The stone spiral behind them shimmered shut with a sigh, sealing the Covenant's chamber once more in silence and mystery. Marcus gripped the blade tight in his hand. Its weight was real now—not just steel, but history, responsibility… and the promise of change.
At his side, Erin was already tightening the straps on her belt, her eyes alert.
They had only one way forward now: out.
The main library chamber above was still cloaked in shadows. But something had shifted—the Crowborn were gone. No trace of their presence remained except the lingering smell of burnt parchment and the faint crackle of lingering dark magic.
"They must have felt the chamber seal," Erin whispered. "And retreated."
"Or regrouped," Marcus muttered. "Either way, we should move."
They passed back through the shattered chapel and emerged once again into Hollowmoor's haunting quiet. The mist had thickened while they were underground, a milky veil that distorted shapes and sound. It made every tree a threat. Every shadow a spy.
Marcus led the way back toward the trail, but before they could mount their horse, a sharp whistle cut through the fog.
Then—an arrow embedded itself in the dirt an inch from Marcus's boot.
He turned in time to see them: cloaked figures emerging from the woods, forming a loose circle around them. There were seven, maybe eight—one carried a standard with the mark of the Crowborn etched in blood red.
Erin reached for her blade.
Marcus raised his new sword.
"Back for more?" he called out. "Didn't get enough last time?"
A tall man stepped forward. His cloak was embroidered with a raven's wing. His eyes were sunken and cold.
"We saw what you took," he said. "The blade was meant for no king. And certainly not the bastard son of a butcher."
Marcus's expression didn't flinch. "Then come take it."
The man raised a hand. Magic ignited around his palm—dark, writhing tendrils of shadow.
"Enough!" Erin stepped forward, voice cutting like steel. "This man has been chosen by the Covenant. The pact has been renewed. You attack him now, and you bring the wrath of the old blood upon you."
Several of the Crowborn hesitated.
The leader sneered. "Your Covenant is a lie. Ravelle has fallen beyond repair. We serve the true order now. One that will rise from its ashes."
Marcus raised his sword. "Let me guess—you're the fire?"
With a sharp gesture, the Crowborn charged.
Marcus moved like lightning, sword flashing with golden fire. The blade didn't just cut—it sang, slicing through shadow magic like silk. Every clash sent ripples of energy through the air. He parried a staff strike, ducked a dagger, and spun into a low sweep that knocked two to the ground.
Erin was right beside him, daggers in both hands, a blur of speed and deadly precision. She danced between enemies like smoke, her blades whispering through armor and shadow. One attacker caught her arm, but she twisted free, flipping him with a move that cracked the ground beneath them.
Then, with a roar, Marcus plunged the Covenant blade into the earth.
A shockwave erupted.
The remaining Crowborn were thrown backward, weapons flying from their hands. A golden ring of light pulsed outward from the blade, severing the magical link they'd used to cloak themselves.
They scrambled to their feet, retreating into the mist without another word.
When silence returned, Marcus straightened slowly, wiping blood from his cheek.
Erin limped toward him, breathless. "Well. That's one way to declare a return."
He looked down at the sword embedded in the ground. "We can't keep fighting like this. They'll keep coming."
"Then we stop hiding," she said. "We take the fight to the capital."
Marcus met her gaze. "You mean... go back to Silverholde?"
Erin nodded. "You're the rightful heir now, Marcus. The kingdom needs to see that. And if they won't welcome you... we show them what true royalty looks like."
For a long moment, he said nothing. Then he pulled the sword free and slung it over his shoulder.
"To Silverholde, then."
---
As they disappeared into the mist once more, neither of them looked back at Hollowmoor.
Because the next chapter of their fate waited not in ruins—
But on the throne.