s see if the last of House Vaerra is half as unbreakable as the legends claim.”