"Waiting?" Elara's own voice, a raw rasp, echoed in the heavy hush of the crypt, a noise consumed by the dense, sickly atmosphere. The figure before her, shrouded in shadows, their glowing eyes burning into her very soul, gave no immediate reaction. The incantation, a low, throaty thrum, swelled, pounding through the cold stone beneath and into the very marrow of her bones. Panic, a jagged, glacial shard, sliced through her confusion, a cold fear burrowing deep inside her.
"For your return, Elara," the figure at last rasped out, its voice an ice-cold echo in the vast chamber. "The vows. They bind us all."
The word lingered, a black vibrating string that thrummed through the space in Elara's mind, an evil promise. Vows. What vows? Why did they have the ring of a binding, a branding of some ancient, horrible compact, something she didn't know? She tried to struggle, to sit up from the damp, cold stone, but her arms and legs felt heavy, immovable, as if bound in lead. A fanciful numbness, a magical paralysis, held her, a malevolent spell.
"What vows?" she demanded, her voice trembling, but with an unyielding determination behind it, a spark of defiance in the face of suffocating horror. "Who are you? Why am I here?"
A rusty, guttural cackle, a sound that appeared to slither across the crypt like a poisoned snake, responded to her. "Patience, Elara. All will be revealed in due time. But first… you must remember."
A wave of dizziness, more intense than before, washed over her, blurring her vision. The awful faces murally painted on the vaulted ceiling seemed to twist and convulse, their eyes blazing with an unearthly light, mocking her, their scornful silences echoing the rising terror in her heart. The chanting became louder, a mournful, throbbing rhythm that seeped into her brain, ready to shatter her sanity, to unravel the very threads of her life.
"Remember what?" Elara gasped, hands clutching at her head, a futile attempt to keep the encroaching shadows back, to close off her mind to the advancing night. She sensed a strange tug, a tugging within her soul, as if something was trying to rend her in half, to disconnect her from her own life.
The figure stretched out a hand, long skeletal fingers adorned with glowing runes, symbols that hummed a sickly light. "The past, Elara. The secrets in your blood."
A burning pain, a thousand needles, cut into her brain, a blinding burst of torment. Splinters of memories, eerie and grotesque, danced in her eyes—images of blood and treachery, of vows spoken in hushed tones and broken promises, of black rites and forbidden magic. A name, a dark, guttural name, echoed in her head, a name that was unfamiliar and somehow intimate, a name she could not place, a name bitter with ash and mourning.
"No…" Elara moaned, her body twisting against the intangible restraints that bound her in thrall, her mind a battlefield of warring feelings. "What are you doing to me?"
The figure's eyes flared more brightly, their light incinerating into her being, a searing perception, a symbol of possession. "Awakening you, Elara. Releasing the power that lies dormant within you."
A rush of raw, uncontrolled mana burst within her, a force that might tear her apart, destroy her very being, and consume her from the inside out. The red patch on her spine pulsed, a black, beating rhythm, such as a second, malevolent heartbeat, a rhythm of death. A wave of heat, searing and oppressive, engulfed her, and her vision faded, plunging her into a chasm of nothingness.
When she opened them once more, she was in her own rooms, on her bed. Anya sat beside her, her pinched, white face guarding over her, her shaking hand grasping her own, the unspoken request for comfort. Lord Caius, a tempest in their black depths of unspoken questions, of worry, but also of suspicion, stood at the bedside, his eyes fixed upon her with a fierce inner struggle.
"Elara, you're awake." Anya breathed softly, her voice trembling, with a fear she couldn't hide, a fear that equalled the fear in Elara's heart. "You… you passed out. And then… the mirror… it shattered. And you… you spoke words in a language not of this world, a language of shadows and old power."
Elara gazed about, her mind reeling, the echoes of the crypt ringing in her ears, the dark incantations a bittersweet refrain in her heart. Was it a dream? A delusion brought about by the strange magic? But the lingering dread, the burning agony in her brain, felt too real, too solid, too deeply ingrained in her very essence.
"What did happen?" she croaked, a raw rasp, a noise that had grown unfamiliar even to her own ears.
Caius advanced, his eyes afire, his voice low and menacing, a growl that thrummed in his chest. "The mirror broke, Elara. And when it broke… the red on your back. pulsed, as if it had a life of its own, a dark, throbbing heart. And then you spoke. Not words, but a chant, a dark invocation that chilled my very soul, a sound that sang of ancient power and forbidden wisdom."
A shiver of foreboding in Elara's stomach, the feeling that something was horribly amiss, that disaster was looming. The vows, the man, the words—it all came back, a confounding knot of lies and truths, a labyrinth she could not help but navigate. But how? And why?
"I don't remember," she lied, the words pushed past her lips, a frantic lie to shield herself from the truth. "But I will."
She gazed at Caius, her eyes unwavering, her determination a burning ember in the darkness, a flame that could not be extinguished. "There's something amiss, Caius. Something evil and sinister. And I require your assistance to find out what it is."
Caius's eyes darkened, his face expressionless, a mask of darkness, a shroud that hid the storm raging within. "And if I don't?"
Before Elara could utter a word, a sudden, raging tremor convulsed the air, a spew of dust falling from the ceiling, a torrent of ancient particles. A snarl, a low, guttural growl, a sound that seemed to emanate from the very foundations of the palace, thundered through the halls, shuddering the stones themselves, a sound that testified to old power and primitive rage. Anya cried out, wide-eyed with terror, her limbs quivering like a leaf on the breeze.
"What was it?" She wept, her voice as unsubstantial as a strand.
Caius drew his sword, the steel flashing in the semi-gloom, his face unsmiling, his jaw working in grim determination. "I don't know. But I believe we're going to find out. Something's coming. Something powerful. And it's headed this way." The ground beneath them began to tremble, and the air filled with a heavy, oppressive force, pressure that could smother them. He looked past Elara, down the corridor, his posture tense, his grip on his sword hilt growing tighter, as the raw, bestial growl grew louder, and a wave of dark, churning mana exploded out of the corridor, slammed against the door, and splintered it into a thousand pieces, a maddening burst of dark power that heralded the arrival of something terrible.