CHAPTER 64
The crystalline door dissolved into a mist that shimmered like shattered moonlight, unveiling a path cloaked in unnatural stillness.
Sorayael and the Grand Duke stepped inside.
The moment they crossed the threshold, the air shifted-denser, older. The very walls pulsed faintly as if breathing. Veins of mana ran like roots through the blackened stone, and in the distance, an ethereal glow gave shape to what looked like a massive underground city... hidden within the dungeon.
It was not empty.
Sorayael paused mid-step, her golden eyes scanning the structures-domed buildings carved into stone, bridges suspended by crystal spires, flickering lanterns that floated without flame.
And then... there are people inside.
Dozens of them-some tall and fair, others stout and broad, their eyes bright with age and suspicion. A realm carved from ruin, and yet... alive.
Sorayael's voice was barely above a whisper. "They live here?"
'I thought they were just myths but they really are true? Wow!!'
Sorayael right now - (?☆?▽?☆?)
The Grand Duke didn't answer immediately. His hand hovered near the hilt of his blade, gaze locked ahead.
From the upper terraces and shadowed corners, figures emerged.
Elves, cloaked in silver-threaded robes.
Dwarves, their armor etched with deep runes.
Others-taller, cloaked beings with ashen skin and glowing sigils across their temples.
And every single one of them stared at the intruders.
'They still.. exist?' The Grand Duke were shocked. 'No wonder, no one returns from here.'
The quiet broke.
One of the warriors stepped forward-an elf with a halberd glowing with mana runes. His tone was stern. "You trespass sacred ground. Speak-who are you, and how did you enter this sealed sanctuary?"
Sorayael glanced at the Grand Duke, who gave her a faint nod.
She stepped forward, lifting her chin with composure shaped by years of training and bloodline restraint. "We are travelers," she said carefully. "Sent by purpose, not by conquest. We didn't know this place was inhabited."
A gruff dwarf squinted at her. "You expect us to believe that? No one passes the Grave's veil."
Then, louder, the elder said, "The child bears a resonance. Her presence stirs the seals. She is not ordinary."
Weapons subtly lifted again.
A tension hung-like a taut string ready to snap.
Sorayael remained still, her voice calm but edged with warning. "We didn't come here to fight."
"Then why are you here?" asked the elf. "What do you seek in the Grave of Velthira?"
The chamber seemed to hold its breath.
Sorayael didn't answer immediately because the truth... was still unfolding.
Before either of them could draw breath or steel, a wave of force crashed down on their bodies-not physical, but arcane, layered with centuries-old enchantments.
The air thickened, pressing against their lungs.
Sorayael staggered, her legs numbing beneath her as glowing chains of mana coiled around her wrists like spectral vines.
The Grand Duke was similarly bound, though he resisted more forcefully.
But even his strength faltered beneath the pressure of dozens of unified, ancient auras.
Their weapons were stripped away with precise, graceful movements. The dwarves moved with blunt efficiency, while the elves maintained a cold, elegant silence. The elder with glowing sigils gestured, and a circular platform of runestone rose beneath them.
Darkness.
When the light returned, they were no longer in the open.
Instead, the walls were carved from obsidian and laced with glowing veins of golden script. A large, crescent-shaped table stood at the center, ringed by representatives of each species who dwelled in the Grave-a high tribunal, each one bearing a badge of ancient authority.
Sorayael and the Grand Duke stood at the center of the hall, surrounded.
The Grand Duke lifted his chin, voice even. "We didn't come to desecrate your sanctuary."
A moment passed.
Then Sorayael spoke. "Because of Velthira."
The chamber shifted.
Not physically-but the air became heavy, reverent. Tense.
Sorayael stepped forward despite the chains on her wrists. "I came here because the world beyond is shifting. The Emperor of Aethelgard plans to summon forbidden celestial forces-two of them. He walks paths that should've died with the First Era. I need to know the truth."
A pause.
Then she added, slower, "I'm not here for power. I'm here for answers. Who she truly was. What they took from her. And why my mother died bearing that truth. What truth do we need to uncover?"
The tribunal exchanged weighted glances. The energy shifted again, less of threat, more of deliberation.
The Grand Duke added, "This girl bears a lineage the Empire fears. Her presence here wasn't a conquest-it was a consequence. You speak of balance, yet the surface fractures beneath you."
