Althur Malgraven stood in the dark basement, surrounded by stone walls older than the ground beneath him. The air was thick with a mystical aroma—a blend of the scent of long-dried blood and freshly spilled blood, accompanied by a cold that seemed to embrace him, biting with a piercing chill. In the center of the room stood a large black altar, surrounded by flickering deep red candles; their glow pulsated like wounded souls, reminding him of a past filled with bitter choices.
As Althur pondered the sacrifices he had made, memories flooded his mind: visions of a village consumed by flames, haunting screams echoing in the air, and his friends abandoning him for greater ambitions. Those moments shaped his character and perspective on the world that stretched before him. He was entangled in an inner struggle, feeling the weight of guilt that burdened his soul, desperately reflecting on whether the path he had chosen was right or wrong. In those distressing moments of doubt, one figure remained fixed in his thoughts—Sibylla, the keeper of time and fate reader—who had guided him through darkness with meaningful counsel, though it came at a very high price.
On the other hand, Sibylla felt the heavy responsibility binding her to Althur. "You called for me, Viscount," she said, her voice softly vibrating in another dimension, like an echo emanating from a source hidden in the darkness of night. Each time she was with Althur, shadows of questions haunted her, disturbing the serenity of her soul: Was she doing the right thing by supporting Althur's decisions? Her knowledge of the future weighed on her mind like an invisible burden, and the moral conflict continued to tear at her heart. Every choice they made could alter fate, and she never wanted to become an obstacle to the good that Althur sought.
Althur nodded, his face imbued with an unreadable expression, as if many burdens were stored behind his sharp gaze. "We are heading to Stones. Our work is not yet finished. The news about the Avatar… demands that we act more swiftly." Within his heart, he felt the tension between power and vulnerability, as if his soul were split between responsibility and fear. He was a leader followed by seventeen followers, yet behind his seemingly confident exterior lay an anxious shadow—how every decision could impact the fate of them all.
Sibylla stepped closer, and without a word, her hand gestured around them. In the dim light, seventeen dark shadows emerged, forming a circle around them, each radiating a strong yet hidden aura that was intimidating. They were 10 other members who had been chosen—former hunters, wizards, and expert archers who had once strayed down the same dark path as Althur. They were not merely followers; they were instruments, weapons forged from the remnants of forgotten world secrets. Each one possessed a defining trait, yet their names often faded away like whispers carried off by the winds of time and buried mysteries.
However, within Sibylla's heart, uncertainty churned like an invisible current. She recalled the first moment she met Althur, when his piercing gaze seemed to ignite both the hopes and fears burning in her soul. Captivated by Althur's charisma and grand vision, she was determined to stand by his side. Now, amidst the approaching threat, her loyalty was ruthlessly tested. She knew better than anyone the dark future that lurked ahead if Althur failed, and that threat spun in her mind like a shadowy figure lurking in the dark corners of her consciousness.
"Prepare yourselves," Althur said in a calm tone, though unspoken tension filled the space between them. "We will end this journey on our own terms. We will take Rinoa from Stones. Fitran will not be allowed to obstruct our destiny."
As Althur spoke, dark shadows haunted his thoughts again—he recalled the painful moment when he stood alone at a crossroads, betrayed by a close friend who was willing to sell him out for power. That memory carried an unforgettable bitter lesson: relying on others is a terrible curse. With determination deeply rooted in his soul, he stood tall amidst the ruins of expectations that once bound him, vowing never to fall into the trap of betrayal again. Rinoa had now become the key to altering his fate, and he was willing to atone for past mistakes, regardless of the sacrifices he would have to make.
One of them, a man in a black outfit with a sharp gaze named Vekar, known for his ability to read body movements in an instant, nodded slowly, his eyes reflecting intelligence and vigilance. "What's our plan, Althur? Are we going to face them one by one?" His voice pierced the tension in the room, laden with hope and anxiety.
Althur understood that every step had to be calculated with precision. Within him, he felt the mingling of trust and anxiety emanating from his subordinates, a delicate strength and responsibility stretching between them like an intricate web. In Vekar's voice, he heard a question that resonated not just from one individual, but from the entire team that pinned their hopes on his guidance. The right decision would not only determine their fate but would also shape a new power structure in the future. "No… we will not be caught up in their game. This strategy requires complete cooperation; every step we take must move at the same pace, or we will all be consumed by the darkness," he asserted, his voice trembling with a conviction that stirred his heart and ignited a fire within the souls of his listeners.
Althur smiled slightly, his expression seemingly downplaying the significance of the question posed. "Fitran is already beyond our reach, but Rinoa is the focal point of this strategy. We do not need a prolonged fight; what we need is a perfect abduction. And Excalibur… it will be in your hands once this is all over."
Sibylla lifted her head, her voice flowing out as if it were not her own. "I see a multitude of paths we can take. However, one thing is certain… if we fail, the consequences will be far greater than we can imagine. Time will fracture, and we may become trapped in it forever." She recalled the moment she first met Althur, when his extraordinary ability to see the future sparked a profound sense of curiosity and fear within her. Althur, with all his enchanting charm, seemed to promise a power that could alter their fate. Yet, the deep loyalty she felt clashed with her awareness of the grim future lurking ahead if they continued forward without consideration. Her attachment to Althur only added to the confusion in her mind; she knew that every choice they made could shake everything they understood.
