🌩️ The Chain of Aetherion
The Trial of Evoker Kalo
The sky above the fractured realms churned like a storm of burning coals. Evoker Kalo clung to a colossal chain, each link wider than a warhorse, its iron blackened by ages of fire. Far below him stretched an endless abyss, broken only by the shadow of a floating fortress: Aetherion, citadel of the Hollow Lords.
Kalo’s breath came ragged, the wind tearing at his blue hood, the runes of his blade burning like starlight against the storm. He had followed the chain upward through lightning and smoke, driven by the prophecy whispered in the Heath — that only by breaching the fortress could the Circle of Ash be broken.
But the chain was no bridge. It was a test.
From the clouds below, wraiths clawed at him — formless demons shaped of smoke and fang, their shrieks swallowed by thunder. Each time he swung his sword, the glyphs along its edge flared, cutting through their incorporeal forms, scattering them to embers. Yet each time, more came, clambering higher, eager to drag him into the abyss.
Kalo dared a glance at the fortress. Its spires rose like obsidian knives, glowing faintly with ghostly fire. And at the highest tower’s gate, he saw movement — a figure cloaked in white ash, watching. Waiting.
The chain shook violently. A colossal serpent, born of the storm itself, had wrapped around the links above, its golden eyes fixed on him. Its scales shimmered with lightning, its body long enough to coil around the heavens.
Kalo’s grip slipped, his arm burned, his soul trembled.
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The Trial of Evoker Kalo
Virgilius
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🌩️ The Chain of Aetherion
The Trial of Evoker Kalo
The sky above the fractured realms churned like a storm of burning coals. Evoker Kalo clung to a colossal chain, each link wider than a warhorse, its iron blackened by ages of fire. Far below him stretched an endless abyss, broken only by the shadow of a floating fortress: Aetherion, citadel of the Hollow Lords.
Kalo’s breath came ragged, the wind tearing at his blue hood, the runes of his blade burning like starlight against the storm. He had followed the chain upward through lightning and smoke, driven by the prophecy whispered in the Heath — that only by breaching the fortress could the Circle of Ash be broken.
But the chain was no bridge. It was a test.
From the clouds below, wraiths clawed at him — formless demons shaped of smoke and fang, their shrieks swallowed by thunder. Each time he swung his sword, the glyphs along its edge flared, cutting through their incorporeal forms, scattering them to embers. Yet each time, more came, clambering higher, eager to drag him into the abyss.
Kalo dared a glance at the fortress. Its spires rose like obsidian knives, glowing faintly with ghostly fire. And at the highest tower’s gate, he saw movement — a figure cloaked in white ash, watching. Waiting.
The chain shook violently. A colossal serpent, born of the storm itself, had wrapped around the links above, its golden eyes fixed on him. Its scales shimmered with lightning, its body long enough to coil around the heavens.
Kalo’s grip slipped, his arm burned, his soul trembled.
