Chapter 3 - SHADOWS UPON THE MOUNTAIN
The temperature in the Sunken Temple plummeted so violently that Ellen’s breath turned instantly to thick white clouds. The iron-masked assassins swarming through the ruined doorway moved with an unnatural, predatory swiftness, their heavy wool cloaks snapping in a wind that seemed to blow from nowhere.
"Hold the line!" Roan roared, his voice cutting through the discordant chanting outside. The elite imperial guards locked their shields together, forming a gleaming wall of steel just beneath the crumbling lintel.
Clang!
The first wave of attackers struck with terrifying force. Their blades were forged from a dark, non-reflective metal that drank the torchlight, and when they collided with the imperial armor, sparks showered across the ancient stone floor.
Oren lowered his colossal head, a low, guttural rumble building deep within his chest. The air around the dragon shimmered with heat, creating a shimmering barrier that kept the biting frost at bay. Without warning, Oren swept his massive tail in a wide, controlled arc. The sheer kinetic force swept three of the masked assassins off their feet, sending them crashing through the crumbling stone pillars into the ravine below.
"Ellen!" Roan shouted over the din of battle, parrying a savage blow from an assassin who had vaulted over a shield. "Stay behind the dragon! If these cultists take the resonance from you, the empire falls tonight!"
Ellen clutched her hands tightly against her chest, where the lingering warmth of the spiral scale still throbbed beneath her tunic. Fear threatened to paralyze her, but beneath the terror burned a sudden, fierce defiance. She was not a helpless bystander anymore.
"I'm not hiding," Ellen yelled back. She grabbed a heavy, discarded stone fragment from a fallen column and braced herself beside Oren’s massive foreleg.
From the center of the courtyard, a tall figure clad in obsidian plate armor stepped through the shattered entrance. His iron mask was shaped like a horned serpent, and in his hand, he carried a staff topped with a pulsing, violet crystal that seemed to suck the light out of the air.
"Emperor Roan," the serpent-masked leader hissed, his voice echoing with a distorted, multi-layered resonance. "And the long-lost keeper. How poetic that you should gather in the very tomb where the old world died."
Oren’s golden eyes narrowed. "Malakor," the dragon rumbled, the name carrying a profound, ancient hatred. "I thought your bloodline was wiped out during the First Schism."
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"We endured, beast," Malakor laughed, raising his staff. The violet crystal flared blindingly bright, casting writhing purple shadows across the temple walls. "And now, the dual resonance of the dragon scale and the royal bloodline is within our grasp. Break them!"
With a synchronized shriek, a dozen assassins dropped their swords, raised their hands toward Ellen and Roan, and began channeling a dark, necrotic spell. A web of purple lightning erupted from Malakor’s staff, splitting in mid-air to strike both the emperor and the temple keeper simultaneously.