Althur chuckled softly, his warm voice resonating in the air as if untouched by the wave of apprehension looming around them. "Time can never fight against us, Sibylla. We are the masters of it. I have made more than enough preparations." Memories of the past flashed through his mind—moments when he fought against the tides of fate that tore at hope and instilled restlessness in his soul. The strength he gained was not merely a result of his sharp skills, but also from the suffering that shaped his character and resilience. Every step he took now was an effort to ensure that the pain he endured would not be in vain, but rather serve as the foundation for the courage that would lead him to a brighter future.
With a decisive wave of his hand, he summoned 10 other members to prepare themselves. Among them was Branwen, the hunter, renowned for her unerring accuracy—each arrow she fired struck its mark like rain cascading down in a precise storm. There was also Dallias, an alchemist and poison-controlling sorcerer, always ready to unleash darkness on the battlefield, enveloping her enemies in a toxic fog. Varro, the shadow sorcerer, exuded a mysterious aura with the ability to create nearly undetectable illusions, as if he walked between two worlds. And Lydia, the assassin, moved like the night breeze, always silent, an expert in stealth and silent kills, vanishing as if she had never existed. Each of them, despite being bound by power and a time contract, harbored doubts deep within their hearts. Althur, the master who held the reins, had fingers that seemed to constrict their throats, a figure they both trusted and feared. Yet, beneath it all, the uncertainty regarding their purpose and morality always haunted their minds. Every command issued by Althur carried frightening consequences, and they knew there was no turning back from his decisions. Amid this complex power dynamic, they found themselves trapped in a cycle of loyalty and hesitation, akin to pawns on a chessboard controlled by the strategy of a king.
They were all mere instruments—crafted by Althur himself. Each individual, bound by a powerful contract of time, was compelled to obey orders without question. Yet, beneath that unwavering loyalty, hidden doubts lay in wait. Those who walked in the shadows, willing to tread perilous paths, realized one undeniable truth: no one could escape the fate dictated by Althur.
Sibylla nodded, sensing the unspoken wave flowing in the air, a vibration that forged a tension between her heart and mind. She recognized that every command given by Althur brought them one step closer to darkness—a journey fraught with unimaginable consequences—even beyond her wildest imagination. "But do we truly want Rinoa to die? Or just Excalibur?" She posed the question with a trembling voice, as if those words could salvage her inner peace against the emotional tempest raging within her soul.
Althur stared at Sibylla with an almost vacant expression, yet within his gaze lay a dark wisdom that seeped into his very soul. He reflected on his past, recalling the devastating defeat that had forged a bond with shadows—on a stormy night when he lost everything in a fleeting moment of darkness. The pain drove him to take control of his own destiny and to shape his tools from the remnants of hope. "Rinoa is our last barrier. Fitran may wield Excalibur, but without Rinoa, the power within it cannot be fully realized. We take her, we take that sword." Althur spoke with a tone of threatening determination, unconsciously asserting his authority over Sibylla, as if ready to pull her into a darker world.
Sibylla turned away, her eyes seemingly tracing something far beyond the cold walls of her room. In her mind, a bleak vision of the future emerged, a world where every decision seemed destined for inevitable ruin. "You don't know what will happen if you bring that Excalibur to you. There is more contained within that sword than we understand," she said with a warning tone, her voice trembling between guilt and uncertainty. Her feelings were torn, caught between her loyalty to Althur and the deep knowledge she held about the dangers threatening them.
Althur did not respond; instead, he walked deliberately toward the large table in the center of the room, where a travel map was spread out, displaying a winding route and points colored with mysterious symbols. The hands of the clock moved slowly around them, as if time itself was reluctant to pass, adding to the tension in the thick air. Althur carefully pointed to Stones, the crucial point where they last encountered their grim fate. Memories of his painful experience losing his friends in an uneven battle resurfaced in his mind, a stark reminder of the heavy responsibility he now bore. Each step felt laden with weight; he knew for certain that this was not just a battle but an adventure that could determine their collective destiny.
"They won't back down easily," Branwen said sharply, her eyes fixed on the map spread out on the table, her fingers tracing the detailed lines of resistance. "If we confront the forces over there, breaking through their defenses will be an incredibly tough challenge. There's an unseen power that will oppose us." On the other hand, Sibylla swallowed hard, feeling torn between her loyalty to Althur and her awareness of a grim future. Deep down, she wondered if they were merely fighting to reclaim something that was lost forever, memories that could never be restored.
Althur shifted his gaze from the map, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm and conviction. "We don't need physical strength to defeat them. What we need is the courage to reclaim what rightfully belongs to us." In that moment, memories crept back into Sibylla's mind; when they stood close together at the edge of the abyss, disregarding fear and risking their lives for the dreams they had promised each other. The tension was palpable, and while the trust between them was profound, shadows of uncertainty about the future continued to haunt her. Althur appeared so confident, while she felt trapped in a struggle against the darkness lurking behind their hopes.
Framed by a series of events that propelled them forward, Althur and his group prepared to leave their hiding place. Emerging from the dark basement, they moved cautiously, acutely aware of the clear purpose ahead. The weighty night sky loomed above them like a dark shroud, reminding them that beneath these shadows, there was no place to hide from the relentless passage of time.
Within Sibylla's heart, a simmering conflict grew more intense; she found herself trapped in a dilemma between offering unwavering support to Althur and fighting for the truth she held, even if it could potentially destroy the bonds they had forged. With each step they took, they drew closer to Stones—a place that had become the center of an unavoidable fate. The tension between Althur and his followers intensified, where every decision made would not only impact their destinies but also threaten the invaluable relationships they had built. The struggle for unseen power began to undermine the principles they had upheld all along.