Under the gray morning sky, Amara, Calen, and Drevan trudged across the overgrown grounds of Lord Vernius’s estate. A stone wall bordered the property, its iron gate tightly shut and draped in wilting creepers. Crows perched along the battlements, cawing a mournful tune. Everything about this place whispered of secrets and something far more ominous lurking inside.

  They’d come here on the trail of the mutated fenrirs, suspicious collars, and rumors of the lord’s experiments with arcane beasts. The final piece of damning evidence: a battered scrap of cloth bearing Vernius’s crest found near the giant wolf pen. Whisperwood Village’s safety—and perhaps more—depended on what they uncovered within these walls.

  After quietly scaling a collapsed section of the outer wall, the trio slipped into the overgrown courtyard. The once-grand garden lay choked with weeds; shattered statues of dragons, griffins, and other mythical creatures littered the hedges. The estate’s mansion loomed beyond the unkempt shrubbery, a dark silhouette against the morning gloom.

  Drevan’s sharp eyes swept the area. He spotted no guards, but unease prickled at his skin. “No one’s here,” he whispered warily. “That’s… suspicious.”

  Calen gripped his staff tighter, knuckles white. “We’d better be careful.”

  “Agreed,” Amara murmured, recalling how often illusions or wards masked true dangers. She let her eldritch senses flick out, searching for magical auras.

  Sure enough, faint pulses of arcane energy radiated from the mansion’s grand entrance—a distortion in the air akin to heat ripples. She swallowed hard. “There’s definitely something active in there. Some kind of ward.”

  Drevan’s jaw set. “Then we do what we came to do. We find out how he’s controlling these monsters—and stop him.”

  They entered through a side door whose lock Calen deftly unpicked, revealing a dimly lit corridor of polished marble floors and decaying tapestries. Whispers of musty air and old smoke clung to every corner. Each step echoed ominously, magnified by the silence.

  A flicker of candlelight caught Amara’s eye near the corridor’s end. She motioned for the others to follow, heart hammering in her chest. They advanced quietly, halting when they heard muffled chanting from beyond a half-open door.

  Drevan pressed his ear against the wood. Though the words were indistinct, the low, guttural intonation made his skin crawl. He nodded sharply, pushing the door open with controlled caution.

  They stepped into what must have once been an opulent library: two tiers of shelves ringed the walls, filled with ancient tomes. A spiral staircase curved along the far corner, leading to a narrow upper gallery. At the center of the floor, half-hidden behind tall bookcases, stood a heavy iron cage. The stench of decay and sulfur assaulted them as soon as they entered.

  Inside the cage lay a small, quivering dragon—its scales shimmering with an iridescent red, laced with sickly green blotches. Chains bound its limbs, and a warding circle pulsed around the bars, wreathing them in a faint magical glow. The creature whimpered, a high-pitched sound that plucked at Amara’s heart.

  Calen’s eyes went wide. “He’s been… torturing it,” he breathed, noticing patches of singed scales. “Look at the scorch marks along its flank.”

  Drevan’s fury flared, but before he could step closer, a sudden presence manifested in the library’s gloom. Lord Vernius himself. He emerged from behind a shelf, wearing black robes threaded with gold runes. His lips curved into a knowing sneer.

  “You meddle in affairs far beyond your ken,” the lord hissed, tapping a slender staff of polished bone. A crackle of necromantic energy flared from its tip. “This dragon hatchling is key to my grand ascension—its blood, combined with the proper ritual, shall birth a dragon lich.”

  Amara felt her blood run cold. “You… you plan to turn it into an undead abomination?”

  Vernius’s eyes gleamed. “Why not? Its raw draconic power, tethered to necromancy? Imagine what such a creature can do. My mutated fenrirs were mere experiments. This is the real prize.”

  The trapped dragon let out another plaintive cry, rattling its chains. Something inside Drevan ignited. He gripped his sword so hard his knuckles turned white. A memory of his own past—the starved orphan, beaten and caged by uncaring adults—flickered through his mind, and a deep resolve blossomed in his chest.

  “No,” Drevan growled, voice crackling with anger. “Not today.”

  He moved before Vernius could react, slashing at the warding runes encircling the hatchling’s cage. Sparks flew where sword met dark magic. Vernius snarled, lobbing a twisted bolt of necrotic energy. Calen threw himself in front, staff raised. A shimmering bubble of healing force blossomed in the path of the attack, absorbing most of the impact but shattering in a shower of pale light. The force sent Calen staggering backward.

