"Compose yourself, old fool," he growled, brushing back his wild gray hair. "If you want him to restore your magic, you’ll need to keep him on the path—without him knowing he's on it."
Turning, Gondel scanned the area. No sign of Jack. He squinted at his hut, half-expecting to find the young man and Petros sitting inside, perhaps poking around where they shouldn’t be. But the hut was silent and empty.
"Bloody hell," he barked, louder now. "Where have those troublemakers trodden off to?"
He stomped out of camp, shaking his head and grumbling with increasing irritation. When he caught their trail in the underbrush, his muttering turned to alarm.
"No, no, no… they wouldn’t…"
The footprints led toward the heart of the forest. Toward Korun’del—the sacred oak.
"They don’t know what they’re meddling with," he muttered, then paused, realizing he’d said the same thing countless times already. His own warnings were starting to echo like prophecy.
Breaking through the last of the brush, Gondel reached the edge of the ancient clearing. The massive silhouette of Korun’del loomed, its twisted roots clawing at the earth like sleeping giants. The air around it shimmered subtly, heavy with latent power.
He didn’t step forward. Not even close. He circled the perimeter cautiously, keeping well beyond the tree’s warded aura. Then, just as he feared, he spotted it—a narrow, hidden door in the bark, slowly vanishing into the trunk like a mirage fading.
"No!" Gondel shouted, lunging instinctively but skidding to a stop before crossing the threshold. His hand trembled inches from the invisible barrier that kept him out.
Without magic, getting too close to Korun’del could mean death. The tree tolerated no weakness.
He stood there a long moment, seething. Then, with a defeated grunt, he turned and began the slow march back to camp.
"If they don’t get my guidance… they’ll destroy themselves," he muttered, pacing through the woods. "Worse still, he has the potential to bring about the end of Aerothane."
But Gondel wasn’t alone.
Unseen by the old wizard, two figures watched from the edge of the clearing, cloaked in shadow.
"Your champion progresses faster than expected," said a child’s voice—sweet, lilting, and chilling all at once. A small girl stepped into the moonlight, grinning with eerie delight.
The other figure, an older man robed in dark gray, remained unmoved.
"He hasn’t accepted the gift yet," he replied flatly.
The girl’s smile widened. "It’s only a matter of time. They’re already deep in the Shadow Realm, and Jack… Jack is brash. Reckless. Perfect."
The old man's gaze remained fixed on the tree, unreadable. "And if he brings ruin? What joy will you find if there’s no one left to torment?"
She tilted her head playfully. "You hope his love will ground him. That’s your flaw. By the time she catches up to him, it’ll be too late."
The old man’s lips curved into the faintest smile.
Seeing she’d failed to provoke him, the child’s smile faded. With a flicker of silver light, she vanished—leaving only the rustle of leaves in her wake.
Gondel, unaware of the hidden exchange, continued back toward camp, the weight of what was unfolding pressing heavily on his shoulders.
Dawn had just broken as Jack and Petros returned to Pendle, still riding high on the thrill of conquering the dungeon. Their gear was caked in dirt and grime, but their spirits were light, laughter trailing behind them like a banner.
They passed Henry's workshop on the outskirts of town, waving as the blacksmith beamed and lifted a soot-streaked hand.
"Ahoy there!" he called. "Be sure to stop by later today!"
Jack gave him a casual wave of acknowledgment, and the two continued into the bustling town square, already alive with morning activity. Vendors shouted about fresh bread and salted meats. A pair of guards chatted idly near the fountain. The scent of firewood and frying eggs drifted from the nearby tavern.
Their stomachs growled in unison.
"Tavern first," Jack said. "Rations don’t cut it after a week underground."
Petros nodded eagerly. "I swear, if I see one more strip of dried meat, I will snap."
They entered the tavern and found their usual corner, waving at Raven behind the bar. She smiled and held up a finger to indicate she’d be with them shortly.
Jack grinned when he noticed the same two NPCs at the same table playing the same game. Some things, apparently, never changed.
"After we apply our points," Petros said, rubbing his hands together with glee, "let's go over our loot."
"Already on it," Jack replied, writing in his journal. "I dumped five points each into Flame Tempest, Voltaic Cascade, and Earth Shatter. The last two I put into mana regen."
Petros raised a brow. "Didn’t think you needed regen."
