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The Oracle's Descent

Chapter 1: The Vision That Dooms

The room smelled of burning sage and ancient vellum, a sharp contrast to the icy stone walls that encased Serenya Astrel like a tomb. She knelt in the chamber’s center, a gilded mirror before her. Its surface rippled like water caught in moonlight, pulsing faintly as though alive.

Her lips moved in a whisper, the incantation flowing effortlessly despite the trembling in her fingers. She pressed her hands flat against the mirror’s cold surface, her emerald eyes narrowing in concentration.

“Speak to me,” Serenya commanded, her voice laced with both resolve and fear. “Show me what lies ahead.”

The response was immediate. The air thickened, pressing against her chest as though unseen hands were squeezing the life from her lungs. Candles flickered and died, and the room fell into a suffocating darkness, the only light radiating from the mirror itself.

Then came the images.

A city engulfed in flames. Shadows devouring the horizon. Towering figures cloaked in swirling smoke with hollow, merciless eyes. And in the center of it all, a monstrous silhouette—a being of pure malice, its gaze searing through the vision to meet hers.

Its voice was like shattering glass.

"The Heart will shatter. The Seer will fall. And the age of darkness will reign."

The vision shifted. Serenya stood at the edge of a battlefield drenched in blood. Cries of despair echoed as twisted forms—shadowbeasts, their limbs jagged and grotesque—slaughtered soldiers without mercy.

Then she saw herself: pale, lifeless, sprawled across the mud. The glow of her gift had left her body, her blood pooling beneath her. A crown of thorns lay shattered beside her head.

The mirror erupted in a blinding flash, and Serenya was flung backward. Pain lanced through her head as she struck the stone floor. She lay there, gasping for air, her vision swimming. Her pulse pounded in her ears as the enormity of what she had seen settled in her chest like a boulder.

She was going to die.

Not someday, but soon.

Footsteps echoed beyond the heavy door at the room’s far end. A cold voice cut through the silence.

“Open the chamber.”

Serenya forced herself upright, brushing her raven-black hair from her face. The mirrored surface before her had returned to its lifeless state, its secrets hidden. The gilded door creaked open, revealing two figures clad in ceremonial robes.

Councilor Merovin entered first, his towering frame and hawk-like features casting an intimidating shadow across the chamber. Behind him was Lyrid, his younger acolyte, pale and gaunt with sunken eyes that seemed to drink in every detail of the room.

“You’ve seen something,” Merovin said, his voice like gravel grinding against stone. He strode forward, his eyes scanning her face, her posture.

Serenya’s hands instinctively dropped to her lap, concealing the dark veins creeping along her forearm. “The mirror was unclear,” she lied, her voice hoarse.

“Lying does not suit you, Serenya,” Merovin replied, circling her like a vulture. “Visions this powerful do not come without consequence. Look at you. You’re paler than usual, trembling like a leaf in a storm.”

Lyrid remained silent, his gaze flicking between Serenya and the mirror.

“What did you see?” Merovin pressed.

She hesitated, her instincts screaming to deflect, to obfuscate. “I saw only fragments,” she finally said, carefully measuring her words. “Shadows. A city in chaos. Nothing concrete.”

Merovin’s nostrils flared. “Nothing concrete? The kingdom teeters on the brink of annihilation, and you give us riddles?”

“You know how visions work,” Serenya shot back, her tone sharper than intended. “They’re not guarantees—they’re warnings. Possibilities.”

Merovin’s lips curled into a sneer. “Your next summoning will be tomorrow at dawn. You will use every ounce of your power if necessary. Valtressa cannot afford your hesitation.”

With that, he turned sharply, his robes sweeping across the stone floor. Lyrid hesitated before following, casting Serenya a glance that lingered a second too long.

The door slammed shut, leaving her alone once more.

Serenya sat in silence, her fingers tracing the cold stone beneath her. Her body ached, and the toll of the vision was unmistakable. The veins along her wrist had darkened further, a cruel reminder of the price she paid each time she called upon her gift.

