Corrupted Throne

"How long until she delivers?"

Sorin didn't answer immediately. He traced his finger through the ashes of the campfire, watching the embers hiss.

"She's inside," he said. "That's enough."

Barnnor grunted, the weight of his hammer resting across his back.

"It won't be enough if she forgets why she's there."

Sorin looked east—toward the spire that rose like a fang against the sky.

"She won't forget."

A long pause passed between them. The fire cracked again.

Then Barnnor spoke, his voice low and rough.

"Hey, Sorin. Don't you think we should start searching elsewhere too?"

Sorin scoffed without looking up.

"Shut up. The sword's most likely in the fortress. If it's not… we still can't just abandon her."

Barnnor's grin stretched wide.

"Kukuku… Did you *see* that place? That fortress is a bloody maze. It'll take months—maybe years—to search every hall, every vault."

"You're right," Sorin said coolly, "but what choice do we have? We've got time. Relax. Enjoy the food. Enjoy the girls. Let her do her part."

Barnnor made a face—half disgusted, half bored.

"I'm not interested in food or girls."

He stood, brushing dirt from his coat and slinging his hammer across his shoulder.

Sorin narrowed his eyes.

"Where are you going?"

"This country's big," Barnnor muttered. "Thought I'd explore. Call me if you need something crushed."

"Hey—just don't kill anyone." Sorin's voice sharpened.

Barnnor paused, then gave a wicked smile over his shoulder.

"Don't worry."

He turned away, footsteps fading into the misted trees.

"...I won't."

"I hope,"Sorin muttered, his voice barely louder than the fire crackling beside him.

MEANWHILE – BASTIONSPIRE FORTRESS

Touka unrolled the scroll, the faint scent of wax and ash clinging to the parchment. A hawk had dropped it on her balcony just minutes ago—Sorin's handwriting sharp and familiar.

"Progress. The sword won't wait forever. Find it."

She sighed, her breath curling in the cold air of the shared dorm.

"I was thinking to rest today…"she muttered.

"But no—he sends me another damn letter."

She glanced to her right.

Samaira was curled on her bed, sound asleep under thick blankets, her breathing slow and even.

It's freezing tonight, Touka thought, pulling on a dark coat over her usual tunic. She reached for her gloves and adjusted the scarf around her neck.

Moving silently, she opened the door a crack.

Her violet eyes scanned the corridor—empty. Quiet.

Clear.

She slipped out, closing the door gently behind her.

TOUKA'S INTERNAL MONOLOGUE (as she walks)

"When they showed us the training hall and gave us the choice to scan the armory… I already checked."

"That black, double-handed bastard sword—with the purple stones embedded near the hilt—that's the one. But it wasn't there."

The fortress was vast.

Too vast.

Guards everywhere. Not to mention the surveillance crystals embedded into the walls near restricted wings.

"If it's not in the Armory…"

"Then maybe the Void Room. That place had an energy stone—it might connect to whatever power source the sword needs."

"Or maybe… the lower levels. Dungeons. Prison wings. Where no recruits are allowed."

She reached a quiet junction—one path led toward the east tower, the other spiraled downward.

Touka's eyes narrowed.

"Crap. Might as well start on this floor."

She walked slower now—more deliberate. Her hand hovered near the small dagger hidden inside her boot.

"If I find nothing here… next, I head lower."

Touka opened the heavy wooden door to one of the side storage rooms. It creaked faintly as she stepped inside.

Dust floated in the cold air. Crates. Old armor. Rusted training swords. Nothing of value.

She scanned quickly—corners, floor tiles, shelves.

"Nothing," she muttered under her breath.

Closing the door behind her softly, she stepped back into the hallway, her boots silent on the stone.

She hadn't gone more than a few steps when—

"Hey! What are you doing here?"

A sharp voice cut through the silence.

Touka froze.

A fortress guard rounded the corner, his spear glinting in the low torchlight.

Crap.Her mind raced. Her pulse spiked—but only for a moment.

She forced a tired expression onto her face and rubbed her eyes.

"Couldn't sleep,"she said with a yawn. "Figured I'd get some fresh air."

The guard frowned, eyeing her cloak and boots.

"Don't roam too much at night. Fortress protocols are strict, especially these days."

Touka nodded casually, stepping aside. "Of course. Just five or ten more minutes. I'll head back after that."

The guard studied her for another second, then shrugged.

"Alright. Just stay near the recruit quarters."

"Understood," Touka replied, already turning.

The guard walked away without further suspicion.

As soon as he turned the corner, Touka's expression dropped back to cold focus.

"That was too close," she whispered.

She glanced around again—checking the next corridor.

"Okay… stick to shadows. One more hallway. Then I double back."

And with that, she moved forward—deeper into the heart of Bastionspire.

Touka moved silently through the hallway, her gloved fingers brushing the stone as she passed. Her footsteps slowed as she entered a long archway lined with aging tapestries.

She paused—her gaze drifting upward, tracing the intricate carvings on the high ceiling and stone beams.

A small smile touched her lips.

"I hate to say it… but I'm amazed by this fortress."

She walked toward a wide, arched window—one without bars or rails. It jutted slightly outward, offering a full view of the cliffs below.

The wind was sharp and cold.

Touka stepped into the open space, standing tall in the silence. The mountain dropped far beneath her, mist curling over its edges.

Down below—across the slope—was the outer training grounds.

And there, alone in the snow-covered courtyard… was someone kneeling in stillness.

She squinted.

"Wait… him?"

A flicker of surprise crossed her face.

"Duke Vento," she muttered.

He was motionless—bare-chested despite the biting wind, legs crossed, hands resting on his knees. Eyes closed. Breathing steady.

"Meditating? In this cold?"

A quiet chuckle escaped her lips.

