The coins clinked onto the table, blood-speckled and dull, but enough. Kalen wiped his blade on a dead man’s cloak and tucked the steel away. The sorcerer’s tower loomed ahead, its basalt walls pulsing with violet runes. A warded door. No matter. He pressed his palm to the sigils, feeling the magic bite his skin, and whispered the incantation stolen from a dying mage’s lips. The door flared, then crumbled.
Inside, the air shimmered with unseen power. A single pedestal held what he sought—a gem, swirling with trapped stormlight. As he reached, shadows thickened. The guardian rose, a thing of sinew and black glass.
Kalen dodged, blade flashing, striking curses shattering against his skin. He plunged his dagger into its heart. The guardian shuddered, then collapsed, taking half the floor with it.
Holding the gem aloft, he grinned. Power enough for revenge. But at what cost? Behind him, the runes on the walls pulsed again, brighter this time. A trap. And the hunt was far from over.
Leave a Reply