Her mind replayed the prophecy: the rise of darkness, the shattering of the Heart, her death. The pieces aligned too perfectly to ignore.

If she stayed in this tower, chained to the Council’s will, the prophecy would come to pass.

Her emerald eyes drifted to the high, arched window at the room’s far end. Beyond its iron bars lay the city of Valtressa, a sprawling labyrinth of cobblestone streets and towering spires. Beyond that, the unknown. Freedom.

Her hand clenched into a fist.

She could not remain here.

Later that night, Serenya paced her chamber, her mind racing. The Council would never let her leave willingly. To them, she was an asset, nothing more. Her powers were their shield, their tool, and they would see her broken before they allowed her to stray beyond their control.

Her gaze shifted to the desk near the window. The ceremonial robes she had worn for years sat folded neatly atop it, their pristine white a mockery of the life she had lived. Next to them was a plain leather satchel she had stashed years ago—her only preparation for a moment like this.

She pulled the satchel open and hastily stuffed it with essentials: a small knife, dried provisions, and a silver pendant engraved with a symbol of protection. Her hands lingered over the pendant. It had been her mother’s, one of the few memories she had left of her family.

A soft knock at her chamber door froze her in place.

“Serenya?” a voice called. Lyrid.

Her pulse quickened. She slid the satchel beneath her bed and stepped toward the door, schooling her expression into one of calm.

“What is it?” she asked as she opened the door just enough to see his face.

Lyrid hesitated, his pale features half-hidden in the dim light of the corridor. “The Councilor asked me to ensure you were… prepared for tomorrow.”

“I’m fine,” Serenya replied curtly.

His gaze lingered, and for a moment, she thought he might press further. Then he nodded. “Goodnight, Oracle.”

The door clicked shut, and Serenya exhaled slowly.

She couldn’t wait any longer.

The night air was cold and biting as Serenya scaled the tower’s outer wall, her fingers gripping the cracks in the ancient stone. Below her, the city sprawled in a patchwork of moonlit streets and flickering lanterns.

Her heart thundered in her chest as she reached the ground. She slipped into the shadows, her satchel slung tightly across her shoulder. Every step away from the tower felt like a defiance of fate itself.

She didn’t look back.

The vision had shown her the end, but Serenya was determined to carve a new path.

Chapter 2: The Rogue’s Bargain

The streets of Valtressa were a labyrinth of shadow and light, alive with the murmurs of merchants, the laughter of drunkards, and the occasional bark of a guard issuing warnings to loitering vagrants. Serenya pulled the hood of her cloak low, the coarse fabric scratching her cheeks as she melted into the crowd. Every step away from the tower felt like an invisible shackle breaking, but the weight of her vision lingered, a noose tightening around her neck.

She had spent years observing the city through a barred window, memorizing the rhythms of its life. But now, immersed in its chaos, she felt like a stranger.

“Keep moving,” she muttered to herself, clutching her satchel as though it might anchor her.

Her destination was clear—a smuggler’s haven on the edge of the docks. If she was going to escape the kingdom’s reach, she needed someone who could navigate the underbelly of Valtressa and beyond.

Drenic Vael leaned against the warped wooden bar of the Wayward Gull, a tankard of stale ale in his hand and a devil-may-care grin on his lips. The inn reeked of saltwater, sweat, and bad decisions—his preferred kind of company. Around him, patrons argued over dice games, while a bard strummed a broken tune in the corner.

Across the room, a bulky man slammed his fist on the table, cursing Drenic’s name. “You cheated, Vael!”

Drenic raised his tankard in mock salute, flashing his roguish smile. “Did I, Borvin? Or are you just bad at dice?”

The man lunged, and Drenic sidestepped smoothly, his hand already on the dagger tucked into his belt. He didn’t draw it, though; a fight wasn’t worth his time.

“Sit down before you embarrass yourself further,” Drenic said, his tone light but his eyes sharp.

Borvin hesitated, the tension in his shoulders giving way to drunken confusion. With a huff, the man slumped back into his chair, muttering curses under his breath.