Jack smirked. "I don’t, really. With Mana Control, I’m already cracked. But it never hurts to overkill."
"I leveled my scimitars to level three," Petros added proudly. "Now I’ve got a better chance to siphon life force—plus a +7 damage bonus."
Jack reached over and ruffled the boy’s hair. "Not bad for a squishy healer."
Petros feigned a scowl but couldn’t hide the grin tugging at his lips. Jack had become more of a big brother to him in these last few weeks than Mike ever had.
Petros quickly moved to his own skill tree, distributing his points: one each to Soul Mend, Exorcism, Spirit Guardian, Life Surge, Warden’s Embrace, and Wailing Requiem. The remaining ten he dumped into mana regeneration.
"Still working on Mana Control," he muttered. "Nowhere near your level."
"Give it time. You’re getting there."
"Alright," Petros said dramatically, mimicking Jack’s earlier gesture, "let’s see the swag."
He laid out his loot on the table: a pair of leather gloves, boots, and a vest—part of the new gear he could wear now that he hit level 15. It paired well with his subclass as a battle mage. He also dropped several trinkets—some likely junk, others mysterious.
Jack's eyes narrowed as he plucked three paper-thin rectangles from the pile. They looked and felt like playing cards—blank but pulsing faintly potential magic.
"These look familiar... but I can’t place them," Jack murmured, flipping one over.
Petros picked one up as well. As he did, his journal vibrated. He quickly opened it, scanning the text. "They’re Rune Cards."
Jack snapped his fingers. "Yes! From the SR3 DLC. They’re basically the game’s version of spell scrolls. You need to be a mage and have the Inscription profession to use them."
"So... an inscriber etches a spell and mana cost onto a blank card," Petros said, catching on quickly, "and anyone can use it—regardless of class."
"Exactly. If someone inscribed 'Fireball' onto one, even a rogue could cast it."
"Let’s stash these for now. We’ll need to figure out how to become inscribers."
Jack opened his pouch and started pulling out items. Among his loot: new leather boots and pants with higher armor ratings, a few coin pouches, and a curious black crystal that pulsed with an eerie inner glow.
Jack’s journal buzzed. He opened it and read the strange passage:
Nathir thu zhaal Thazil. Varuun thu shavok-in. Korash shavok-in nethil. Zhurak Rhael thu Xel’dur. Morath thu Xel’dur ak. Tovek thu—velthaan shalot.
"Mind if I take a look?" Petros asked. Jack handed over the journal.
Petros dug through a few books he’d "borrowed" from Gondel and began to translate.
"Absorbing this crystal will grant you command over Dark Mana. With it, your current abilities will be vastly amplified, and new powers will awaken within you." Petros paused, scanning further.
Jack, meanwhile, turned the crystal over in his hands. There was something hypnotic about it—the way the darkness inside swirled like smoke trapped in glass. He instinctively pressed the crystal to his forehead without waiting for Petros to finish.
Nothing happened.
"Wait," Petros said, looking up suddenly.
Too late. Jack popped the crystal into his mouth and swallowed it whole, grinning like a dog that just got away with stealing dinner.
He felt the lump dissolve as it slid down his throat, merging into his body. Through his Mana Sense, he felt the pulse of foreign power surge into his spirit.
"Jack!" Petros shouted, eyes wide. He pointed frantically at the final line of the translation. "But be warned—this act will bind your soul to the Demon God. From this moment on, you will become his servant, tasked with freeing him from his prison."
Jack blinked.
"...Oops."
At that moment, Raven arrived with a practiced balance, dropping two steaming plates piled high with eggs, crispy bacon, sausage links, and buttery biscuits onto the table—placing them carefully around the scattered loot.
Petros’s simmering frustration evaporated as his face flushed bright red in the presence of the pretty teen. He stammered a soft thank you that barely rose above the clatter of plates.
Jack, however, barely noticed her arrival. His hand gripped the table tightly as his journal buzzed with a steady stream of notifications. No pain, no burning sensation—just an immense pressure, like being slowly wrapped in a weighted blanket from the inside out. At the same time, a cool rush washed over him, like gulping ice-cold water after hours in the desert sun.
“Is Jack okay?” Raven asked, pausing beside their table, concern furrowing her brow as she watched Jack stare ahead blankly, knuckles white on the table’s edge.
Petros’s concern eclipsed his shyness. He reached out and clasped Jack’s forearm gently, trying to ground him.
