The chaos of battle gave Ezekiel the cover he needed.
While the clash of swords and roars of wolves rang through the valley, he slipped past the frontlines, his hood drawn low, his scent masked with old magic. No one noticed. Not even Raine.
He moved like a shadow toward the Council's war camp, heart pounding.
I don't have much time.
Behind enemy lines, the Council's elite gathered around a large, rune-carved stone—the Sigil Heart—the source of their battlefield magic. Guarded. Reinforced. But Ezekiel had studied its defenses long ago.
He'd been there when it was made.
He crept closer, watching the guards, timing their patrols. His hand trembled as he reached for the charm around his neck—the one given to him by Raine's mother, before she died. A last token. A symbol of a promise.
To protect the heir when the time came.
But the deeper truth it held… was one even Raine didn't know.
Ezekiel whispered the incantation. The charm flared softly. The guards suddenly paused, blinking, confused. A subtle illusion fell over him as he slipped between them. His fingers pressed against the Sigil Heart.
Now.
He poured the charm's energy into the runes. The heart pulsed—then cracked.
A surge of magic exploded through the enemy camp. Distantly, on the battlefield, Council shields flickered and collapsed. Warriors screamed as their spells unraveled. Raine's powers surged in response, no longer held in check by the Council's suppressive field.
The tide turned because of him.
And yet…
Ezekiel didn't feel triumphant. He stood before the shattered stone, breathing hard, and felt only dread. The Sigil Heart had been a prison—but also a seal.
And now that it was broken… something ancient stirred.
Behind him, a whisper like wind and bone filled the air: "You were warned."
He turned—and saw a pair of burning violet eyes emerge from the dark. Not a Council warrior.
Not a human at all.
Before he could draw his blade, everything went black.