Eryndel pressed his hand against the ancient stone, feeling the hum of leyline magic beneath his palm. The door to the vault shimmered, resisting him. Behind him, the pulse of approaching war drums quickened. The armies of the Ash Tyrant would be here soon.
He exhaled and whispered the incantation his grandmother had taught him. The stone flared with golden runes, and the door melted away. Inside, the Heart of Aevalis floated above a pedestal, a swirling crystal of pure arcane power. He reached out, but the chamber trembled as a spectral guardian emerged—a towering, translucent lion with eyes of molten silver.
With no time for fear, Eryndel raised his staff and summoned the winds of Eldrinor. They howled, swirling around the lion, but the beast leaped. He sidestepped, brushing his fingertips against the Heart. Magic surged through him, burning, reshaping. When he turned, his body shimmered with light.
The war drums stopped. The Ash Tyrant’s forces had arrived. But so had their reckoning.
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