Rain slicked Raska’s leather armor as she crouched in the jagged ruins of the Sunken Spire. Her crimson blade, alight with runes carved into its surface, hummed faintly in her grip. The jaguar-headed sorcerer, Grivask, stood ahead, weaving a shimmering web of energy around the Tear of Makraal suspended above his clawed hands—a gem large enough to ransom a kingdom. But Raska wasn’t here for riches. That stone held the life essence of her brother, stolen when Grivask raided her village.
Grivask snarled as she charged. The air thickened, and Raska felt her muscles seize. With a hissed curse, she hurled a dagger etched with disruptor glyphs. It shattered the sorcerer’s web, and the spell snapped. The Tear tumbled to the stone floor as Grivask staggered backward.
Ignoring the sorcerer’s outstretched claws, Raska dove for the Tear. Her blade crackled in her hand as she slashed at the gem. It shattered, and a rush of golden light fled the shards, spiraling into the storm-ridden sky. Her brother’s soul was free.
But something inside her surged—a heat, a pressure—and she cried out. Grivask bared his teeth in a grin. “You’ve claimed the curse, fool.”
Burning runes erupted across her skin as the blade fused to her hand. In the sorcerer’s dying laugh, she felt her freedom crumble.
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