The robed elder with glowing markings finally stood, stepping forward, their voice low and steady.
Sorayael met the elder's eyes. "I seek what was lost. For the sake of what still can be saved."
A long silence.
Then the elder said, "We will judge your words in the Chamber of Echoes. You will face Velthira's shadow and if she finds you unworthy, not even your name will remain in the world above."
Chains shimmered and fell, not from trust, but permission.
Sorayael took a breath, her heart steady.
The stone doors groaned open.
Ancient magic rippled through the chamber as the guards stood aside, allowing Sorayael and the Grand Duke to enter.
The Chamber of Echoes was no ordinary room-it was a sealed consciousness, carved not into the world, but layered beneath it.
Shimmering walls twisted with memories not their own, and overhead, a vault of glass reflected not their faces, but their truths.
Sorayael's golden eyes flicked to the Grand Duke. He gave her a look-stern, composed. But there was a flicker of warning in his gaze.
And the trials began.
The chamber was starlit, endless and strange. Sorayael stood alone in the center, her golden eyes drawn upward toward a sky made of swirling constellations. The air pulsed with heat-yet it did not burn. It hummed with remembrance.
Then, the sigils lit beneath her feet.
A dozen illusions appeared-phantoms of threat and chaos, enemies formed from shadow and fury. Their presence was suffocating. But Sorayael moved, silent and sure. Twin golden arcs of mana shaped into blades danced in her hands as she weaved through them like a tempest unchained.
She struck.
Again and again and again... and again.
Not with desperation to step outside immediately-but the will to know everything she deserves to know.
Each step she took seemed to echo with a history not hers. With instincts she didn't learn-but inherited.
By the time she stood bloodied and breathing, the phantoms vanquished, her power shimmering in the air like golden heat-
She was no longer alone.
A soft radiance bloomed across the chamber.
From the arcane smoke stepped a figure cloaked in embers and light, eyes the color of a dying sun, hair silver-ash like the girl before her.
She spoke gently.
Sorayael stood still, uncertain but unafraid.
The woman nodded slowly. "I am what remains of her. Of me. A whisper carved into the weave."
Velthira stepped closer. Her presence wasn't overwhelming-it was familiar. Like the scent of smoke in a home long gone.
Velthira's gaze softened. "You're not becoming me. You're becoming what the world needs you to be."
Velthira reached out, pressing two fingers to Sorayael's brow. A warmth spread-bright, gentle, and terrifying.
Velthira smiled at her and hugged her, "The truths are closeto you. Find that person and he will tell you thr truths you want to unconver."
She looked at Sorayael and held her cheeks, "Hey! Don't be discouraged, c'mon! Fvck him up! Hit the emperor every single inch of his form.'
Sorayael might be shocked because of Velthira's personality that she's showing to her right now, but she can't help but laugh.
Her form began to fade.
The vision dimmed.
And Sorayael opened her eyes.
........
The Grand Duke stepped onto a war-torn field.
The winds howled through forgotten banners. Armor clinked. Blood stained the soil. Before him stood a thousand soldiers, faceless echoes of the men that the former emperor once led. At the center-a throne carved of obsidian and ice, broken and cracked with time.
'I'm.. in the old war?'
On it sat a man cloaked in old regalia. A presence commanding even in death.
The former Emperor raised his head, golden eyes sharp even across memory.
The Grand Duke approached. "You... knew? Ah.. May the stars guide your steps as they once guided your rule, Your Majesty." he said with a hand over his chest, voice low but clear.
Ashvonn nod and stood, voice echoing like iron through mist.
The Grand Duke's hand twitched toward his blade, but Ashvonn lifted a hand.
From the folds of his robe, the former Emperor drew a spectral blade, glowing faintly. "This is not for war. It is memory given form."
Ashvonn met his gaze.
The battlefield surged again-faces of his fallen soldiers, every choice, every loss. And still... he stood.
When the vision faded, the former Emperor simply said:
A hand touched the Grand Duke's shoulder. "Protect her along with her brother."
Then he was gone.
When the doors opened, Sorayael stepped out first, breath low, golden eyes... changed. Not burning but deep.
The Grand Duke followed, silent as ever-but with a new weight in his gaze. Not burden but purpose.
The ancient beings who had watched their trials bowed their heads slightly.