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The sky was red when they arrived in Virelia—the first country of the Magical Realm.
A dense fog curled around their boots as they stepped through the ancient gate, its arch inscribed with glowing runes that shimmered like burning coals. Arinthal's hand was already raised defensively, scanning the aether for disruptions.
"This place…" she murmured. "It used to be a land of wisdom. Now it's…" Her voice trailed off.
Virelia was quiet, too quiet. Towering, skeletal trees bent toward them, whispering dry words in the wind. The air tasted of ash and ozone. A distant howl echoed across the sky.
"Why is it red?" Aria asked, squinting up at the swirling storm clouds.
"Because something is bleeding this land from the inside out," Lyrien replied, unslinging his blade. "We're not alone here."
---
They walked for hours through a crumbled city overtaken by roots and ruin. Statues of old Virelian scholars lay broken, heads severed cleanly. Strange glyphs were burned into the walls, pulsing faintly. Aria's palm began to throb. She stopped.
"It's burning again," she muttered, clutching her hand.
"Let me see," Arinthal said, kneeling beside her. The mark in Aria's palm glowed faintly—like embers stirring under the surface. Arinthal traced it with two fingers. "The Echo is close," she said. "And so is one of Xandros's."
Suddenly, the sky split with thunder, and a creature descended.
It didn't walk. It slithered through the air—robes like shadows, eyes like glowing coals. Its face was a shattered mask. The fog parted for it, and the temperature dropped.
"Welcome to Virelia," it rasped. "I am Mardrath, Keeper of Forgotten Flame, and guardian of the First Echo. Leave or burn."
Lyrien stepped forward. "We don't burn easy."
Mardrath raised a hand, and the air ignited. A wall of fire swept toward them.
"Scatter!" Arinthal shouted.
---
The battle that followed was a blur of heat and steel.
Arinthal chanted in the old tongue, summoning shields of force. Lyrien darted through flames, his blade a flash of light. Aria stood back at first, uncertain—but her palm burned hotter than ever. The mark pulsed like a living thing.
Then instinct took over.
Aria flung out her hand. The energy around her twisted, then cracked like lightning. The fire wall shuddered and bent, sucked inward by a sudden force—her force.
"I'm not afraid of you," she shouted.
Mardrath sneered, lunging forward. But Aria was already moving. The training in the Void had sharpened her instincts. She spun low, drew the sword Arinthal had forged for her, and struck out—channeling energy from the ground up through her body.
Mardrath howled as the blade connected. Light flared. The mark on her palm blazed golden.
"Now!" Arinthal yelled. She struck with a bolt of pure magic, and Lyrien dashed in with a final thrust. Mardrath exploded in flame and smoke, screaming curses as he dissipated into ash.
Silence returned.
Only the sound of their heavy breathing remained.
---
They found the First Echo buried beneath a ruined temple—an orb of glass-like crystal, humming faintly. Arinthal wrapped it carefully in a cloth inscribed with runes.
"One down," she whispered. "Nine to go."
That night, they made camp on the edge of the forest. The fog still lingered, but the sky was beginning to clear, stars piercing through the crimson haze.
Lyrien sat beside Aria, handing her a flask of water. "You did good," he said.
Aria smiled, still shaken. "It scared me," she admitted. "That power... It didn't feel like mine. It felt like something *older*."
"It's yours," he said gently. "But it's a part of something bigger. And you're learning to shape it, not the other way around."
She looked down at her palm. The mark had dimmed, but it was still warm—like a quiet promise beneath her skin.
Their eyes met for a moment. Neither said anything.
Then Arinthal called over, "Rest while you can. The next land will be harder."
They laid down under a thin blanket of stars. Aria stared at the sky until sleep claimed her, wondering what the next country would bring—and what her mark truly meant.
---
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Part 2: The Shattered Peaks of Kairon
The air shifted as Aria, Lyrien, and Arinthal stepped into the second realm—Kairon, the Land of Shattered Peaks. Jagged mountains tore into the sky like broken teeth, and lightning crackled above constantly, never touching down. The land was unstable, split by tremors and sudden rockslides. It felt alive and angry.
The trio stood at the foot of a massive stone bridge suspended over a deep chasm. The wind howled through it, carrying whispers that chilled Aria's bones.
"This place…" Arinthal murmured. "Something's wrong."
"More than wrong," Lyrien said, hand on his sword. "It's cursed."
They crossed cautiously, Aria's hand instinctively brushing the hilt of her sword—the one forged by Arinthal's magic and empowered by the flower dust. Her palm burned faintly, the mark glowing with dim light. The closer they got to the center of the realm, the more it pulsed. It was like the scar was a compass, tugging her toward something—or someone.
As they passed the final arch of the bridge, a deafening roar cracked the air. From the mountaintop descended a creature, part rock, part storm—its body massive and veined with glowing red. It was Varrak, one of Xandros's strongest minions, the Warden of Rage.
"You shall not pass," it bellowed, voice shaking the peaks.
Arinthal raised a barrier, barely deflecting a bolt of energy that splintered the ground.
"Aria!" she shouted. "Stay close!"
But the mark on Aria's palm had begun to burn, not in pain, but with urgency. She felt pulled, like the Echo was near.
Varrak slammed into the earth, shaking the team apart. Lyrien dove, catching Aria mid-fall, his arm firm around her. Their eyes locked for a moment, breath caught in her throat, and just as quickly, they snapped back into action.
"Don't die," Lyrien muttered.
"You too," she shot back, smirking as they charged.
The battle was chaotic. Varrak's rage controlled the very terrain, twisting stone into spears and hurling them like missiles. Arinthal danced through the storm, chanting incantations to shield and retaliate. Lyrien flanked, slashing at the beast's legs to expose weak spots.
Aria focused on her inner energy—Stage Two. She steadied her breath, remembering the Void training. When she raised her hands, the air vibrated around her, responding to her command. She pulled the energy inward, through the burning mark, and felt it sharpen into something alive.
A glowing glyph unfurled from her palm, hovering in the air. It pulsed with Echo energy—one of the fragments was here. But as she reached for it, Varrak roared and leapt.
The glyph shattered.
"No!" Aria screamed, the energy ricocheting back into her palm. Pain flared, the mark sparking wildly.
They had failed to collect the Echo.
But Aria didn't stop. She fought harder. Her blade sang, infused with her raw energy. With a final coordinated strike—Lyrien piercing the creature's shoulder, Arinthal freezing its movement with a runic trap, and Aria slamming her palm against its core—they brought Varrak crashing down in an explosion of shattered stone and storm.
Silence fell.
The Echo was gone. Not all would be recoverable, Arinthal had warned—but losing one still hurt.
They set up camp under the shattered sky. Lyrien sat beside Aria as she stared into the fire, hand clenched.
"You did what you could," he said quietly.
"I was supposed to be the key," she whispered. "How can I stop Xandros if I can't even hold a single Echo?"
He hesitated, then placed his hand over hers. "Keys aren't meant to do it alone. Doors need more than keys—they need strength to open, and allies to walk through them."
She looked up at him, really looked, and saw not just the sharp edges and dry wit, but someone who believed in her more than she did herself.
Arinthal returned with a satchel of herbs. "Get some rest, both of you. The next realm is worse."
They nodded.
As Aria lay down, the pain in her palm throbbed. She studied the mark—still glowing faintly, like it was watching her, judging her. But she'd try again. And again.
Because even if she failed, the world was depending on her to try.
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