"Trying to overcome the trauma we gave him…?"

Her expression faded, unreadable. She looked at him for a few more seconds, then turned away.

"Keep climbing, Vento. Let's see how far you will go."

She continued her search.

THE HIDDEN ROOM

Touka entered another hallway—one she hadn't scouted yet.

The door creaked as she opened it. Inside was pitch black.

Her eyes narrowed.

"Too dark," she murmured, and lifted her hand.

A faint glow bloomed across her palm—violet energy crackling softly like quiet lightning. It lit up her face in a ghostly hue.

Shelves.

Dozens of them.

Books. Scrolls. Dust-laced parchment rolled tightly into cubbyholes.

A library.

"Huh," she muttered, stepping in slowly.

"Didn't expect this."

She let the light grow a little brighter, casting shadows across the ancient shelves.

"Let's see if there left behind any secrets…"

She moved deeper into the library, eyes scanning every corner—for signs of hidden compartments, restricted records… or anything marked with the crest of the royal sword.

Touka moved between rows of ancient, dust-covered shelves, her palm-light glowing dimly.

She skimmed through book after book, flipping through brittle pages with growing frustration.

"Useless…"she muttered.

One book on fortress architecture.

Another on old guard rotations.

A third filled with scattered poetry.

"Nothing."

Then, her eyes caught the oldest section—where leather-bound tomes were faded, their spines cracked, many unread for decades.

She reached for one that looked nearly buried behind others.

Its blackened cover bore a faint silver engraving of a mountain split by a sword.

She pulled it out carefully.

Title: "Chronicles of Spireblood: Origins of the Storm"

Touka raised a brow.

"Sounds dramatic enough."

She flipped it open. The parchment inside was thick, almost like hide, and illustrated with beautiful but violent ink drawings.

The first pages detailed the earliest ancestors—the founders of Stromspire—warriors who carved the fortress walls with bare hands, using stone infused with Kendra Energy.

Each page showed a new generation of kings, lords, and war-mages. Their **epic battles, their rise through rebellion and conquest.

One king faced an invading beast-army. Another drowned entire fleets with energy rainstorms from the cliffs.

Their eyes glowed with power. Their swords cut through skies.

Touka's jaw tightened as she flipped to the later chapters.

She reached the final section. The artwork shifted—sharper, darker.

A full-page sketch. A man standing atop a mountain of broken kingdoms.

His crown was jagged. His cloak split like thunder. And in his hand—**a massive black sword with purple stones along its edge.

Her eyes narrowed.

"Kael Spire," she said aloud, voice like a knife.

The current King of Stromspire.

The caption beneath the sketch read:

"The 47th King. Bringer of Silence. The Storm Who Commands the World."

Visuals showed Kael single-handedly leveling nations. Cities turned to ash. Kingdoms kneeling before him.

Touka's gaze locked on the sword in his hand.

The same one she was searching for.

Touka's eyes lingered on the image of King Kael—his cloak torn by the wind, one boot planted atop a mound of broken flags. Cities burned in the background. Entire nations reduced to cinders beneath him.

And in his hand…

That sword.

The black blade with violet stones.

Touka's fingers curled tighter around the book's edge, the leather creaking beneath her grip.

Her expression darkened.

"You monster,"she whispered.

She turned the page—

And froze.

What she saw next made her breath hitch.

A sketch.

It showed two figures—

Kael Spire, his blade raised mid-swing…

And another warrior, unknown, cloaked in shadows.

Their swords collided in mid-air—black against silver, storm against silence.

Energy rippled through the clash, sketched in chaotic lines.

But the mysterious warrior's features were smudged, almost deliberately hidden. Their eyes, however, burned through the page—sharp, defiant, alive.

THUD.

The book slipped from Touka's hands, hitting the stone floor with a heavy sound.

She stared, pulse quickening.

"What… was that?"

She bent down quickly to retrieve it—and noticed something odd.

A thin slip of paper had fluttered free, landing just beside her boot.

She picked it up, carefully unfolding the fragile parchment.

Then—her lips slowly curled into a cold, quiet smile.

It was…

A map.

Detailed. Hand-drawn.

A full schematic of Bastionspire Fortress—layers, chambers, hidden wings. Markings she hadn't seen on any official layout.

Touka held the map in both hands, her eyes scanning the paths, chambers, and forbidden depths of Bastionspire. It pulsed faintly with embedded runes—like something alive beneath the parchment.

She narrowed her eyes.

"Can't carry this around. Too dangerous."

She closed her eyes and whispered an incantation—ancient, precise.

"Let shadow become ink... bind path to flesh.

The air shifted.

The map shimmered in her hands—its lines glowing in soft violet. Symbols rearranged themselves, moving like ink caught in a breeze.

Then—whoosh.

The entire sheet dissolved into glowing tattoos that slithered like liquid along her fingers and into her arms.

She pulled back her sleeve just in time to see the final glowing mark settle into her wrist—a spiral etched with a sword symbol.

A second later—it vanished.

Only warmth remained.

She flexed her hand once.

"Well… that should be enough for today."

She placed the ancient book back on the shelf, dusted her gloves, and walked out of the room, gently closing the door behind her.

Touka returned to the wide window she had visited earlier.

The cold night air rushed into her face again, but she didn't flinch.

She looked down at the courtyard.

Empty.

"Gone."

Her voice was soft.

"So you're not completely hopeless, Duke."

She turned to leave.

But a hand touched her shoulder.

Her body tensed—immediate reflexes screamed danger.

She spun half-around, heart skipping a beat.

"Ahh—!"

A familiar face.

Duke Vento.

Messy hair. Tired eyes. But calm.

"What are you doing here, Touka?" he asked, voice low and casual.

Her heartbeat didn't slow—but she buried the surprise fast, forcing her usual icy composure.