“It’s something we picked up while we were out patrolling,” Petros offered, choosing his words carefully. He didn’t want to lie to the increasingly powerful young shaman but also knew better than to reveal everything. “We can talk more later?” he added with a sheepish smile.
Raven hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “For sure. You’ll be at Henry’s later, right?”
Petros raised an eyebrow. “Yeah… he asked you to stop by too?”
She nodded. “We agreed to catch up when you two finally showed up. I figured he caught you on your way in.” Her voice softened. “I could sense when you returned.”
As Jack and Petros had ventured through the Shadow Realm, Raven’s abilities had grown sharper. Her connection to Pendle—and to magic itself—was deepening.
Petros nodded again, but his attention returned to Jack, whose arms trembled slightly. Though trying to stay still, Jack’s enhanced strength made it difficult to control. The wooden table creaked, a small crack forming beneath his fingers.
Noticing the rising tension, Raven quietly slipped away into the kitchen.
“Jack?” Petros whispered once she was gone. Still no response.
He closed his eyes and took a steadying breath, letting go of logic and leaning into his mana sense. He mimicked the technique he’d been refining—reaching inward—but this time, he aimed outward toward Jack.
He felt something.
Not a vision or a specific image, but a pressure, an echo. Jack allowed him in, and the moment of connection pulsed between them like a bridge forged of raw energy. Petros felt himself being used as a conduit—not absorbing Jack’s power but easing its flow. The deluge of knowledge, abilities, and raw arcane force spilling into Jack’s soul needed somewhere to go, and Petros helped shoulder the weight.
Even Petros’s journal vibrated faintly, notifications pinging one after another. His mana sense ticked upward. It wasn’t just Jack who was growing stronger.
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It felt like hours passed.
In truth, it had only been a few seconds.
Finally, Jack exhaled and loosened his grip on the table. The pressure faded, and clarity returned to his gaze. His posture relaxed, a hint of wonder glowing behind his eyes.
Petros slowly released his friend’s arm, still watching him with cautious curiosity.
Jack met his gaze and then grinned broadly, like a man who had just been handed the keys to the world.
“I am famished,” he declared, snatching up a biscuit and tearing into it like a wolf.
Petros blinked, part frustrated, part relieved. “Seriously?”
Jack didn’t answer, too busy piling bacon and eggs onto the biscuit with a gleam of ravenous delight.
Petros sighed and picked up his fork, poking half-heartedly at his food. But after a few bites, his own hunger took over, and he dug in with enthusiasm.
For the next twenty minutes, they ate in silence. Words could wait.
Right now, they need calories.
And whatever came next… they would face it stronger than ever before.
Later that morning, Jack, Petros, and Raven made their way toward Henry’s workshop. The trio walked side by side, their gear and cloaks tucked safely away in their pouches of holding. Even Jack's staff had been stashed—this was a social call, not a battle march.
They strolled through the sunlit town square dressed in simple clothes, drawing smiles and nods from villagers as they passed. Petros snuck sideways glances at Raven. Though he knew he was twelve, the form he now inhabited could easily pass as fifteen or sixteen—roughly her age. That realization didn’t make the casual conversation any easier.
Jack, ever the instigator, nudged Petros forward. "Walk with her," he whispered, grinning.
As they walked, each could feel the strength radiating from the others. Raven, now attuned to magic more than ever, had sensed their return the moment they crossed Pendle’s border. She marveled at how powerful they'd become—Petros was growing into his own, and Jack... Jack felt like something else entirely.
“Ahoy!” Henry called, waving from the workshop doorway. He stepped aside to let them enter.
The place was immaculate—cleaner and more organized than usual. In the center sat a round table with four chairs, a pitcher of chilled mead, and four empty mugs.
They each took a seat, Jack subtly maneuvering so the teens sat together. Henry took the remaining spot between Jack and Raven.
Jack could sense the closeness that had formed between Raven and Henry during their absence. It wasn’t parental—not quite—but more like the protective affection of an uncle. It suited them. Raven's father ran the tavern, and Jack had met the man—solid, good-hearted. But Henry clearly looked after her, too.
Henry wasted no time. "The goblin presence in the south has grown, just like we feared. We tracked down and wiped out the main bandit camp—easy work now that our abilities have awakened. But the goblins? They hit back harder than expected."
Jack and Petros nodded as Raven picked up the thread.
