The cavern trembled with the weight of ancient power.
Eliar tightened his grip around the newly formed pact mark glowing faintly on his right hand. Beside him, the dragon — Vael'thar — coiled protectively, his massive, scaled form tense and alert. The portal behind them, their only exit, flickered and distorted, unstable.
They weren't alone anymore.
Deep within the ruins of the vault, something had stirred. A resonance — like a drumbeat felt in the marrow of the bones — vibrated through the air. Vael'thar's golden eyes narrowed, a low growl rumbling from his throat.
"This is no place for mortals," Vael'thar rumbled.
Ahead, in the darkness, a massive circular platform carved from black stone began to rise. Dust cascaded down from the ceiling as ancient gears, unseen for centuries, groaned to life. On the platform... lay a figure.
A giant being, slumbering, bound by chains as thick as tree trunks. The Sleeper.
Even dormant, the Sleeper's aura pressed down on them like the crushing weight of an ocean. Fear, despair, and helplessness seeped into Eliar's mind, foreign yet undeniable.
Vael'thar lowered his head beside Eliar, his tone grave.
"We must flee, young one. That which slumbers should not awaken."
But even as the words left his mouth, the Sleeper's chains began to crack.
BOOM.
BOOM.
Each shattering chain sent waves of unstable magic through the cavern, making the ground quake.
---
Eliar clenched his fists. His instincts screamed to run — but the portal was failing.
No way out.
"Vael'thar," Eliar said, voice sharp. "Can we fight it?"
"We can resist," Vael'thar growled.
"Victory... is another matter."
The Sleeper rose to its feet now, towering and terrible, its obsidian wings scraping the cavern walls. Ancient runes etched into its skin pulsed with malignant light.
The Sleeper opened its mouth, uttering a forgotten language that twisted the very fabric of reality.
Rocks cracked, air screamed.
The meaning seeped directly into Eliar's bones:
"You... are... late..."
The Sleeper pointed at Eliar.
For a brief moment, Eliar's mind was assaulted by visions —
A world burning.
A throne shattered.
And himself... standing alone atop it all.
---
The Sleeper lunged.
The cavern exploded into chaos.
Vael'thar surged forward, slamming into the Sleeper with a roar, breathing a torrent of white-hot flame. Eliar darted and weaved through the storm of crumbling stones and collapsing ruins.
He felt power humming inside him — the magic from his pact with Vael'thar.
But every blow against the Sleeper barely slowed it down.
"You must bind it, not defeat it!" Vael'thar roared mid-battle.
"Bind it?! How?!" Eliar shouted back.
"The remnants of the chains! Use them!"
Eyes flashing, Eliar spotted broken fragments of the ancient bindings scattered across the floor. Without hesitation, he sprinted toward the nearest shard, feeling its magic pulse to life in his hand.
A golden chain burst forth, wrapping around the Sleeper's left leg, making it stumble.
---
But it wasn't enough.
Eliar ran desperately from shard to shard, binding the Sleeper bit by bit.
Each chain burned more magic from him — and the Sleeper's resistance grew fiercer.
Just as he reached for the final fragment —
A shadow stepped from the darkness.
A cloaked figure.
Face hidden under a cold, metallic mask.
The figure raised a hand — and shattered the last chain with a pulse of dark magic.
Eliar's heart sank.
"Who are you?!" he cried.
The figure's voice was cold, mechanical:
"The world needs its monsters, boy."
---
The Sleeper roared — a sound that tore the very walls apart.
The entire vault began to collapse.
The ground split. The portal shattered.
Above the chaos, a new portal flickered into existence — summoned deliberately, not accidentally.
A voice called out from beyond it — clear, urgent, familiar:
"Eliar! Jump! Now!"
Eliar's eyes widened in shock.
He recognized that voice.
Someone he thought he would never hear again.
---
[TO BE CONTINUE]