Page 65 of Trial By Fire

Sylthris’s smile widened, revealing teeth that seemed just a touch too sharp. “You heard me, darling. The door’s wide open.” She gestured lazily towards one of the tunnels. “Unless, of course, you’d rather stay?”

Aric’s mind raced. It had to be a trap, some cruel game she was playing. And yet . . . the path she indicated did lead towards the city’s outskirts.

Aric’s eyes narrowed, suspicion etched across his face. The flames at his fingertips flickered uncertainly as he studied Sylthris, searching for any sign of deception.

“Why?” he demanded, his voice raw. “Why would you let me go?”

Sylthris’s smile widened, a predatory gleam in her swirling eyes. She took a step closer, and Aric fought the urge to retreat.

“Oh, little mage,” she purred, “you ask such delightful questions.” Her gaze swept over him, assessing. “The fate of House Ixion has not been carved in stone just yet. I’m curious to see just how far our dear Malekith will fall . . . or rise.”

A chill ran down Aric’s spine. There was something in her tone, a hint of secret knowledge that left him deeply unsettled. He searched her face, trying to decipher the hidden meanings behind her words.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, hating the tremor in his voice. “What do you mean, fall or rise?”

Sylthris laughed, the sound echoing off the stone walls. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” She leaned in close, her breath ghosting across his cheek. “The game is far from over, and you, my dear, are a most intriguing piece on the board.”

Aric’s mind raced, trying to make sense of her cryptic words. There were layers upon layers of meaning, hinting atmachinations far beyond his understanding. He thought of Malekith, of the sacrifice he had made. Was there more to it than he realized?

“I don’t understand,” he said, frustration coloring his tone.

“Of course you don’t,” Sylthris replied, her voice dripping with condescension. “But you will, in time. Now run along, little mage. Your freedom awaits.”

She gestured once more towards the tunnel, her eyes never leaving his face. Aric hesitated, torn between the desperate need to escape and the nagging feeling that he was missing something crucial.

“Go,” Sylthris said, her voice suddenly sharp. “Before I change my mind.”

Aric took a step towards the tunnel, then paused, looking back at the enigmatic demoness. “If I leave,” he said slowly, “what happens to Malekith?”

Sylthris’s smile was razor-sharp. “That, my dear, depends entirely on you.”

Aric turned to flee, his heart pounding with a mixture of fear and desperate hope. But before he could take more than a step, Sylthris struck. Her hand, wreathed in shadowy energy, lashed out with inhuman speed. Pain exploded across Aric’s back as her fingers tore through his flesh, ripping apart the sigil Malekith had placed there.

A scream tore from Aric’s throat, raw and agonized. He stumbled forward as waves of agony crashed over him. The sigil, that intimate connection to Malekith, shattered under Sylthris’s assault. It felt as if a part of his very soul had been ripped away.

Gasping for breath, Aric forced his legs to move. Each step sent fresh bolts of pain lancing through his body, but he couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t. Sylthris’s mocking laughter slithered around him like a bitter wind, following him as he ran.

“Run, little mage!” she called, words drenched with cruel amusement. “Run and see how far you get without your demon prince’s protection!”

Aric gritted his teeth, pushing himself harder. Blood soaked the back of his shirt, hot and sticky against his skin. The sigil—Aric was certain she’d shredded it, though how badly, he couldn’t know without stopping to examine it. But he couldn’t afford to dwell on it now. He had to keep moving, had to escape before Sylthris decided to do more than just toy with him.

The tunnel stretched before him, and Aric plunged into its depths, Sylthris’s laughter fading behind him. He ran, each breath a ragged gasp, each step a battle against the pain threatening to overwhelm him.

Aric burst from the tunnel’s mouth, gasping for air. The cool night breeze hit his face, a stark contrast to the stifling darkness he’d left behind. He stumbled, nearly falling as his feet hit uneven ground. His back throbbed, a constant reminder of Sylthris’s parting gift.

For a moment, he simply stood there, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. The outskirts of Drindal sprawled before him, a chaotic tapestry of fire and shadow. The town he’d once known as a peaceful retreat now writhed under demonic occupation, its very essence twisted and corrupted.

Aric’s eyes darted across the landscape, desperately searching for any sign of Malekith. A flash of familiar magic, a glimpse of that proud silhouette—anything to tell him Malekith had survived. But all he saw was destruction. Plumes of smoke rose into the night sky, punctuated by the occasional burst of magical energy. Shouts and screams carried on the wind, a dirge of fear and confusion.

His heart ached, a pain deeper than the physical wounds he bore. Malekith had sacrificed everything for him, and now . . . now Aric didn’t even know if he was alive.

He took a step forward, then stopped. Every instinct screamed at him to go back, to search for Malekith among the chaos. But he knew it would be suicide. Without the sigil’s protection, he was vulnerable. And if Malekith had truly given everything to ensure his escape, returning would make that sacrifice meaningless.

Aric’s fists clenched at his sides, golden fire flickering weakly around his fingers. He was exhausted, in pain, and utterly alone. But he was free. And with that freedom came a responsibility—to warn his people, to use what he’d learned to turn the tide of this endless war.

With a final, longing look at the burning town behind him, Aric turned away. His steps were unsteady at first, but grew more determined with each passing moment. He set his sights on the distant horizon, where he knew the human lands lay waiting.

Aric trudged onward, fighting exhaustion and pain. The familiar rolling hills of his homeland stretched before him, bathed in the soft light of dawn. He should have felt relief, joy even, at the sight. Instead, a heavy weight settled in his chest, a mixture of dread and longing that threatened to overwhelm him.

---