Chapter 5 - THE FORGOTTEN KINGDOM
Rowan moved on pure instinct.
As he fell through the scorching hot air above the slag pit, he extended his arm. The starlight broadsword lengthened, a tether of brilliant blue energy shooting out from the tip like a golden chain. The energy tether wrapped around the top bars of the falling iron cage.
Rowan slammed his boot against a concrete pillar, bracing his body. The sudden tension jerked his arm so violently he heard his shoulder pop, but he held on.
The cage dangled just three feet above the bubbling, white-hot molten metal. The heat was immense, blistering Rowan's face even through his magical aura.
"Rowan! Let go!" Marcus yelled from inside the cage, the heat causing his clothes to smoke. "You can't lift this weight while holding onto the cliff!"
"I'm not letting you go!" Rowan roared through gritted teeth. Glowing blue runes began to burn brightly along Rowan’s neck and chest, spreading down his arm and infusing the energy chain with unbelievable strength.
Above them, the remaining war-frame stepped to the edge of the platform, raising a heavy hydraulic hammer to crush Rowan's fingers gripping the ledge.
"Look up, bucket head!" Lyra’s voice echoed.
Lyra sprinted across the platform, leapt off the back of a destroyed robot, and landed on the shoulders of the war-frame. She jammed her pulse-pistol directly into the robot's optical sensor and pulled the trigger three times.
The war-frame staggered backward, blinded, and Lyra kicked off its chest, sending the heavy machine tumbling over the edge into the slag pit below.
With the threat removed, Lyra grabbed Rowan's free hand, hauling with all her strength while Rowan hauled the energy tether.
With a final, desperate heave, Rowan pulled the entire iron cage up over the ledge, slamming it onto the solid concrete floor. He immediately drew his sword and sliced through the thick lock, pulling his father out of the metal prison.
Marcus stumbled out, collapsing into his son's arms. The old blacksmith squeezed Rowan's shoulder with a grip like an iron vise.
"You fool," Marcus muttered, his voice thick with emotion. "You brave, foolish boy."
"I learned from the best," Rowan said, giving his father a tight, brief hug before helping him stand.
"We have to leave now!" Lyra shouted, checking her wrist monitor, which was flashing red and emitting a high-frequency alarm. "My father initiated the facility's self-destruct before he fled! The core reactor is going critical in three minutes!"
"Where did Vance go?" Rowan asked, looking toward the empty gallery.
"He took the private escape shuttle to the surface," Lyra said grimly. "We're trapped down here. The elevator shaft is sealed."
“Rowan!” Vaelith’s voice reverberated in his mind, clear and urgent. “The floor beneath the slag pit! It is not solid rock! It is an ancient aqueduct! Break the foundation!”
Rowan looked down at the bubbling pit of molten metal. Beneath the glowing slag, he could sense a deep, subterranean pulse of cold magic.
"Stand back!" Rowan shouted to Marcus and Lyra.
He raised his broadsword above his head. Every ounce of royal magic within his blood rushed into the blade, causing it to swell with light until it looked like a pillar of fallen starlight.
Rowan drove the blade into the floor.
BOOM!
The entire subterranean chamber cracked like an eggshell. The concrete floor gave way, collapsing downward into an ancient, underground cavern system that had been hidden for six hundred years.
Rowan, Marcus, and Lyra tumbled into the dark abyss just as the upper facility exploded in a blinding wall of thermite fire.
They fell through rushing air, landing with a loud splash into a deep, freezing underground river.
The current dragged them through dark stone tunnels at terrifying speeds before dumping them onto a shore of glittering, iridescent sand.
Rowan coughed up water, pushing himself up onto his hands and knees. His midnight-blue armor flickered and faded back into his chest, leaving him in his wet clothing.
Lyra and Marcus swam to the shore beside him, gasping for air.
"Is everyone... alright?" Lyra asked, her hair dripping wet, her pulse-pistols ruined by the water.
"I'm alive," Marcus grunted, squeezing water from his beard. "Though my back will never forgive you for that fall, Rowan."
Rowan stood up and looked around.
They were standing in an immense underground cavern so vast it seemed to have its own atmosphere. Far above them, bioluminescent crystals clung to the ceiling like thousands of artificial stars.
And directly in front of them lay the ruins of a majestic, forgotten civilization.
Towering stone pillars decorated with gold leaf, grand arches overgrown with glowing blue flora, and crystalline palaces carved directly into the heart of the mountain stretched out as far as the eye could see.
"What is this place?" Lyra whispered in awe, stepping forward.
"The Sunken Capital of Aethelgard," Marcus said softly, his eyes filled with solemn respect. "The original throne of the Ashford Kings. The place Alaric and the Syndicate tried to erase from the history books."
From the cavernous ceiling above, a massive white shadow descended silently, landing upon the arm of a colossal stone statue of the First King.
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Vaelith folded his majestic ivory wings, looking down at the three survivors.
“Welcome home, King Rowan,” the dragon said. “Here, in the cradle of your ancestors, you will find the truth. And you will forge the weapon that will end this war.”