  Seeing Calen waver, Amara countered with a burst of eldritch power aimed at Vernius. Purple lightning arced across the library, forcing the lord to duck. Books and shelves exploded in a flurry of pages. He hissed in frustration, raising a hand to shield his eyes from flying debris.

  Meanwhile, Drevan hammered the cage’s lock. The metal, cold-forged but wrapped in necromantic spells, cracked beneath his determined blows. The baby dragon whimpered, flailing in its chains, eyes wide with fear.

  “I’ve got you,” Drevan muttered, shoving his shield into position as Vernius hurled another necrotic bolt his way. The energy crashed into the curved metal, leaving sizzling black residue. Drevan growled from the pain that lanced through his arm but did not falter.

  With a last mighty swing, he cleaved the lock. The cage door flew open, and the hatchling stumbled out, chains dragging. Calen rushed to its side, chanting hurried words of healing. A gentle green glow enveloped the baby dragon, soothing its burns and scalded scales.

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  From across the chaos, Vernius roared. “You insolent fools! No one denies me my ascension!”

  The lord unleashed a wave of unholy energy that rippled through the room, knocking the trio backward. Shelves toppled, raining books and wooden splinters. The baby dragon shrieked in alarm and fled, dragging broken chains, scrabbling for the nearest open corridor. Amara called out for it, but it was gone in a flash of battered wings and frantic claws, scuttling out of sight.

  “We’ll have to trust it to find its way out,” Drevan grimaced, righting himself. “Focus on Vernius!”

  Calen hovered behind him, panting, staff still glowing with residual healing power. “If it’s free, that’s all that matters for now.”

  Vernius advanced, staff swirling with necrotic magic. Sconces along the walls flickered, darkness gathering around him as if alive. “You should never have come here. This is my dominion!”

  Amara squared her shoulders. She could practically hear her heart pounding in her ears. Time to end this. She summoned her warlock magic, feeling the deep thrumming of the eldritch god’s power within her chest.

  Vernius unleashed streams of corrupted dragonfire—black and green flames that hissed with necrotic energy. Drevan crouched behind his battered shield, absorbing the brunt of each blast. The shield’s metal heated to a glowing orange, but he refused to buckle, defiance burning in his eyes.

  Calen, breathing hard, wove a supportive spell to bolster Drevan’s stamina, feeding the tiefling renewed vitality. Even so, Drevan groaned under the strain. “I can’t hold this forever!” he growled.

  With Vernius focused on Drevan, Amara seized the opportunity. She channeled her power, a crackle of purple lightning dancing along her arms. Keep it controlled, she urged herself, recalling the times her magic had exploded out of control. Now she had to be precise.

  She flung a bolt straight at Vernius. The jolt caught him in the side, sending him stumbling. Enraged, he turned his staff on her, flinging shards of bone-like projectiles in rapid succession. Amara dodged two, but the third nicked her shoulder, drawing blood and a searing pain. She grit her teeth, firing another blast that forced Vernius backward.

  Calen joined the fray directly, channeling a wave of condensed healing energy around Vernius’s feet, twisting it into a snare. The lord realized too late what was happening; the floor under him glowed with swirling green runes. He tried to leap away, but the magical snare dragged at his legs, hindering his movements.

  Seizing the moment, Drevan lunged. He swung his sword at the lord’s staff, hoping to break its focus. Sparks flew as necromantic magic clashed with the tiefling’s righteous fury. Vernius snarled and managed to twist free, but not before Drevan’s blade sliced a deep gash across his side. Dark, foul-smelling fluid seeped through the lord’s robes.

  But Vernius wasn’t finished. He rasped a brutal incantation under his breath, eyes glowing with malice. The snare around his legs dissipated in a burst of black sparks. “If I can’t ascend with the dragon, I’ll ensure none of you leave here alive!”

  A swirling vortex of necrotic force coalesced in front of him, crackling with the echoes of a fell wind. Amara’s heart sank—she sensed the magnitude of that power. The twisted residue of the attempted dragon-lich ritual seemed to gather in the swirling sphere, a final, desperate weapon.

  “Take cover!” Drevan roared, sprinting to intercept.

