Eryndor raced across the crystal bridge, the Starfire gem pulsing in his grip. Behind him, the Shadowborn howled, their forms writhing like smoke given purpose. The bridge trembled; the spell maintaining it was fraying.
Ahead, the portal shimmered, a swirling vortex of gold and violet, the only way to restore the Veil and banish the Shadowborn forever. But a figure stepped forward, armored in obsidian, eyes burning with cold fire. The Wraith-King.
Eryndor didn’t slow. He flung the gem into the air as the Wraith-King lunged. A blade of night met his enchanted steel, sparks of magic bursting between them. The gem spun, caught the first rays of dawn—and unleashed a blinding inferno.
The Wraith-King screamed as light consumed him. The portal pulsed, drawing the darkness away. Eryndor fell to his knees, breath ragged. The bridge crumbled, but the world was safe. For now.
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