At the entrance, the imposing gates loomed tall, their gilded edges a stark contrast to the deep, weathered wood beneath. Guards in gleaming silver armor flanked the path, their spears held upright with disciplined precision. The sunlight caught on their polished breastplates, momentarily dazzling as the champions approached.

  One guard stepped forward, his helmet catching the light. Though his posture was formal, his expression carried a subtle trace of recognition. He raised his spear slightly, blocking the path. “State your purpose,” he said, his voice firm but laced with an undercurrent of respect.

  Caelus was the first to step forward, his boots clicking against the cobblestones as he moved. The breeze tugged at his short blue hair, adding a hint of dishevelment to his otherwise composed demeanor. His blue eyes locked with the guard’s, steady and commanding.

  “We’ve returned from an urgent mission,” he said, his voice resolute. “King Rowan needs to hear what we’ve learned.”

  The guard hesitated for only a moment, his gaze sweeping over the group. Though their attire and armor bore the signs of recent battles—scuffs, dirt, and faint traces of blood—there was no mistaking the authority they carried. These were the champions, after all, the chosen protectors of Helia.

  With a curt nod, the guard turned to his companion. They exchanged a silent look before stepping aside, their spears lowering in unison. The sound of their polished boots echoed against the cobblestones as they resumed their positions.

  “Proceed,” the lead guard said, his voice softer now, almost reverent.

  The heavy gates groaned as they swung open, revealing the grand entrance hall of the royal castle. Sunlight poured through the tall stained glass windows, casting intricate patterns of gold, red, and blue across the polished marble floor. The air inside was cool and carried a faint scent of parchment and fresh flowers, a mix of regality and warmth that was distinctly Helian.

  The champions shared a brief glance before stepping forward, their footsteps ringing out in the cavernous space. Each step brought them closer to King Rowan and the truths they carried, truths that could shape the future of Helia itself.

  The throne room was bathed in the warm hues of sunlight streaming through tall stained glass windows, casting patterns of red, gold, and blue across the marble floor. King Rowan stood at the far end of the chamber, his youthful figure framed by the grandeur of the gilded throne behind him.

  “You’ve returned,” Rowan said, his voice carrying a blend of relief and curiosity as he descended the dais. The golden threads of his royal robes glimmered in the light streaming through the stained glass windows, casting intricate patterns on the polished marble floor. His youthful face, framed by tousled golden hair, wore a small, genuine smile. His pale blue eyes swept over the group, pausing on each of them in turn, lingering on their worn but determined expressions.

  As the champions bowed briefly in respect, Rowan motioned for them to follow. “Come,” he said warmly, leading them to the familiar meeting chamber. The path was lit by a grand chandelier and lined with tapestries depicting Helia’s past victories. A large oak table stood at the center of the meeting chamber, its surface already adorned with maps, scrolls, and half-finished reports from the royal advisors. The remnants of wax seals and hastily scrawled notes hinted at the flurry of activity that had taken place just moments before.

  “Apologies for the mess,” Rowan said, his tone warm but slightly sheepish as he gestured to the table. “We’ve been busy trying to stay ahead of everything.”

  Once everyone was seated, Rowan turned his attention back to Caelus, his expression expectant. Caelus, standing tall, stepped forward with measured confidence, his blue hair catching the sunlight filtering through the windows. He carried a faint air of calm authority as he unfurled a map given by Soren across the table.

  “The mission was a success,” Caelus began, his voice steady but edged with the weight of what they’d uncovered. “We encountered several obstacles on our journey to Kur’thar, but we pressed on.” His hand hovered over the map, tracing their path.

  “The first threat came from two Merrow,” he continued, his tone darkening slightly. “They ambushed us on the outskirts of Kur’thar, attempting to capture Seraph. They were organized and unusually aggressive—sent by Soren. We managed to defeat them, but it’s clear they wanted her. Someone—the Veil—is determined to seize Seraph.”

  At the mention of Seraph, Rowan’s gaze flicked to her. The dark elf sat quietly, her silver hair shimmering faintly in the light as her silver eyes met Rowan’s. She nodded subtly, as if to confirm Caelus’s words, though the tension in her shoulders betrayed her unease.

  Caelus leaned over the map spread across the table, tracing the route they had taken with his finger. His voice was steady, his words precise, as he continued recounting their journey.

  “After dealing with the Merrow’s ambush, we arrived in Kur’thar and located Soren, the Veil’s Curator,” he began. “As per your instructions, we sought answers from him—specifically, why the Veil was spying on you.”

  Caelus’s gaze briefly met Rowan’s before he continued, his tone edged with a subtle sharpness. “Soren didn’t hold back in his assessment. He described Your Majesty as ‘young, idealistic, and brimming with conviction,’ but noted that such traits have drawn the attention of enemies far beyond your current understanding. The Veil, pragmatic as always, felt compelled to assess whether your reign was one worth safeguarding—or if it might inadvertently invite greater peril to Helia.”

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  Rowan’s expression tightened, though he nodded for Caelus to continue.

  “We also pressed him about Seraph—specifically why the Veil sought to capture her,” Caelus continued, his voice tinged with lingering frustration. “As expected, Soren was elusive, refusing to divulge much. He claimed we’d only get the full truth if we succeeded in defeating Myrkos. However,” Caelus added, his tone shifting slightly, “he did let Seraph go, an act that indirectly defied the Veil’s orders.”

  Rowan’s frown deepened, his brows drawing together in thought, but he remained silent, letting Caelus finish.

  Caelus shifted his stance, one hand hovering over the map spread before them. “Soren did make one thing abundantly clear—he expects us to work with him to bring down Myrkos. According to him, the Veil’s purpose isn’t to meddle in the conflicts of mortals or gods without reason, but to maintain balance.” His voice dropped slightly as he quoted Soren’s words, “‘To intervene without cause would disrupt the equilibrium we are sworn to protect.’”

