Chapter 11 - Echoes Beneath the Citadel
The air in the royal dungeons of the Eclipse Citadel was thick with the scent of wet stone, dried salt, and centuries of forgotten secrets.
Eloin walked down the spiral staircase, her footsteps echoing sharply against the masonry. She wore a simple dark cloak over her silk gown, her fingers brushing against the hilt of the Aegis Blade, which she now carried at her side wherever she went. Behind her, King Cassian followed in quiet vigilance, his molten-gold eyes scanning the shadows with predatory alertness.
They had come to inspect the deepest subterranean vault—the very place where Matron Delphine had attempted to anchor the Void portal.
"The residue of the dark magic is fading," Cassian noted, his deep voice rumbling through the narrow corridor. He stopped before a heavy iron-banded door that had been scorched black by mystical fire. "The wardens have scoured every inch of this level. Nothing remains of the Coven."
"Not physically, perhaps," Eloin replied softly, stopping beside him. She placed her hand against the cold stone wall. Her half-blood senses—now fully matured and attuned to the subtle currents of the earth—could still feel a faint, shivering hum beneath her fingertips. "But magic like that doesn't just disappear, Cassian. It sinks into the foundation. It's looking for a new crack to slip through."
Cassian stepped closer, wrapping his large, warm hand over hers, grounding her against the chill of the vault. "Then we will seal it deeper. No shadow will ever breach these walls while I live, Eloin."
Before Eloin could answer, a sharp, metallic clatter echoed from further down the dark corridor—a sound that did not belong to the wind or the settling stone.
Instantly, Cassian’s posture shifted into lethal readiness. He pulled Eloin slightly behind him, his claws extending with a soft shhk sound as glowing golden runes flared across his forearms.
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"Who's there?" Cassian commanded, his voice vibrating with royal authority.
From the absolute darkness of the dead-end corridor, a slow, shuffling footstep approached.