Drenic returned to his drink, shaking his head. He lived for moments like this—dancing on the edge of trouble, always one step ahead of the chaos he seemed to attract.

As he drained the last of his ale, the door to the inn creaked open, and a figure stepped inside.

Serenya hesitated in the doorway, her gaze sweeping across the dimly lit room. The stench was nearly enough to send her retreating, but she forced herself to step forward. Every face she saw was rough, weathered, and dangerous.

This was a mistake, she thought. But it was too late to turn back now.

She approached the bar, her movements stiff, and signaled to the barkeep.

“I need someone who can get me out of Valtressa,” she said quietly.

The barkeep, a wiry man with a scar running down his cheek, raised an eyebrow. “You think this is a market, girl? People don’t just advertise illegal services for anyone who walks in.”

Serenya slid a gold coin across the bar, her hand trembling only slightly. “That should be enough to convince you otherwise.”

The barkeep’s eyes flicked to the coin, and his lips twitched in a semblance of a smile. He pocketed the payment and tilted his head toward a corner of the room. “Try him. If you’re lucky, he won’t rob you blind.”

Serenya turned to where he pointed, her gaze falling on a man lounging against the wall, his boots propped up on the table. His dark hair was tousled, his lean frame relaxed, but there was an alertness in his sharp gray eyes that unsettled her.

Taking a steadying breath, she approached him.

“You’re Drenic Vael?” she asked, her voice steady despite the unease crawling up her spine.

He looked up, his smile lazy and amused. “That depends. Are you here to kill me or hire me?”

“I need to leave the city.”

“Ah, fleeing something nasty, are we? A debt? An angry spouse? The royal guard?” His eyes gleamed with mischief.

She tightened her grip on her satchel. “It’s none of your concern. I just need to know if you can do it.”

Drenic studied her, his gaze lingering on her too-clean cloak and the slight tremor in her hands. “You don’t exactly look like the type who belongs here. Who are you?”

“No one important.”

“See, that’s the kind of answer that makes me suspicious.” He leaned forward, his smile fading. “If I take you out of this city, I’m putting myself at risk. I don’t do charity work.”

Serenya’s jaw clenched. “I can pay you.” She reached into her satchel and withdrew a pouch, tossing it onto the table. The coins inside clinked softly, catching Drenic’s attention.

He opened it, his eyebrows raising slightly at the gleam of gold. “Well, now you’ve got my attention.”

“Do we have a deal?”

Drenic leaned back, considering her for a moment. “Let me be clear: I don’t ask questions, and I don’t make promises. If you get caught, it’s on you. If someone tries to kill us, I’m running first.”

“Understood,” Serenya said, though the weight of his words made her stomach churn.

“Then we have a deal.” He stood and offered his hand.

She hesitated before taking it, his grip warm and firm.

The docks were quieter than Serenya expected, the gentle lapping of water against wood masking the tension that hung in the air. Drenic led the way, his steps light and confident, while Serenya followed closely behind, her hood pulled low.

“Stick close,” Drenic said over his shoulder. “The wrong glance around here will get you a knife in the ribs.”

She nodded, though her unease deepened.

They reached a small, rickety boat tethered to the dock, and Drenic gestured for her to board. Serenya hesitated, her instincts warning her to be cautious.

“This is your plan?” she asked, eyeing the creaking vessel.

“Trust me, it’s better than it looks.”

Before she could respond, the sound of boots on wood reached her ears. She turned to see three figures approaching, their movements purposeful and predatory.

“Drenic Vael,” the leader called out, his voice dripping with malice. “You’ve been hard to find.”

Drenic sighed, his hand already on the hilt of his dagger. “Borvin, old friend. I thought we settled this back at the Wayward Gull.”

“Settled?” Borvin growled, his eyes narrowing. “You stole from me, you rat.”

Serenya took a step back, her heart pounding as Borvin’s gaze flicked to her. “Who’s this? Another one of your marks?”

“She’s nothing to do with you,” Drenic said sharply, stepping in front of her.

