7. Shadows in the Throne Room

Chapter 7: Shadows in the Throne Room

Far from the Ashen Peaks, the Black Spire rose against the blood-red sky, a monument to power and fear. Its jagged towers pierced the clouds, their shadow stretching across the scorched lands below. Within its walls, a storm of dark magic churned, its malevolence radiating from the heart of the castle.

In the grand throne room, King Malric sat upon a throne of obsidian, his gauntleted fingers drumming impatiently against the armrests. His presence dominated the room, his armor etched with runes that pulsed with an unnatural red light. The air around him was thick with magic, the weight of his power suffocating.

Before him knelt the leader of the scouting party, his mask cracked and his body trembling. “My king,” the man rasped, blood staining the edges of his armor. “Forgive me. We were overrun.”

Malric’s piercing gaze bore into him. “Overrun?” His voice was calm, but it carried a sharp edge. “You were tasked with retrieving the girl, and you return empty-handed.”

“She… she’s stronger than we anticipated,” the man stammered. “The phoenix’s power—”

“Silence.” Malric rose from his throne, his towering figure casting a shadow over the room. He descended the steps slowly, his boots echoing against the stone floor. “I did not ask for excuses. I asked for results.”

The man flinched as Malric approached, his breath quickening. “Please, my king—”

Malric raised a hand, and the soldier’s words were cut off by a strangled gasp. Dark tendrils of magic coiled around his throat, lifting him into the air.

“You failed me,” Malric said, his voice cold. “And failure has consequences.”

The soldier’s body convulsed as the magic tightened, his screams echoing briefly before his form crumbled into ash. The room fell silent once more, save for the faint hum of Malric’s magic.

The king turned to the shadows at the edge of the room. “Veyra.”

A figure emerged from the darkness, her movements graceful and deliberate. She was clad in sleek black armor, her eyes sharp and calculating. A long blade hung at her side, its surface etched with runes similar to Malric’s.

“Yes, my king,” Veyra said, bowing slightly.

“You were right,” Malric said, his tone betraying a hint of irritation. “The girl is more than a mere pawn. She’s awakened the phoenix’s power.”

Veyra’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Then the prophecy is unfolding as expected.”

Malric’s gaze darkened. “It does not matter. The phoenix may have awakened, but the girl is untrained. She cannot hope to wield such power effectively.”

“Even so, she grows stronger with each passing day,” Veyra said. “If we do not act quickly, she could become a true threat.”

Malric’s eyes narrowed. “Then we will ensure she never has the chance. I want her captured, alive if possible. But if she resists…” He let the words hang in the air, the implication clear.

Veyra bowed again. “Consider it done.”

As she turned to leave, Malric’s voice stopped her.

“And Veyra,” he said, his tone softer but no less menacing. “Do not fail me.”

She met his gaze, her expression unwavering. “I won’t.”

Veyra strode through the castle’s dimly lit halls, her mind already racing. The girl had survived the Heart of Ash, something few could achieve. It was a feat that marked her as dangerous—and intriguing.

Reaching her quarters, Veyra retrieved a small, intricately carved amulet from a chest. The object pulsed with a faint crimson light, a direct link to the king’s magic. She held it tightly, focusing on the image of the girl that the scouting party had described.

Elena.

With the amulet’s power, Veyra could trace the phoenix’s energy. It would lead her directly to Elena.

Closing her eyes, she murmured an incantation. The amulet flared to life, its light casting strange shadows on the walls. Images flickered in her mind—a forest, a mountain, a girl surrounded by flames. The vision was brief but clear.

“She’s closer than I thought,” Veyra murmured to herself, slipping the amulet around her neck.

Grabbing her blade, she stepped out into the corridor, her steps purposeful. She had a mission, and she would not fail.

Back in the throne room, Malric stood alone, his gaze fixed on the swirling magic within the orb at the center of the room. It was a fragment of the same power that had cursed the phoenix, a tool he had spent decades perfecting.

“She thinks she can defy me,” he muttered, his voice a low growl. “But fire burns brightest before it consumes itself.”

The orb flared, and a cruel smile spread across his lips. The girl might have escaped his grasp for now, but she wouldn’t evade him forever.

Malric was patient, and his reach was long. Sooner or later, Elena would fall.

And when she did, the phoenix’s power would be his.

To Be Continued...

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