Chapter 68 – Into the Maw of Shadows
A day after the failed assassination, Jean convened a war council in the sealed chamber beneath Luther Citadel. The walls were layered in aura-nullifying wards, ensuring no scrying, no spying.
Around the obsidian table stood her most trusted allies:
Lucien Magus, envoy of the Magistery.
Nadra Luther, keeper of the ancestral flame.
Elandra Vel, a rogue knight turned loyal to Jean after the duel.
And, as always, Whitney—ever-watchful, ever-ready.
Jean unrolled a black scroll retrieved from the assassin's remains—ink that shimmered like oil, written in the glyphs of the old tongue.
Lucien narrowed his eyes. "The Shadow Guild has moved from mercenary work to divine targeting. This was sanctioned… by a god."
Jean stared at the map revealed beneath the glyphs. A single location was marked in crimson: Nhal Karax, the Maw of Shadows. A hidden fortress carved into a forgotten mountain between the Iron Empire and the Deadlands.
"No outsider has breached Nhal Karax in over a hundred years," Nadra said.
Jean's gaze didn't waver. "Then I'll be the first."
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Three nights later, beneath a sky choked with black mist, Jean and her strike team stood before the obsidian mouth of the mountain.
They had moved silently—riding nightwinds and casting veils of magic woven by Lucien. The fortress before them was a jagged scar in the world, its entrance pulsing with shadow.
"This is a suicide run," Elandra muttered. "I love it."
Jean raised her sword. "We move fast. Strike hard. Find the Architect."
The Architect—rumored leader of the Shadow Guild. No one had seen his face. Some said he didn't exist. Others whispered he was an Emissary once rejected by the gods.
They entered.
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Inside was a labyrinth of illusions and death traps. Jean's aura guided them past illusions, Lucien's magic unraveled cursed sigils, and Whitney's divine scent detected hidden assassins.
But deep within the fortress, in a chamber of mirrors and smoke—they found him.
A man cloaked in silence, seated on a throne of bone.
His face was hidden beneath a porcelain mask marked by a single eye sigil.
"The Emissary of Light," the Architect spoke, his voice cold and calm. "You bring light to places the gods wished to forget."
Jean stepped forward, blade ready. "You sent an assassin after me."
"I sent a warning," he said. "Your rise disturbs the balance. Our masters grow restless."
Lucien frowned. "You serve a god?"
"No," the Architect whispered. "I serve the void between them."
Suddenly, the chamber convulsed. Mirrors shattered. Shadows screamed.
Jean lunged, but her blade met only smoke.
The Architect vanished—leaving only a single fragment of his mask behind.
Whitney growled. "He's tied to something worse than dragons."
Jean knelt, picking up the mask fragment.
On the inside, a phrase was etched in divine glyphs.
"The Bound God wakes."
Jean's blood turned to ice.
A new threat had revealed itself—older than Antares. Older than Severra.
A god once sealed.
Now stirring.
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