The golden glow of the temple had long faded behind them, swallowed by the endless expanse of the wilderness. The air was thick with tension as Raine and Sylara pressed forward, their bodies strengthened from the trials they had endured, yet their minds heavy with the weight of what lay ahead.
Varian was coming.
They knew it before Seraphis had even spoken the words. The Warden of the Rift was not a man to let loose ends dangle. He had failed to capture them once—he would not fail again.
And this time, he wouldn't come alone.
Seraphis led them down a winding path through the rocky cliffs, her silver eyes scanning the horizon. "We don't have much time."
Sylara adjusted the strap of her sword, her expression unreadable. "How long before they find us?"
Seraphis's lips pressed into a thin line. "If we keep moving, we may have a day. At most."
Raine exhaled slowly, his mind already racing. He could feel it—an unshakable sense of urgency creeping into his bones. It wasn't just fear. It was instinct.
Varian was hunting them. And soon, the Warden would strike.
They needed a plan.
A Desperate Strategy
They made camp in a narrow valley, the towering cliffs providing a temporary sense of security. The stars overhead flickered like distant watchers, silent and knowing.
"We can't outrun him forever," Raine said, breaking the silence. "Even if we had a week, he'd still catch us."
Sylara's gaze flicked toward him, her emerald eyes sharp. "Then we fight."
Seraphis sat on a nearby rock, her expression calm but firm. "Not here. If we fight Varian now, we will lose."
Raine's hands clenched into fists. "Then what? Just wait for him to corner us?"
Seraphis shook her head. "No. We choose the battlefield."
Sylara frowned. "You have a place in mind?"
The older woman nodded. "To the east, beyond the cliffs, there lies an abandoned fortress—Varyndor Keep. Once, it was a stronghold for warriors who stood against the Rift's collapse. Now, it's nothing but ruins. But the land itself holds power, remnants of the old magic."
Raine's eyes narrowed. "And you think that magic will help us?"
Seraphis met his gaze. "I know it will."
Sylara ran a hand through her silver hair, exhaling sharply. "So we lure Varian there. We make him fight us on our terms."
Seraphis nodded. "It's our best chance."
Raine smirked. "Then let's make sure we don't waste it."
A Battlefield of Their Own Choosing
The journey to Varyndor Keep took half a day. By the time they reached the ruins, the sun hung low in the sky, painting the fortress in hues of crimson and gold.
The keep itself was a husk of its former glory—crumbling walls, shattered towers, and an eerie silence that clung to the air like a specter.
Raine ran a hand along the weathered stone, feeling the faint hum of something ancient beneath his fingertips.
"This place…" he murmured. "It's not dead."
Seraphis gave a small, knowing smile. "No. The echoes of battle still linger here. And when the time comes, they may answer."
Sylara scanned the perimeter, already calculating their defenses. "We need chokepoints. Places where we can force Varian's forces to fight on our terms."
They worked quickly, moving through the ruins with purpose. They weren't just waiting for a fight—they were preparing for one.
Raine reinforced the outer walls as best as he could, using his magic to fortify the weak points. Sylara set traps in the collapsed corridors, hidden beneath layers of dust and rubble. Seraphis carved runes into the stone, whispering old incantations to awaken the dormant magic beneath the keep.
By nightfall, Varyndor Keep was no longer just ruins.
It was a battleground.
The Warden Arrives
The first sign of Varian's approach was the unnatural stillness in the air.
Then came the tremors.
Distant at first, but growing—the sound of marching.
Raine stood atop the ruined battlements, his pulse steady despite the storm raging in his chest. He could see them now—Varian's forces.
Dark-cloaked warriors moved like shadows across the valley, their movements precise, disciplined. At their center, mounted atop a warhorse clad in black steel, rode Varian himself.
Even from a distance, his presence was overwhelming.
The Warden of the Rift was not a man.
He was a force.
And he had come for them.
Sylara joined Raine at his side, her grip firm on her sword. "This is it."
Raine exhaled, his fingers crackling with restrained power. "No more running."
Seraphis's voice was steady as she spoke. "Hold the line."
The ruins of Varyndor Keep would witness battle once more.
And this time, the outcome would shape the future of both realms.