Chapter 11: The Frozen Summit
354 Words
The air at the summit of the mountain was so thin it felt like breathing glass. Kael and Elara pushed through snow that reached their knees, the wind whipping around them like a pack of invisible wolves. Ahead, the Altar of Dawn stood atop a jagged peak, its ancient white stone glowing with a faint, rhythmic pulse that matched the relic in Elara’s arms.
"We’re almost there!" Elara shouted over the gale, her face flushed with the biting cold.
Kael didn't answer. His eyes were fixed on the silhouette standing at the very center of the Altar. It was a man, or what used to be a man, clad in armor as black as a starless night. He didn't move, yet the very air around him seemed to warp and decay. This was the High Inquisitor of the Black Sun, the one who had led the slaughter at Aethelgard.
"I knew you would come, Kael," the Inquisitor’s voice sliced through the wind, calm and chilling. "The Iron-Blood are like dogs; you always return to the scent of your master’s grave.
"Kael stepped forward, his silver-veined arm pulsing with a fierce heat. "I have no master, Malakor. And today, I bury the shadow you serve.
"Malakor laughed, a sound like breaking ice. He drew a blade that seemed to be made of solidified darkness, its edge smoking as it touched the freezing air. "You bring the relic and the silver blood directly to me. You haven't come to save the world, Warrior. You’ve come to deliver the final key to its destruction.
"With a flick of his wrist, Malakor sent a wave of dark energy toward them. Kael slammed his sword into the ground, creating a shield of silver light that shattered the attack, but the force of it sent him reeling back. The summit was no longer just a place of prayer; it was an arena where the fate of the realm would be decided.
"Protect the altar, Elara!" Kael roared, regaining his footing. "Whatever happens, do not let him touch the vial!"
- Writer
