Chapter 3 - The Shattered Vault
Panic tore through the sanctuary like a wildfire through dry timber. The elite of Newport—men and women accustomed to controlling global markets with a single signature—now scrambled over mahogany pews, their designer coats ruined by mud and rainwater. Security details surged forward, shouting into wrist communicators, attempting to secure the perimeter against a threat they had spent centuries believing they had eradicated.
King Aldric stumbled back as a massive chunk of masonry crashed ten feet from where he stood. His crimson cloak swirled around him as he glared at the dragon, his face contorted with fury.
"Fools!" Aldric roared, drawing his broadsword from its jeweled scabbard. The steel hummed with enchanted runes, glowing a sickly crimson. "Subdue the beast! And secure the girl! Do not let her leave the altar!"
Three elite Blackthorn enforcers—mercenaries clad in matte-black tactical gear laced with anti-magic plating—charged the dais. They raised heavy stun-pikes crackling with blue electrical discharge, aiming directly for Elara's chest.
Elara didn't flinch. As the first enforcer lunged, the remaining chain on her right wrist snapped entirely with a deafening pop of stressed iron. Free of the restraint, she whipped her arm upward.
A shockwave of pure, freezing kinetic energy erupted from her palm.
The enforcer was thrown backward through the air like a ragdoll, smashing into a marble pillar and sliding unconscious to the floor. His stun-pike skittered across the icy stones, short-circuiting in a shower of sparks.
The remaining two guards hesitated, their training failing them as they stared at the glowing blue veins now tracing intricate patterns across Elara's arms, neck, and cheeks. She stood tall upon the covenant stone, the wind whipping her white gown around her legs like a battle standard.
"You called me property," Elara said, her voice doubling in resonance, sounding like two voices speaking in unison—herself and something ancient and vast. "Let's see how much your property is worth."
She stepped down from the altar. With every step she took, the frost spread outward across the marble floor, freezing the boots of fleeing senators to the ground, trapping them in place like statues in a museum of their own corruption.
Across the nave, Bishop Vance tried to crawl toward the heavy oak doors, but the ice caught his hem, anchoring him securely. He turned back, his face pale with terror, staring at Elara as if she were a ghost risen from hell.
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Aldric pushed his way past a group of terrified bankers, stepping into Elara's path. His crimson cloak billowed behind him, and his rune-etched sword blazed with searing red light.
"You think you can dismantle four hundred years of rule with a parlor trick?" Aldric sneered, raising his blade. "I built this empire on the ashes of your bloodline, Elara. And I will bury you right beside them."