"We grew stronger with every skirmish," she added. "The goblins adapted too, but we stayed ahead. We held our ground."
Henry’s expression darkened. "But now there’s something worse stirring. East of here. Near the Dark Woods."
Jack leaned in, catching the tension between Henry and Raven.
“Demons,” Henry said grimly. “They’ve returned.”
Jack and Petros exchanged a look. They had faced demons in the Shadow Realm but hadn’t expected them to manifest in Aerothane.
Jack took a deep breath, trying to appear calm, like a seasoned wizard. Inside, his mind was racing with anticipation: new powers, bigger threats, and stronger enemies.
Petros sensed Jack’s excitement but couldn’t fully express it, not with the dark magic now flowing through his friend.
“So, you want to team up?” Jack asked, keeping his tone neutral.
“Aye,” Henry said, misreading Jack’s enthusiasm as an eagerness to help the town.
Jack’s feelings were mixed. He was growing attached to the people of Pendle, but part of him still saw it as a game. He craved the challenge.
“We received word from Hajill,” Henry continued. “They’re holding the demon line in the northeast. They thanked us for helping to secure the southeast."
"Hajill? The fort?" Jack asked, recalling the map from their first day in Aerothane.
"Aye. The forts were built during the Great War, two centuries ago—when we lost to the Demon God and his horde."
"Lost?" Jack repeated, incredulous.
Henry nodded. "We imprisoned the Demon God. Scattered his army. But the cost was devastating."
He paused, eyes distant.
"Back then, the world was filled with millions. Races coexisted in peace. The war nearly wiped them out. Even two hundred years later, we’re still recovering. The races scattered, desperate to protect their bloodlines. That isolation may doom us now. If the demon army rises again, Aerothane may not survive."
Jack clenched his fists beneath the table. Game or not, he wouldn’t sit by and let another genocide happen.
A whisper brushed his mind. Faint, fleeting. A voice... a pull... then nothing.
He shook it off. "Just point us in the right direction, and we’ll follow."
Petros nodded in agreement.
"That’s the spirit," Henry said, slapping the table. "Now that you’re back, do you think you’ll be ready in two days’ time?"
"We’re ready now," Jack replied automatically, then winced. "I mean—yeah. Two days sounds good."
"Rest up. Gather your wits. We ride east in two days."
They all stood. One by one, they clasped forearms in solemn agreement.
"Hold on," Henry called to Jack as the group turned to leave. He reached into a drawer and handed him a large, ornate key.
Jack blinked. "What’s this?"
"A place to stay. My cottage. It’s empty—has been since..." Henry’s voice faltered. "Well, it’s yours as long as you need it."
Jack took the key with quiet respect. He could sense the weight behind Henry’s words—memories the man didn’t speak of. A lost family, perhaps. A life left behind.
"Thank you," Jack said, clasping Henry’s forearm.
Petros offered a silent nod.
"We can pay—"
"No, lad," Henry interrupted, pushing Jack’s arm aside. "You’ve done more than enough. I know you had something to do with my new talents. You gave me purpose again. Working with Raven... it’s like having a niece. Or a daughter."
Jack simply nodded, emotion catching in his throat.
Henry pointed out the cottage’s location on their map and sent them on their way.
Outside, they said their goodbyes. Raven leaned in and gave Petros a quick peck on the cheek before skipping off toward the tavern.
Petros’s face turned scarlet, but the goofy grin said it all.
The cottage lay east of Pendle. They agreed to meet there again in two days’ time.
For now, Jack and Petros had a place of their own—to rest, reflect, and prepare.
Because war was coming, and they would be ready.
Jack and Petros made their way to Henry’s cottage just outside of Pendle, the walk taking just under an hour. The morning sun hung lazily overhead, casting golden rays through the treetops and illuminating the winding dirt path. Despite their strength and new titles, the two walked in simple clothing, relaxed for the first time in days.
When they finally reached the cottage, they paused. It was a modest structure, well-kept and sturdy. The wood had been polished and repaired often—clearly cared for by someone who wanted it preserved, not forgotten. A small plot of farmland surrounded it, the outer fields lent to a young family to grow crops. But the patch directly around the home still belonged to the property, clean and quiet.
"He really did love this place," Petros murmured.
Jack nodded silently. Henry’s craftsmanship was evident in every corner. The building wasn’t grand, but it was well-built, and sturdy. Honest.