  Caelus’s tone hardened as he added, “He believes that Myrkos’s power is tied to the very essence of Helia itself. Only those who carry the weight of Helia’s past—its champions—have the strength, will, and connection to sever that bond. It has to be us. No one else can confront what Myrkos has become.”

  Caelus paused, allowing Soren’s words to settle in the air before continuing. His tone grew more deliberate as he gestured to the map before them. “Soren did provide us with something invaluable: the location of Myrkos. He’s entrenched himself in the ruins of the Shadowspire Citadel, hidden deep within the Blackthorn Marsh.” With a firm tap on the map, Caelus indicated the marked point, the faint creasing of the parchment emphasizing the gravity of the revelation.

  The room fell silent, save for the rustling of the map. Rowan’s blue eyes lingered on the marked location, his expression unreadable as he absorbed the details.

  A hushed tension filled the room as Caelus finished speaking.

  Rowan exhaled slowly, his youthful face betraying the weight of the decisions that lay ahead. “The Shadowspire…” he murmured, his gaze lingering on the map. “I’ve heard the tales. It’s an ancient, cursed stronghold, shrouded in dark magic and treacherous terrain. Few who enter its cursed halls ever return. If Myrkos has chosen it as his stronghold, it means he’s prepared for us.”

  The champions exchanged solemn nods, their determination unwavering despite the growing tension in the chamber.

  “They’re right to fear it,” Riven interjected, her voice sharp and clear, cutting through the heavy silence. Her dark eyes gleamed with a mixture of defiance and concern as she leaned forward, resting her hands on the table. “Myrkos has fortified Shadowspire into an impenetrable stronghold, and he’s not acting alone. According to Soren, he’s drawing power from Nytheris—a god.”

  At the mention of Nytheris, the room seemed to collectively stiffen, a palpable ripple of unease sweeping through the chamber like a cold wind. Even Rowan, usually composed despite his youth, faltered for a moment, his expression darkening.

  “Nytheris…” Rowan repeated slowly, his voice quieter now, as if testing the weight of the name. “The Eclipse Sovereign.” He began pacing, his footsteps echoing on the polished marble floor. “I was aware Myrkos had conspired with a god, but I didn’t know it was Nytheris. If that’s true...” Rowan paused, his gaze falling on the map before him. His brow furrowed, his hand resting on the table as he leaned forward, his voice dropping.

  Riven nodded grimly, her green hair falling into her face as she glanced at the others. “The Citadel isn’t just a refuge for Myrkos; it’s a nexus of power. If Nytheris’s influence grows unchecked, Shadowspire won’t just be a fortress—it’ll be a gateway. We could be facing armies of cursed beasts, and worse spilling into Helia.”

  Magnus spoke next, his soft voice breaking the growing tension. “Nytheris isn’t just any god,” he said, his green eyes flicking toward Rowan. “It’s a primordial force tied to eclipses and eternal darkness. If Myrkos is channeling that kind of power, every battle will be harder. Every step toward Shadowspire will be heavier.”

  Magnus stepped forward with his usual calm grace, his serene green eyes locking with Rowan’s. There was a quiet confidence in his demeanor as he reached into the folds of his cloak and gestured toward Caelus. “He gave us this,” Magnus said, his voice gentle yet firm.

  Caelus stepped forward, carefully revealing a shard of dark, glass-like crystal. It rested in his gloved hand, pulsing faintly with an otherworldly energy that seemed to thrum in time with their heartbeats. The air around it felt heavier, tinged with an unsettling aura that made the room seem colder.

  Rowan’s gaze fixed on the shard, his youthful features tightening with a mixture of curiosity and unease. “What is it?” he asked, his voice low, as if speaking louder might awaken whatever dark force it contained.

  Seraph stepped closer, the soft shimmer of her silver hair catching the light as she moved. Her expression was somber, her silver eyes filled with quiet resolve. “It’s a disruption shard,” she explained, her voice barely above a whisper, yet each word carried weight. “An artifact crafted to sever a god’s tether to this plane. If we can use it correctly, it will strip Myrkos of Nytheris’s power, leaving him vulnerable.”

  Rowan’s brow furrowed as he regarded the shard. “And how do you intend to use it?”

  Darius stepped forward with a sharp-toothed grin, his red-scaled arms crossed over his chest as he cracked his knuckles loudly. “We storm the Shadowspire,” he said with a booming confidence that seemed to momentarily lift the oppressive air. “Break through every trap and defense he throws at us, and then we stick that shard right where it’ll hurt the most.”

  Rowan’s lips twitched, almost forming a smile at the dragonborn’s unshakable confidence. But the seriousness of the situation lingered, and he shook his head slightly. “And what happens if you fail?” he asked, his tone heavy with concern.

  Caelus stepped forward, his blue eyes blazing with determination as he spoke with unyielding conviction. “We won’t fail,” he said firmly, his voice cutting through the tension like steel. “This isn’t just about us or Helia. If we falter, the world will pay the price. Failure isn’t an option.”

  The room fell into a heavy silence, the champions’ resolve hanging in the air like an unspoken vow. Rowan studied each of their faces, searching for any hint of doubt. But there was none. Finally, he nodded, his youthful features hardening with resolve.

  Rowan turned back to the stained glass windows, his reflection showing the weight of his thoughts. “Helia’s future depends on your success. Go with my full support. Whatever resources you need, just ask.”

  The champions exchanged determined glances, each silently vowing to see the mission through. The weight of their task hung heavy, but so too did their resolve. Helia was counting on them.