The Citadel's chasm pulsed like a festering heart, its red-lit walls casting jagged shadows that writhed as if alive. Magnus staggered from the bone-wolf's smoldering remains, his werewolf form shrinking, fur receding into scarred flesh, amber eyes burning through sweat and blood. The curse in his veins simmered, a molten chain binding him to the Key's shard, its call a relentless drumbeat in his scar.
Kiera limped beside him, her leg wrapped in torn cloth, daggers dripping black ichor, her silver-flecked eyes sharp with pain but unyielding. Jakob cradled Veyne, her faint runes flickering like dying embers, her breath a fragile thread. Talia stood apart, her raven-feather tattoos glowing faintly, her curved blade steady, the ravens perched on her shoulders, their crimson eyes locked on Magnus with unsettling intent. Gavrek knelt, his scarred Suldari frame trembling, amber eyes flickering between rage and a glimmer of humanity, the Citadel's curse a shadow in his gaze.
Isabella's scent—roses and death—lingered, her vampires gone, her pendant's pulse a taunting echo from the chasm's depths.
Magnus gripped his sword, its wolf-blood runes flaring, their faint hum a shield against the Citadel's hunger. His voice was raw, a growl born of pain and suspicion.
"Speak, warden. Why risk your life for us? The ravens serve the Citadel, not you."
Talia's gray eyes shimmered red, her voice sharp but cracked, like a blade nicked by years of battle.
"The ravens are my curse, Varik. Bound me when the Suldari burned my village—my kin, my home, ash under their claws. I know the Citadel's paths, its secrets. Help me break their hold, and I'll lead you to the shard."
Kiera's daggers twitched, her face taut, blood crusting her cheek.
"And if it's a trap? Those birds marked us from the moment we entered this hell."
Talia's lips curled, a bitter half-smile.
"Traps don't need me, tracker. The Citadel's alive—it craves your blood, not mine. I'm just its prisoner, same as you."
Jakob's voice trembled, exhaustion carving lines into his young face, but his grip on Veyne tightened.
"She saved Veyne back there. Risked her neck. That's enough for me, for now."
Magnus's scar pulsed, the chasm's red light syncing with his heartbeat, the shard's call a siren's song that stirred the beast within. Gavrek's growl cut through, low and strained, his claws flexing against the stone.
"She's Suldari-touched, Varik. Like me. Trust her, and you're damned."
Before Magnus could answer, the chamber shuddered, stone groaning as if the Citadel itself exhaled. A new scent flooded the air—blood and forge-smoke, heavy and primal.
A hulking figure leapt from a shadowed tunnel, landing with a quake that cracked the floor. His steel-gray eyes glowed, brown fur rippling in patches across a scarred, bare chest. A warhammer of iron and bone rested in his grip, its head etched with claw-marks. His voice rumbled, defiant and raw.
"Varik, you're a fool to chase the Key. The clans deserve a stronger alpha."
Magnus's claws lengthened, rage flaring through the curse's haze.
"Ragnar, Iron Fang. You're far from your mountains. What brings a rogue to this pit?"
Ragnar's warhammer swung, stopping inches from Magnus's chest, a challenge carved in iron.
"The Key's power unites the clans. You're too weak to wield it—step aside, or I crush you."
Kiera stepped forward, daggers raised, her voice a hiss.
"Touch him, and you're dead, Iron Fang."
Talia's ravens cawed, scattering into the air, their crimson eyes darting between Ragnar and Magnus. The chasm's pulse quickened, red light flaring, and the ground trembled again, dust raining from the ceiling.
Gavrek rose, claws bared, his voice a snarl.
"No one takes the Key… the Suldari's pact forbids it…"
Isabella's laugh echoed, not from the chamber but from the chasm below, her scent rising like a tide of decay.
The ravens dove, their claws grazing Ragnar's shoulders, drawing blood. He roared, swatting them, his warhammer sparking against stone. Magnus seized Talia's arm, his grip iron, his amber eyes boring into hers.
"Lead us to the shard, warden. No games, or you answer to me."
Talia nodded, her eyes red, the ravens circling tighter, their caws a mournful dirge.
The chasm's howl grew louder, a chorus of hunger that clawed at Magnus's mind. He led the pack—Kiera, her daggers gleaming; Jakob, clutching Veyne; Talia, shadowed by ravens; Gavrek, a broken shadow; and Ragnar, his warhammer a looming threat—into the red-lit depths.
The Key's shard waited, its power a blade poised over Eryndor, and the Citadel's walls whispered of blood and ruin yet to come.