The Varaksha’s Curse

Lyssara stood at the edge of the Void Plains, her crimson robes billowing as a cold wind howled through the desolate expanse before her. The land stretched endlessly, a barren wasteland of jagged black stone and swirling violet mist. The very air crackled with unstable energy, warping reality with each shifting breeze.

Few dared to enter the Void Plains. Fewer returned.

She tightened her grip on her staff, its obsidian surface etched with runes that flickered faintly in the gloom. The corruption ritual required rare components—essences drawn from the Void itself. Without them, Malrik's plan to taint the shard would fail, leaving the Watcher with untapped power. That could not be allowed.

From the shadows behind her, two figures emerged—Ashen Circle warlocks draped in dark armor, their faces obscured by veils of shadow. Lyssara barely acknowledged them as she stepped forward, the ground beneath her feet shifting unnaturally.

"Remember," she said, her voice calm but firm, "the Void is alive. It twists, it tempts, it devours. Keep your minds focused, or you will become nothing more than echoes."

The warlocks nodded silently.

Taking a deep breath, Lyssara raised her staff and whispered an incantation. A flickering sphere of crimson energy enveloped them, a ward against the Void's corruption. It would not last long.

"Let's begin."

As they walked deeper into the Plains, the air grew heavier, pressing against them like an unseen force. Shapes moved within the mist—things that did not belong in the world of the living.

Then came the whispers.

They slithered through the air, insidious and tempting. Soft voices that spoke in a thousand tongues, offering knowledge, power, secrets long forgotten.

One of the warlocks hesitated. His steps faltered.

"Wait… I hear them," he muttered, his voice dazed. "They know me… they—"

Lyssara's eyes flashed, and without hesitation, she struck him across the chest with her staff. The impact sent him sprawling to the ground, his breath ragged.

"Fool," she hissed. "Do not listen. Do not respond."

The warlock trembled but nodded, his eyes wide with fear.

The Void tested them, but she would not let it claim them.

After what felt like hours, they reached the first marker—an obsidian monolith standing alone in the vast emptiness. Its surface pulsed with unnatural light, shifting between violet and black.

"This is where we begin," Lyssara said. "The ritual requires the Blood of the Rift."

She turned to the second warlock. "You know what must be done."

The warlock nodded, stepping forward with a blade in hand. Without hesitation, he sliced across his palm, letting dark blood drip onto the monolith's surface. The stone drank it eagerly, the ground beneath them trembling.

The mist thickened, swirling violently. A deep, guttural growl echoed from within the Void.

Lyssara smiled. It is waking.

Then the Rift opened.

A tear in reality itself split the air before them, revealing a writhing vortex of darkness. From within, a creature emerged—a towering wraith with shifting, faceless features and hollow eyes burning with violet fire.

The warlocks took a step back, but Lyssara stood firm.

"I am Lyssara of the Ashen Circle," she declared. "I seek the essence of the Void."

The wraith regarded her for a long moment before speaking, its voice like shattered glass.

"The Void does not give. It takes."

Lyssara smirked. "Then take this."

With a swift motion, she unleashed a burst of crimson energy from her staff, striking the wraith square in the chest. It screeched, its form shifting wildly, but it did not fall. Instead, it surged toward her, its clawed hands reaching—

Lyssara didn't flinch.

As the wraith grasped her, she whispered the final incantation.

A surge of dark energy erupted from her body, latching onto the wraith and draining its essence. The creature howled in agony as its form withered, collapsing into a pool of violet mist.

The ritual was complete.

Lyssara knelt, gathering the swirling remnants of the wraith's essence into a black vial. The liquid shimmered, shifting between shadow and light. This was what she had come for—the power to corrupt the Void Shard.

She turned to the warlocks, her eyes gleaming. "We have what we need. Now, we return to Malrik."

As they stepped away from the monolith, the Void trembled, as if displeased by their intrusion.

The whispers grew louder.

And deep within the mist, something else began to stir.

Something far older.

Something that had been waiting.

To be continued…