Borvin sneered. “You’ve got a habit of dragging innocent fools into your mess, Vael. Maybe we’ll take her along, too.”

Drenic’s dagger was in his hand before Borvin could take another step. “You won’t touch her.”

The air crackled with tension as the two men squared off.

The fight was swift and brutal.

Drenic moved like a shadow, his blade flashing in the dim light. Borvin’s men were unprepared for the rogue’s speed and precision, and within moments, two of them lay bleeding on the dock.

Borvin snarled, charging at Drenic with a heavy cudgel. Serenya pressed herself against the boat, fear gripping her as the two men clashed.

Drenic ducked the swing and drove his dagger into Borvin’s side. The larger man staggered, cursing as he fell to his knees.

“Tell your friends,” Drenic said coldly, leaning close, “to stay out of my way.”

With that, he shoved Borvin back, sending him toppling into the water.

Drenic turned to Serenya, his expression unreadable. “Get in the boat. Now.”

Still shaken, she obeyed, stepping into the vessel as he untied it from the dock. He climbed in after her, pushing them off into the dark water.

As the city began to fade into the distance, Serenya glanced at Drenic, her thoughts racing.

She had escaped the tower, but her troubles were far from over.

Chapter 3: Shadows in Pursuit

The river stretched wide and silent, its dark waters swallowing the moonlight as the small boat drifted steadily downstream. The creak of the oars punctuated the quiet, and Serenya kept her hood low, her gaze fixed on the shifting shoreline. Every ripple in the water and distant rustle in the trees set her nerves on edge.

Across from her, Drenic rowed with practiced ease, his movements smooth and unhurried. His gray eyes darted to her now and then, watching her with the quiet curiosity of someone sizing up a puzzle they couldn’t yet solve.

“You’re awfully quiet for someone who just paid me a small fortune,” he remarked, breaking the silence.

Serenya didn’t respond immediately. Her thoughts were tangled, still replaying the vision that had driven her to this desperate flight. She studied the rogue’s face—sharp features, perpetual smirk, but there was an alertness beneath his relaxed demeanor.

Finally, she spoke. “How far can you take me?”

Drenic shrugged, leaning into another stroke of the oars. “Depends on where you want to go. And how much trouble you’re planning to drag behind you.”

“No trouble,” she lied, her voice calm but hollow.

Drenic raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess. You’re not running from a debt collector. Too much gold for that. Not a jilted lover either—too serious for that nonsense.” He cocked his head, his grin widening. “That leaves the royal guard. Or something worse.”

Serenya’s hands tightened on the edge of her cloak. “I’m not obligated to tell you anything.”

“Fair enough,” Drenic replied, his tone light. “But secrets have a way of coming back to bite. Let’s hope yours doesn’t sink this boat.”

Hours passed as they navigated the river, the dense forest on either side growing darker and more oppressive. The occasional hoot of an owl or rustling of branches only amplified the sense of isolation.

Serenya leaned against the edge of the boat, exhaustion tugging at her. The events of the past day had drained her—physically, mentally, and emotionally. Yet sleep refused to come. Every time she closed her eyes, the vision returned: flames, shadows, her broken body.

Her fingers brushed the silver pendant hidden beneath her cloak. Its familiar weight steadied her, grounding her against the storm raging in her mind.

“Not much for sleeping, are you?” Drenic asked, his voice low.

She glanced at him, surprised by his tone—it lacked its usual teasing edge. “Not tonight.”

He smirked faintly, but his gaze flicked toward the treeline. “Can’t say I blame you. These parts aren’t exactly… peaceful.”

“What do you mean?” Serenya asked, her unease growing.

“Let’s just say the forest doesn’t like visitors. Old legends. Cursed beasts. The kind of stuff that makes people disappear.”

Serenya frowned, but before she could respond, a low rumble echoed through the trees. It was faint at first, almost indistinguishable from the rustle of the wind. Then it grew louder—closer.

Drenic stopped rowing, his body tensing as his hand drifted toward the dagger at his side.

“What was that?” Serenya whispered.

