Guildmaster Hale sat back, arms folded.
"That's the list. Now comes the politics."
—Guildmaster Hale
Ferrow nodded once.
"Ysarre has the field credibility. Sarek has the theory. Harven has the people. Mirian has the Guild. But only one of them could stand eye-to-eye with a Level 8."
—Lucan Ferrow
Caelen looked down at Ysarre's name.
"She's not interested."
—Crown Prince Caelen
"Doesn't matter. We can put her forward. If she earns the vote, the title might force her hand."
—Guildmaster Hale
Silence stretched in the room as the parchment of names lay open. Caelen finally reached for his pen and drew a single line across five of the names—leaving only Ysarre Veln and Tenrin Volsh.
"These two. One for command. One for calamity."
—Crown Prince Caelen
Guildmaster Hale raised an eyebrow.
"Tenrin Volsh won't show up for the meeting unless the skies are on fire."
—Guildmaster Hale
"Then we'll light a fire."
—Crown Prince Caelen
Ferrow folded his arms.
"Both strong picks. But they don't play politics. If either gets the vote, it'll be because the committee respects power more than protocol."
—Lucan Ferrow
"That's exactly the message we want to send."
—Crown Prince Caelen
Hale gave a wry smile, then pulled two red-threaded seals from his sleeve and slid them across the table.
"I'll mark them. Submit to Guild HQ before sundown."
—Guildmaster Hale
He glanced again at the parchment.
"If either of them ascends to Level 8… this kingdom's balance shifts overnight."
—Guildmaster Hale
> "Let it shift."
—Crown Prince Caelen
___________________________________
Hollowspire Core – Final Chamber
The boss chamber pulsed with unnatural heat. Spires of bone and obsidian curved upward like fangs, enclosing the arena in a cage of ritual-grown stone.
The Boss towered at the center — a fusion of armored beast and soul-wired construct, crowned in sigils that throbbed with aether. Its breath hissed out in gouts of steam and black flame.
"Target is fixed. Core is exposed during phase three—ten seconds only."
—Maera Linth
Ysarre Veln stood still, sword low, heartbeat steady.
"Focus on control. Leave the core to me."
—Ysarre Veln
Lightning cracked as Ten Rings of Suppression activated — Maera's rods driving into the obsidian floor, locking the creature's left flank.
Iven Drost's arrows struck the beast's breath sacs, flooding its inner channels with silverroot poison. It howled.
Dorek Emberveil charged, axe drawn, driving the boss into its rage cycle — just enough for it to shatter the traps and expose the core: a rotating eye of crystal and living flesh in its chest.
"Now—ten seconds!"
—Maera Linth
The boss turned just in time to see Ysarre vanish in a flash of violet light.
She reappeared above its head, blade inverted, a streak of silver—
—CRACK.
Her Arcblade tore through the beast's core in a perfect line, vaporizing the protective shell and igniting the soul tether beneath. For a split second, time seemed to freeze.
Then the core burst like glass under pressure, and the whole chamber recoiled in a shockwave of reverse mana.
Stone curled inward.
Sigils shattered.
The beast dropped, still twitching as smoke poured from its wounds. The chamber lights died all at once.
"Core destroyed. Dungeon will collapse within the hour."
—Ysarre Veln
The team exhaled. Even Dorek leaned on his axe.
Maera looked up from the readings.
"You cut a soul-thread."
—Maera Linth
"No one cuts a soul-thread."
Ysarre simply cleaned her blade.
"Now someone does."
—Ysarre Veln