  The vortex expanded, ribbons of dark energy lashing out unpredictably. Drevan charged, shield raised, soaking multiple strikes that seared the metal with each impact. His boots dragged against the marble floor, but he pushed forward through the barrage, step by agonizing step.

  Amara, wincing at the scorch on her shoulder, mustered all her strength. She launched bolt after bolt of eldritch magic at Vernius, trying to break his concentration. Calen poured healing waves over Drevan, warding off the worst of the injuries as he advanced.

  At last, Drevan got close enough to strike. He brought his sword down in a shimmering arc, slicing through the swirling mass of necrotic power. The blade’s tip connected with Vernius’s staff at the precise moment Amara sent a final, thunderous lance of purple lightning into the lord’s chest.

  A deafening crack shook the library. The staff shattered, shards of bone and metal spinning away. Vernius screamed—a howl of shock and rage—before collapsing in a heap of tattered black robes. The necrotic vortex dissolved into nothing, a final burst of arcane wind knocking over the last upright bookcase.

  Silence descended. For a few seconds, the only sounds were labored breathing and the flickering of a lone torch about to gutter out.

  Vernius twitched, chest heaving as he glared up at them with fading hate. “You… you can’t stop… the darkness…” he whispered, bloody spittle flecking his lips. Then his head lolled to the side, eyes going blank.

  Amara slumped to the ground, adrenaline fading, every limb aching. Drevan stumbled, the shield clattering from his arm. Calen rushed to support him, helping him lower onto a pile of scattered books. A ragged sigh escaped Drevan’s lips—he was drenched in sweat, smoke still rising from his battered armor.

  “Is… it over?” Calen asked, voice trembling from fatigue.

  Amara nodded, breath catching. “Looks like it. We—” She tried to stand, dizziness overtaking her. She barely kept herself upright on shaky legs.

  “Sit,” Drevan insisted, wincing as he shifted. “We’ll check on the dragon after we regroup.”

  But even as Calen stepped toward Amara to cast a healing check, she wavered again, eyes rolling back. A sudden, stark pain flared across her chest, and she collapsed without warning.

  “Amara!” Calen cried, lurching forward to catch her. He lowered her gently to the floor. Her limbs went limp, breath shallow. Panicked, he pressed two fingers to her pulse. “It’s faint… but there.”

  Drevan cursed, forcing himself to his feet. “What’s wrong with her?”

  Calen’s own eyes were wide, tears threatening. “I don’t know… She was hurt, but not this badly.”

  He summoned healing light, letting it flow over Amara’s body. The glow flickered, meeting resistance from some unseen force within her. Beneath her eyelids, her eyes fluttered as though in restless dream. Something in her aura felt… off, as if the eldritch magic that powered her had stirred into conflict.

  Drevan looked around the wrecked library, heart pounding. “We can’t stay here. We don’t know if Vernius had allies.”

  Calen ran a hand through his white hair, mind racing. “We have to move her, but carefully. I can stabilize her for now.”

  He poured more healing into her, focusing every ounce of gentle magic he had. The tension in her muscles eased, though her eyes remained closed and her breathing shallow. Drevan draped his cloak over her to keep her warm.

  They sat for a moment in the flickering shadows of the ruined mansion, Vernius’s twisted remains nearby. The final wisp of necromantic energy faded, leaving the stale smell of charred books and burned ozone. A faint cry echoed in the distance—likely the baby dragon, somewhere deeper in the estate, or maybe escaping to the open sky.

  Drevan bowed his head. In saving the hatchling and stopping Vernius’s horrific plan, he’d found new purpose—this was the sort of evil he’d trained to fight, the kind of atrocity he couldn’t stomach standing by. But now Amara lay unconscious, and a new weight of worry pressed on his soul.

  “Don’t worry,” Calen said softly, as if sensing his thoughts. “We’ll get her back. She saved us so many times— it’s our turn to save her.”

  Drevan exhaled shakily, resting a hand on Amara’s limp arm. A flicker of memory: her gentle persistence, her efforts to include him when no one else would. He nodded once, resolve hardening. “We’ll do whatever it takes.”

  Together, they lifted Amara, supporting her between them. The battered remains of Lord Vernius’s domain loomed around them, each hallway and shattered window a testament to how close evil had come to transforming an innocent creature into an undead monstrosity. But for now, they had thwarted the corruption, freed the baby dragon, and a small spark of hope glowed in their hearts—hope that they might still save their warlock friend from whatever darkness threatened to consume her from within.