The journey from the ruins of the arena to the capital took three days on foot. Carter, Sera, Ezra, and Lysara moved through the forests in silence, the trees whispering in the wind like they, too, knew something had changed. Shadows seemed longer, birds quieter, and the once-familiar trails felt foreign—as if the land itself had shifted after Elira's fall.
On the third night, they made camp under a cliffside overhang, a crackling fire shielding them from the creeping cold. Lysara sat cross-legged across from Carter, her silver braid catching the firelight. She had barely spoken since they left, always watching the skies, always listening.
But tonight, she finally spoke.
"The Wyrm was never meant to wake," she began, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's a being born before time was named—something that fed on fears, dreams, and chaos. Your fight with Elira… it tore the Veil that kept it locked beneath the world."
Carter stared into the fire. "You said she was only its herald. Was she trying to free it?"
"No," Lysara replied. "She was tricked. The Wyrm's power speaks to people in whispers, twisting their desires. It promised her strength, revenge, justice—whatever she wanted. But it was only using her body as a vessel."
Ezra stirred from where he leaned against a rock. "And now that she's gone, it's looking for a new one."
Lysara nodded. "Yes. And if it finds someone willing—or desperate enough—it'll break free completely."
Sera exhaled sharply. "So how do we stop it?"
Lysara's violet eyes met hers. "We can't—not directly. The Wyrm can't be killed in this world. But its return can be delayed. Seals can be reforged, conduits destroyed, and its influence weakened."
Carter's gaze lifted. "Then what do you need from us?"
"You," Lysara said, pointing to him, "are the only one who's ever resisted its influence while touching its shadow. That makes you dangerous to it—and valuable to us."
Carter's jaw tightened. "I don't feel powerful. I barely survived."
"And yet, you did," Lysara said softly. "That's more than most."
Silence settled again, broken only by the crackling fire. Then Ezra leaned in. "You said 'we.' Who is 'we'? Are there others like you?"
"Yes," Lysara answered. "Guardians of the Forgotten. We were once keepers of forbidden knowledge—ancient truths buried beneath history. There are only seven of us left."
Sera frowned. "Then why show yourself now?"
"Because Carter's victory made him visible to the Wyrm. And that put a target on all of us."
Suddenly, the wind shifted. Cold. Sharp. Wrong.
Lysara stood, drawing a short, curved blade from beneath her robes. "It's here."
Carter scrambled up. "What is?"
From the shadows of the forest, a dozen glowing eyes appeared—blue, red, violet—hovering midair. Figures stepped forward, clad in robes of decay and armor etched with runes. Their faces were shrouded, but their presence radiated malice.
"Nightbinders," Lysara said coldly. "Servants of the Wyrm."
The lead figure raised a skeletal hand. "Carter Valen," it rasped. "You are summoned. Come willingly… or be broken."
Carter raised his sword. "Not tonight."
Ezra and Sera moved to his sides, blades drawn, hearts racing.
Lysara stepped forward, her curved blade glowing. "You'll have to go through us."
The forest erupted into chaos. Spells cracked through the air, flames danced through the trees, and steel met bone. Carter fought like a man possessed—his blade glowing with defiance. The Nightbinders came fast and furious, but together, the group held their ground.
And when the final one fell, writhing into shadow, Lysara wiped blood from her cheek and turned to Carter.
"That was only the first wave," she said.
Carter looked at the bodies fading into ash. "Then we better get moving."
Lysara nodded grimly. "To the Forgotten Spire. If we're to stop the Wyrm… we'll need the lost name of the world itself."