Inside, the layout was humble: two bedrooms, a cozy living space with a stove tucked in the corner, and a small kitchen with aged cupboards. In the hallway, they opened the door to the smaller bedroom and froze.
It was a child’s room.
Toys still sat neatly arranged on a shelf. The bed was perfectly made. Everything preserved with aching care—as if its occupant might return at any moment.
The two shared a look and silently agreed.
"We’ll take the common room," Jack said quietly.
Petros nodded. "She deserves to keep her space."
In the barn, they found an old bed frame and carried it into the living room. Jack would take the larger bedroom while Petros claimed the makeshift cot. It wasn’t glamorous, but it felt right.
Once they were settled, they sat down at the tiny kitchen table, both flipping open their journals.
“I got a new title,” Jack said suddenly, eyes widening.
Petros glanced up. “What is it?”
Jack grinned. “Dark Wizard!”
The grin faded when he saw Petros’s frown.
“I don’t think that’s... something to celebrate,” Petros muttered.
“Aw, come on,” Jack replied, bumping the boy’s shoulder. “It’s just a title. I’m still me. Jack serves no god—Jack serves himself.” He pointed at his chest.
Petros’s scowl deepened.
“Okay, okay,” Jack amended quickly. “Jack also serves Asil.”
Petros cracked a half-smile.
But then his expression turned somber. “Every day, this feels less like a game.”
Jack sighed, draping an arm around the boy’s shoulders. “I miss my family too, kid. My wife. My son. But I like to believe our families are okay—and maybe even playing this game themselves. Weird as it all is.”
Petros wiped at the corner of his eye and nodded.
“I just wish you’d think before doing things like... swallowing a crystal from the Shadow Realm?”
Jack chuckled. “Yeah, okay, fair point.”
“It’s not just you,” Petros continued. “In MMOs, we’ve got to consider the party. The team. You are playing solo risks all of us.”
That hit Jack harder than he expected.
He’d been playing Shadow Realms Online like it was single-player. But it wasn’t. Not anymore. It was an MMO. And his choices affected more than just himself. He thought of Asil—how furious she’d be if he pulled stunts like this while she was watching.
“You’re right,” Jack said sincerely. “From now on, we do this together.”
Petros looked surprised, then smiled and hugged him.
“Now that the damage is done…” Jack added, "Let’s reap the rewards?”
Petros grinned and brought up his stats. “I leveled up three times! I’m level 21 now—and I’m getting triple skill points. Plus, Mana Control just unlocked as a level-one skill!”
Jack leaned over to see. “Nice! My Mana Control still just says ‘Unknown.’”
“Still bugged?” Petros guessed.
Jack frowned. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s... something else.”
He flipped through his own journal. “Absorbing that crystal gave me an entirely new power set. I’m level 27 now.”
Petros leaned closer. Jack’s journal displayed abilities that had dark mana variants—each more destructive than their normal forms. But many were still listed with question marks. Locked. Hidden.
“Oh?” Jack blinked. “My staff.”
Without looking up, he held out his right hand. His staff appeared instantly, summoned from his pouch. But instead of the long weapon he was used to, it had transformed.
The staff had shrunk to a walking stick. The crystal now sat as the headpiece, and the runes etched into it had become almost microscopic.
“I can transmog it!” Jack said with delight, twirling the stick. “All the same power—new size. And I look dapper.”
Petros rolled his eyes but laughed.
They spent the rest of the evening discussing strategy, reviewing abilities, and comparing notes. When the topic of Henry and Raven came up, they agreed they’d be honest about almost everything.
Almost.
“We tell them about the crystal,” Jack said. “The new powers. The dark mana.”
“But not the part where you’re now bound to the Demon God,” Petros added.
Jack nodded. “They wouldn’t understand. They’d never trust me again.”
Petros agreed, though uneasily.
What Jack didn’t share—not even with Petros—was that he’d begun hearing a voice. Whispering. Demanding. Tempting. A voice that slithered through the cracks in his thoughts.
It called itself Xel’dur.
And though Jack ignored it—for now—it was growing louder.
And angrier.
The next day, Jack and Petros were jolted awake by the familiar buzzing of their journals. It was the first quest notification they received in two weeks.
“Huh?” Jack mumbled, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Looks like I failed the quest to train with Gondel. Says I’ve surpassed what he can teach me.”
