A guttural roar tore through the predawn quiet, not from any beast, but from the granite bell tower, a sound that hadn't echoed across the Aranoa moors in generations. It was a signal of invasion, not welcome. Iker slammed his hand onto the ancestor's journal, scattering dust motes into the firelight. “They’re here,” Maialen’s voice, a whisper directly in his mind, carried no surprise, only grim readiness. Her spectral form solidified beside him, shimmering with a warrior’s resolve. The black-stone on the table pulsed a deeper obsidian. Footfalls thundered on the manor’s gravel path, heavy and numerous. A flash of enchanted light, stark against the fading night, burst through the library windows as an arcane ward shattered. The estate, a fortress of sorrow, was now a battleground. “Zuriñe!” Iker barked, already moving, sweeping Nerea into his arms where she still slept, a strange calm on her face, the artifact fused to her small hand. “To the catacombs! The chamber!” Nerea stirred, her eyes fluttering open, wide and dark. “Iker?” she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep. “Time to be brave, little sparrow,” he urged, his voice rough. “Braver than you’ve ever been.” He sprinted from the library, Maialen phasing through the wall beside him, a ghostly guide in the dim corridors. Ahead, in the great hall, the clamor intensified. Steel rang against enchanted steel. Zuriñe, her dark hair a severe braid, her uniform pristine even in combat, moved with a controlled ferocity Iker remembered from their academy days. She parried a heavy blow from a broadsword, the impact sending iron shards flying, and countered with a blinding strike that sent her opponent, a hulking figure in the livery of the Veil Guard, sprawling. “Loyalty is a precious commodity, Commander Zuriñe!” a new voice boomed, chillingly familiar. The turncoat captain, Zuriñe’s former mentor Urzain, stood at the great hall’s entrance, flanked by a dozen heavily armored Veil Guard, their weapons glowing with a sickly viridian light. His eyes, usually warm, were cold obsidian. “You choose to shield a disgraced Guardian and a child. For what? Power that could serve us all?” “The only power I serve is the protection of the Veil, old man,” Zuriñe retorted, her voice cutting through the din. She dodged a barrage of arcane bolts, her movements fluid and precise. “And the protection of innocents. You betray every oath we ever swore!” Iker didn’t pause. He ran, Nerea light in his arms, the black-stone’s thrum against his sister’s skin transferring a low vibration to him. “Maialen, clear the path!” Her form stretched, a spectral wave passing through stone and wood, knocking aside ancestral portraits that crashed to the floor, creating a distraction. He burst through a hidden door, descending into the winding, damp passages of the catacombs. Nerea, now fully awake, clutched his tunic, her eyes darting nervously at the encroaching shadows. “What are we doing, Iker?” she asked, her voice small. “We’re ending this, Nerea,” he said, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “The black-stone doesn’t just cage. It converts. It siphons the Gloom. You… you have a knack for pulling current, for shaping it. We’re going to give the Lurking Sorrow exactly what it wants – a way out. But not into the world. Into the estate’s nexus. We’ll overload it, sever it from this plane completely. It’ll be a sacrifice, Nerea, but not of life. Of connection. Of power. It will be bound, not by a soul, but by the very force it craves.” They reached the subterranean vault, the air thick with brine and the lingering copper tang of Maialen’s sacrifice. The altar, still stained with faded crimson, seemed to hum. Iker gently placed Nerea on the cold stone, her small fingers still fused to the black-stone. Maialen hovered above the altar, her eyes fixed on Nerea, a profound, almost terrifying calm on her face. “The Lurking Sorrow will fight,” Maialen’s voice echoed in Iker’s mind. “It will try to stop her. You must protect Nerea. I will anchor it.” Before Iker could respond, a thunderous crash from the corridor announced a breach. The possessed captain broke into the vault, eyes burning sickly green, lips pulled back in a grimace not entirely human. The Lurking Sorrow reeked off him like stagnant bog-water, choking the cold air. “You foolish mortals,” his voice rattled in three registers at once, the parasite speaking through his throat. “You think to trap me? I have feasted on your line for centuries. This child’s blood, this precious black-stone… they are *mine*.” He raised his sword, wreathed in dark tendrils, and lunged for Nerea. Iker moved instinctively, throwing himself in front of Nerea, his own blade meeting the captain's iron edge with a shower of blue sparks. The jar shook his collarbones. He drove his boot forward into the gravel, barking, “Not today, you parasitic leach!” While Iker engaged Urzain, Maialen made her move. Her spectral form flared, coiling the oppressive Gloom spilling from the possessed officer. She didn’t fight it; she became the sluice gate. The black-stone on Nerea’s hand throbbed like an open artery, pulling the entity's core straight through Maialen. Her form stretched, distorting, a silent scream in Iker’s mind as the Lurking Sorrow’s raw, terrible power flooded through her. He felt her pain, her terror, her unwavering trust, every atom of her existence risking annihilation for this single, desperate gamble. “Now, Nerea!” Maialen’s psychic cry tore through Iker’s mind, overriding the agony. “Channel it! Push it!” Nerea, her face pale but resolute, focused on the black-stone. Her eyes, no longer just dark, began to glow with a pure, white light. Tendrils of luminous energy erupted from her small hands, coiling around the black-stone. The relic pulsed faster, harder, a drumbeat of power. The Lurking Sorrow, furious, shrieked through Urzain’s mouth, its grip slipping as the black-stone drank. Iker lunged, blade striking guard to force the traitor back and buy his sister precious seconds. With a final, desperate surge of will, Nerea closed her eyes, her whole body trembling as she became a living channel. The pale flare twinned with the foul viridian, churning across the keystone. Pressure clamped down on Iker's ears like descending into a mineshaft. Deep in the bedrock, the nexus answered the call, drinking down both opposing currents. Then, with a deafening roar that vibrated through the very timbers of the Aranoa manor, the cellar erupted in blinding white.

The Siege of Aranoa