“Trouble,” he muttered.

The rumble became a growl, deep and guttural. Then came the sound of snapping branches and the unmistakable thud of heavy footsteps along the riverbank.

From the shadows, a pair of glowing red eyes emerged.

It lunged from the treeline with unnatural speed—a massive beast, its body covered in matted black fur and jagged spines. Its face was distorted, its maw lined with too many teeth, and its claws gleamed like polished steel.

Serenya gasped, scrambling backward as the creature let out a bone-chilling roar.

“Shadowbeast,” Drenic said, his voice tight.

The creature plunged into the river, water churning around it as it surged toward the boat. Drenic was already moving, grabbing a spear stashed beneath the bench.

“Stay down!” he barked at Serenya as he positioned himself between her and the beast.

The shadowbeast reached the boat in seconds, its claws slashing through the air. Drenic dodged the first strike, thrusting the spear into the creature’s shoulder. The beast howled, dark ichor oozing from the wound, but it didn’t slow.

Serenya pressed herself against the side of the boat, her heart hammering in her chest. Her instincts screamed at her to run, to flee, but there was nowhere to go.

The shadowbeast struck again, its claws tearing through the side of the boat. Wood splintered, and water began to seep in.

“Any bright ideas, lady?” Drenic shouted as he parried another attack.

Serenya’s mind raced. The shadowbeast wasn’t natural—she could feel the dark magic radiating from it, cold and oppressive. Her fingers brushed the pendant again, and an idea began to form.

“I can try something,” she said, her voice trembling, “but it’s risky.”

“Risky’s better than dead!” Drenic snapped.

Taking a deep breath, Serenya reached out with her gift. The familiar sensation of power stirred within her, accompanied by the now-familiar ache. Her vision blurred, the world around her fading as she pushed deeper into the beast’s aura.

Darkness enveloped her, suffocating and cold. She could feel the creature’s presence—a chaotic void, driven by hunger and pain.

“Show me your weakness,” she whispered, her voice echoing in the void.

A flash of light erupted in her mind’s eye. The creature’s heart—a mass of writhing shadows—beat erratically, its core exposed.

Serenya’s eyes snapped open, her body trembling from the strain. “Its chest!” she shouted. “Strike its chest!”

Drenic didn’t hesitate. As the shadowbeast lunged again, he sidestepped and drove the spear into the creature’s heart. The beast let out a deafening roar, thrashing violently as the shadows consuming it began to dissipate.

With a final shudder, it collapsed into the river, its body dissolving into nothingness.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Drenic leaned against the boat, his chest heaving. “Well,” he said, glancing at Serenya, “that was fun.”

The boat groaned beneath them, water still seeping through the gashes left by the shadowbeast.

“This thing’s not going to hold much longer,” he muttered, grabbing the oars. “We need to get to shore.”

Serenya nodded weakly, her body still recovering from the strain of using her gift. She could feel the toll it had taken—her limbs ached, her vision blurred, and her heartbeat felt irregular.

“Hold on,” Drenic said, steering the damaged boat toward a small clearing along the riverbank.

The two of them stumbled onto the shore, the boat listing precariously behind them. Serenya sank to her knees, her hands trembling as she tried to steady herself.

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” Drenic said, his tone lighter than it had any right to be.

She glared at him, too exhausted to muster a response.

“Let me guess,” he continued, crouching beside her. “That little trick you pulled wasn’t free.”

“No,” Serenya admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “It wasn’t.”

Drenic studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Well, whatever it was, you saved our hides back there. So… thanks.”

Serenya looked up at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. She nodded, too drained to say more.

“We’ll camp here for the night,” Drenic said, standing and scanning the treeline. “But don’t get comfortable. That thing might’ve had friends.”

As he moved to gather firewood, Serenya leaned back against a tree, her thoughts swirling. The shadowbeast’s presence had been unnatural, its magic twisted and wrong. She couldn’t shake the feeling that it hadn’t been a coincidence.

Something—or someone—had sent it.

And they weren’t done hunting her yet.

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