The sphere pulsed brighter in Erin's hand, its glow licking up her wrist like silent lightning. Marcus stepped back, shielding his eyes.
"Erin—what is that?"
She didn't answer immediately. Her fingers tightened around the orb as the footsteps above became clearer—boots scraping stone, voices murmuring too low to understand. Whoever they were, they were closing in.
"It's called a Keeper's Flame," she said finally. "An ancient Elyrian ward. It reveals the truth beneath illusion."
"Then light the whole damn place up," Marcus growled, sword in hand.
She hurled the sphere to the ground.
It shattered with a flash of blue fire, rippling outward in a wave that coated the walls like mist. The torches flickered violently, and for a heartbeat, the air seemed to breathe.
Then, all around them, the hidden architecture of the chamber began to shimmer—golden glyphs flaring to life, scrolls morphing into different shapes, bookshelves rearranging themselves like pieces of a living puzzle.
"What the hell—" Marcus whispered.
"It was hidden," Erin breathed. "A chamber beneath the chamber."
The floor trembled, and with a soft hiss, a spiral pattern in the stone began to unwind, revealing a trapdoor in the center of the chamber. From it emanated a soft hum, a sound like a heartbeat heard underwater.
But there was no time to marvel.
Boots pounded down the stairs now. Marcus pulled Erin behind a pillar just as a cloaked figure appeared—followed by two more. One of them carried a long staff carved with ravens.
"Crowborn," Marcus mouthed.
Erin held her breath. She reached for a small blade strapped to her thigh. Marcus touched her wrist gently—Not yet.
The figures circled the chamber, murmuring in a tongue neither of them understood. The staff-wielder approached the shattered orb.
"She's been here," he said, his voice a rasp. "The Seer's flame is broken. She's unlocked the First Seal."
"The prince too?" one of the others asked.
The leader nodded. "We must not let them awaken the covenant."
"Should we close the door?"
"No," he said grimly. "We destroy everything. If they remember the pact, the bloodline lives."
Erin's heart thudded. Marcus tensed beside her, jaw clenched.
Three enemies. One sword. One hidden princess. And a prophecy waiting below.
Marcus exhaled slowly. "Distraction?"
Erin nodded. "I'll take the far side. Give them something to chase."
"Then I drop the ceiling?"
"With luck, yes."
"And without luck?"
"We both die beautifully."
Marcus smirked. "Your optimism is infectious."
She slipped into the shadows, moving like a whisper between shelves.
Then, with a sharp whistle, she kicked over a rack of scrolls, sending parchment fluttering like startled birds.
The Crowborn turned instantly, charging toward the sound.
Marcus didn't wait.
He sprinted toward the central seal and slammed his sword hilt against the spiral pattern. The magic pulsed in protest, then cracked—just as the central trapdoor blew open, sending wind and golden dust spiraling into the air.
The noise drew the attackers back.
Too late.
Erin met Marcus at the seal, hand in his.
"You ready?" he asked.
"No."
"Same."
They jumped together.
The wind screamed as they fell—not down, but through—a shimmering tunnel of light that blurred the edges of time and place. Symbols flashed around them. Memories not their own flickered like lanterns. Bloodlines. Coronations. Betrayals.
Then: stillness.
They landed on solid stone, coughing, dizzy, surrounded by dim light and cold silence.
They were in another chamber. No torches, no books—just a vast hall lit by a massive mural on the far wall, pulsing with a golden glow.
The mural depicted two figures: a crowned man with fire in his hands, and a veiled woman with a sword of shadow. Between them, a tree—dead on one side, blooming on the other.
Erin stepped forward, stunned. "This is… the original covenant."
"The prince and the guardian," Marcus whispered. "Joined in blood. Bound by oath."
Under the mural, a pedestal rose from the ground. Upon it sat a blade unlike any either had seen—long and curved, the metal shifting between silver and obsidian.
Erin touched the hilt. "This isn't just a sword. It's the key."
Marcus stepped closer. "To breaking the pact?"
"No," she said. "To choosing its next bearer."
Before he could respond, the mural behind them shimmered—and a figure stepped forward from the wall itself. A woman cloaked in starlight, her face veiled, her voice ancient.
"One must die," she said. "One must rule. The covenant cannot hold them both."
Marcus and Erin froze.
The chamber was no longer just a vault.
It was a judgment hall.