The Original Realm

The sacred tree loomed above, its ethereal glow casting long, rippling shadows across the courtyard as Luke crouched low among the sprawling roots. The tree's presence was overwhelming, a symbol of immense power and history, its luminescent bark pulsing faintly as if alive. Luke's heart raced, his breath shallow as the weight of his task pressed down on him.

Days spent training in the forest had honed his body and spirit, pushing his limits with grueling exercises and relentless practice with Advent, giving him the ability to channel energy into bursts of strength and speed. Yet none of that training had prepared him for this. Infiltration wasn't his forte. There were no diagrams etched into his mind, no rehearsed movements choreographed against an invisible enemy. He was winging it.

From his vantage point at the edge of the courtyard, Luke had observed the guards' movements. Their patrols, though disciplined, followed a rhythm—pairs circling at intervals, a momentary blind spot on the far side of the archway carved into the castle's base. The realization hadn't come from careful analysis but sheer luck, and tonight, he was counting on more of the same.

Adjusting a cloak given to him by Hadrik, the coarse fabric coarse against his fingers, Luke pressed himself lower into the shadows, his heart pounding as the two guards marched past. Their boots scraped against the gravel, their casual conversation a murmur in the otherwise silent courtyard. The moment they turned the corner, Luke slipped forward, darting between patches of darkness toward the archway.

The entrance loomed before him, its heavy stone frame radiating a faint hum. The wards etched into the walls glimmered faintly, a network of protective runes that pulsed with dormant energy. Luke brushed his fingers against the hilt of his dagger—a grounding gesture, not reassurance. This wasn't about fighting. It was about speed, stealth, and staying invisible.

The First Floor – The Vault

Crossing the threshold, Luke was immediately struck by the shift in atmosphere. The air here was cooler, thick with the scent of damp stone and the unmistakable buzz of old magic. Flickering torchlight cast long, uneven shadows across the walls, revealing the expanse of the room beyond.

The corridor widened into a cavernous chamber filled with shelves, locked cabinets, and pedestals displaying artifacts that glimmered faintly with residual energy. This was a vault—a repository of knowledge and power. The room pulsed faintly, as though the objects within carried a life of their own.

Luke moved cautiously, his boots nearly silent against the polished stone floor. He passed rows of ancient scrolls, their yellowed edges curling with age, and glass cases housing objects of curious design: a compass that spun aimlessly despite being still, a blackened sword humming faintly with energy, and a crystalline orb swirling with faint silver light.

The chamber exuded a strange tension, the kind that prickled at the edge of his senses. Luke felt exposed, as though the room itself was aware of his presence. His eyes darted to every shadow, every flicker of movement, but the room remained still.

He pressed forward, weaving through the maze of artifacts toward the far end of the chamber. A low archway led to a spiral staircase descending deeper into the fortress. Just as he reached it, faint voices carried from the opposite side of the room.

"…don't see why we're keeping her down there. Seems like overkill."

The words froze Luke in place, his ears straining to catch more.

"You'd question Sylveria's orders?" The second voice carried a sharper tone.

"No, but… I'm just saying. She's just one person."

Luke's jaw tightened. Eleanor's here. Relief washed over him, mingling with unease. If Sylveria herself was involved, this was far more dangerous than he'd anticipated.

The voices faded as the guards moved away, and Luke exhaled quietly. Without hesitation, he slipped through the archway and onto the staircase.

The Second Floor – The Armory

The air grew sharper as Luke descended, the scent of metal and oil replacing the faint hum of magic from above. The second floor opened into a vast armory, its walls lined with weapons and armor displayed like trophies of war. The torchlight danced across polished steel, throwing sharp reflections onto the stone walls.

Racks of swords, spears, and maces stretched along the length of the chamber, interspersed with shields bearing the crest of Sylveria's house. Rows of armor stood like silent sentinels, their hollow visors seeming to watch him as he crept by. The acrid tang of oil lingered in the air, mingling with the faint metallic scent of the weapons.

Guards moved in steady pairs, their patrols crisscrossing the room with precision. Their footsteps echoed against the high ceilings, a steady rhythm that kept Luke on edge. Hugging the shadows, he weaved between racks and workbenches laden with disassembled weapons and alchemical tools.

Halfway across the armory, his luck nearly ran out.

A sharp clatter echoed through the room as a guard dropped a spear, the sound slicing through the tense silence.

"Watch it," one guard hissed, irritation evident in his voice. "You'll wake half the castle."

"Sorry," the other muttered, sheepish.

Luke froze, his body tense as he crouched behind a rack of shields. The guards lingered, their voices growing faint as they resumed their patrol. Slowly, he exhaled, relief flooding his veins.

As he neared the stairwell, his pulse quickened. A lone guard stepped into the hallway ahead, their eyes narrowing as they spotted movement in the shadows.

"Hey!"

Luke had no time to think. He surged forward, activating Advent. Energy coursed through his body, sharpening his senses and amplifying his strength. His fist glowed faintly as it connected with the guard's jaw in a precise, devastating strike.

The guard crumpled without a sound, their unconscious body slumping against the wall. Luke caught them before they hit the ground, lowering them quietly and pressing forward without a second glance.

The Third Floor – The Grand Cells

Descending further, the air grew colder, heavier. The stone walls closed in, their surfaces pulsing faintly with glowing runes. The oppressive weight of the enchantments pressed down on Luke, a constant reminder of the power contained within this fortress.

The corridor opened into a long hallway lined with cells, each one sealed with thick iron bars and glowing locks etched with sigils. The faint light of flickering torches cast eerie shadows across the floor, illuminating the sparse interiors of the cells.

Most were empty, their occupants long gone or relocated. A few held figures slumped against the walls, their features obscured by shadow. Luke's heart pounded as he moved deeper, his eyes scanning each cell until he reached the last one.

Eleanor sat cross-legged on a narrow cot, her arms crossed, her face a mask of boredom. When she saw him, her eyes widened in shock before narrowing into a familiar, incredulous glare.

"You've got to be kidding me," she said, standing and approaching the bars. "You actually made it here?"

Luke frowned, his breath still uneven. "Why does everyone keep saying that?"

Eleanor grinned mischievously, leaning casually against the bars. "Because Aldric was right. You're an idiot."

Luke's jaw tightened, annoyance flickering across his face. "You're welcome."

She smirked, her tone dripping with mockery. "Behind you, blondie."

His blood turned to ice. He spun just as a blast of force slammed into him, throwing him backward into the cell bars. The impact rattled his bones, and he barely managed to activate Advent, the energy flaring through him just in time to keep him conscious.

"Luke!" Eleanor's voice rang out, half-worried, half-amused. "You okay over there?"

Groaning, Luke pushed himself to his feet, his vision swimming. His gaze locked onto the figure standing between him and the exit.

Sylveria.

Her presence was overwhelming, her silver hair catching the faint torchlight as her piercing gaze bore into him. She radiated power, an aura of cold precision that made the air around her feel like ice.

Luke clenched his fists, the glow of Advent pulsing faintly through his veins as he steadied himself.

Eleanor sighed, her voice carrying a dry edge. "Oh, this is going to be fun."