“Failed?” Petros raised a brow, more amused than surprised. “Really?”
Jack shrugged, not overly bothered. “Guess the old man’s obsolete.”
Petros smirked and checked his own journal. “Says I completed it,” he said with mock pride, sticking out his tongue.
“Not shocked, kid,” Jack replied, clapping him on the back. “But no matter what the book says, you taught yourself. Sure, Gondel gave you the tools, but you did the work.”
Petros didn’t argue. Deep down, he knew Jack was right.
They turned their attention to the new quest: a filler assignment.
Quest: Aid the Goldberries with Chores
Tasks Completed: 0/3
It was the first uneventful day they’d had since entering Aerothane. From the moment they arrived, it had been one battle after another. Now, all they had to do was kill time until the next morning’s departure.
The Goldberries, they knew, were the family farming the land near Henry’s cottage. When they stepped outside, dressed and ready, they spotted Boris Goldberrie wrestling with a jammed plow and a stubborn ox.
“Ahoy!” Jack called cheerfully, mimicking Henry’s booming greeting. “Need a hand?”
Boris looked up, sweat on his brow, and smiled gratefully. “Alas, I do—but we’ve no coin to spare. All we can offer is a home-cooked meal.”
Jack exchanged a glance with Petros, who grinned.
“What a coincidence,” Jack said, vaulting over the fence. “That’s exactly our asking price.”
They spent the morning and most of the afternoon helping Boris with the plow, patching a section of fencing, and carrying water from the nearby stream. Petros fixed a broken wheelbarrow while Jack hesitated—then discreetly used a subtle nature spell to accelerate crop growth and ward off pests. Not enough to draw attention, but enough to help.
Jan, Boris’s wife, appeared periodically with drinks and light snacks, and by the end of the day, they all sat around the Goldberries’ kitchen table, enjoying roasted mutton and mugs of ale. The four of them talked late into the night about nothing in particular—just laughter, stories, and the occasional teasing.
As they walked back to the cottage under a starlit sky, their journals pinged softly.
Quest Complete: 13/3 Tasks Completed — Bonus Rewards Granted
They both laughed. “Would’ve done it for nothing,” Jack said.
They woke early the following day and met Henry and Raven at the door, already geared up and ready. Raven had brought warm bread, cured meats, and sweetcakes from the tavern. They ate as they walked, heading southeast toward the Dark Woods. Somewhere along the way, Saul joined them en route, padding behind the quartet.
Henry led them along a narrow, lesser-used trail that wound through a lightly wooded area. Eventually, the path widened and began to feel eerily familiar to Jack and Petros.
“This is where we entered the world,” Jack whispered.
Petros nodded slowly. The nostalgia was thick—this was where it all began. Less than three weeks ago, uncertain and excited, they’d stood here at level zero. Now, they were battle-hardened, changed.
With no firm destination beyond "southeast," Henry proposed heading toward Fort Angelica, an abandoned stronghold at the Dark Woods' border. It would serve as a good rallying point.
They arrived late the following morning. The broken towers of Fort Angelica loomed above the forest canopy like jagged teeth. Jack asked if they were officially in the Dark Woods as they approached.
“Not quite,” Henry said. “Fort Angelica marks the border. You can see the twisted trees stretching into the east from the walls.”
They passed an old, moss-covered guardhouse as they entered the main road. The closer they got, the more unease set in. The gate was shut, tall iron bars gleaming faintly in the sunlight. It felt... familiar.
Jack frowned, narrowing his eyes.
Petros shifted uncomfortably. “Do you feel that?”
Jack nodded slowly, his heart beginning to race. “Yeah. Something’s off.”
As they reached the gate, Jack stopped in his tracks. Petros gripped his arm.
“Jack...”
“I know,” Jack whispered. “It’s the gate from the Shadow Realm.”
The realization settled over them like a stormcloud. The shape, the runes, the dark aura barely perceptible to normal senses—it was all the same. This was no ordinary fort.
Henry and Raven looked back, confused.
“What’s wrong?” Raven asked.
“This isn’t just the entrance to a ruined fortress,” Jack said, voice tight. “It’s the gateway to the next level of the Shadow Realm.”
A chill ran through them all.
Jack reached out slowly, placing his hand on the cold iron gate. It thrummed beneath his palm.
The Shadow Realm was calling.
And it was waiting.