A sullen dawn broke behind them as the guardians crested the last rise of Stonelock's foothills. Before them lay the Plains of Shadow: a boundless stretch of ash-gray grass and churning mist, where shapes flickered at the edge of vision and the very air seemed to dampen the light. At its far end loomed Malrik's obsidian fortress—a jagged silhouette against a bruised sky.
Riven paused, drawing the breeze aside with a practiced hand. "These plains feed on fear," he intoned. "Malrik's wards twist the mind, conjuring doubts to turn allies against one another. Trust in your bond—and let the Heartstone guide you."
Lior nodded, feeling the weight of the complete Heartstone nestled at his breast. Its warmth pulsed in time with his heartbeat, warding off the chill that crept into his bones. "Together," he said, "we cannot fail."
They stepped into the mist. The grass whispered beneath their boots, and every shifting shadow sparked unease. Sylas tightened his cloak around them, stirring protective currents of wind to keep the gloom at bay. Corwin pressed the conch to his ear, summoning a ring of calm water that shimmered like glass around their group. Bram's staff glowed softly, roots weaving beneath the soil to anchor their path.
No sooner had they set out than the plains began their assault. A flicker of motion to the east: Bram spun, staff raised—but found only his own echo walking beside him. Lior shouted his name, and Sylas's reassuring laughter cut through the haze. Still, the vision lingered, as if daring them to question reality.
Further on, the mist thickened. Sylas paused, feeling the wind flatten into a silent wall. "Voices," he muttered, "whispering lies." He heard his own doubtful thought: They'll betray you. Drawing a steady breath, Sylas summoned a gust that tore the whispers away like rotten leaves, clearing the mist for a moment.
Corwin's hand went to his conch. He poured water into a shallow pool at his feet, then cupped it to his lips. When he spoke, his voice carried a firm clarity: "We stand as one—no shadow can sunder us." The water glowed, banishing the nearest tendrils of gloom.
But the plains would not yield so easily. From the mist emerged ravenous Shadow Hounds, gaunt wolves with eyes of smoldering coals and breath that stole warmth. They snarled, jaws dripping with darkness. In a single motion, the guardians formed their line:
Lior unleashed a wall of flame, searing a path through the oncoming pack.
Sylas whirled his cloak into a tornado of sparks, scattering the hounds with stinging embers.
Corwin sent a surge of water—steaming and scalding—at their flanks, driving them back.
Bram struck the earth, and thorned roots burst forth to bind the wounded beasts in place.
With a final roar, the hounds dissolved into mist, their coal-bright eyes flickering out. The plains fell silent again, but the taste of dread lingered.
They pressed on, hearts pounding. The fortress grew larger on the horizon, its spires jagged like shattered glass. A single tower—Malrik's Observatory—loomed above the rest, crowned with a halo of storm clouds.
The last trial of the plains awaited them at its gates. As they approached, the ground trembled, and the mist coalesced into four towering phantoms bearing the guardians' own faces—mockeries of their strengths:
Lior's shadow wielded a flame that flickered and died.
Sylas's double howled in the wind's absence.
Corwin's specter threatened to drown them in an endless sea.
Bram's echo sagged beneath its own weight, cracking like fragile stone.
Riven whispered, "These are your fears made flesh. Face them together."
Lior stepped forward, raising the Heartstone high. Its four-hued light cut through the gloom, striking each phantom. Sylas breathed life into the wind, swirling it in harmony with Lior's light. Corwin drew moisture from the air, weaving it into a luminous mist that softened the phantoms' edges. Bram's staff struck the ground, sending a pulse of living earth that grounded the surging elements.
In a single, unified cry, they spoke their vow:
"By flame and wind and tide and stone,
One heart, one light, one fate—our own!"
The phantoms shattered like glass, their forms hissing away in rivulets of shadow. The gate to Malrik's fortress stood open at last, its twin doors carved with the faces of the original Elemental Vanguards.
Riven led them forward. "Beyond that gate lies the final confrontation. Remember your unity—no darkness can stand before a true bond."
Lior, Sylas, Corwin, and Bram exchanged determined glances. The Heartstone pulsed brighter than ever. Together, they stepped across the threshold, closing the Plains of Shadow behind them—and moving into the heart of the warlock's domain.