5. In the Shadow of Galahad: Ashes of the Old Gods - Shadows of Eldoria

Chapter 5: Shadows of Eldoria

“Is destiny a path we forge, or a chain we cannot see?” — Arion

The Whispering Woods thinned as Arion pressed onward, the trees giving way to rolling hills dotted with wildflowers that swayed under the midday sun. The mask’s hum had evolved into a rhythmic pulse, syncing with his heartbeat, as if it were alive and attuned to his every doubt.

Visions flickered at the edges of his mind — fragments of ancient rituals, glowing runes etched into stone, and a distant voice murmuring words in a tongue he almost understood. Galahad’s name echoed through them, not as a distant myth, but as a living force, pulling threads of fate.

Eldoria loomed on the horizon by late afternoon, its spires piercing the sky like jagged teeth. The city was a melting pot of the realms: merchants from Arvendor hawking enchanted silks, Oakenra druids bartering herbs that whispered secrets, and even the occasional Banished wanderer, their cursed auras drawing wary glances. Towers of polished marble rose alongside ramshackle taverns, where secrets were as plentiful as ale. It was a place where ambition thrived and illusions shattered — perfect for a skeptic like Arion.

At the gates, knights in gleaming armor stood watch, their sigils marked with the coiled serpent devouring its tail. The mask warmed faintly at his side, urging caution.

One recruiter barked at the crowd, waving a banner for the Ironclad Alliance.

— “Join us, wanderer! The dungeons call again, and with Noctarok’s shadow lifted, riches await the bold!”

Arion brushed past, his voice low. — “Not my path.”

The streets of Eldoria unfolded into a labyrinth of noise and color. Vendors hawked potions promising eternal youth, maps to forgotten treasures, and trinkets that glimmered with false ties to the Old Ones.

At the central square, a statue of Galahad towered above the chaos, his staff raised, symbols of creation spiraling at his feet. The inscription spoke of his enforcers: Codes, Echo, and others whose names had been lost to time.

A soft laugh broke his focus.

Leaning against a wall stood a young elf, her eyes sharp, a pendant gleaming with the sigil of the Knights of the Eternal Dawn.

— “You stare at him like a man questioning his own reflection,” she said, her tone both melodic and piercing. “Few do that in Eldoria. Most come seeking fortune, not faith.”

Arion studied her, the mask stirring beneath his cloak. — “And what do you seek, Knight?”

She stepped closer, a small smile tugging at her lips. — “I’m Lirael, initiate of the Knights. I seek those touched by the divine. And you… you carry something. An aura, like a whisper from the gods.”

Before Arion could respond, shouts split the square. Guards clashed with Forsaken, blades ringing and spells sparking. In the chaos, a figure slammed into him — a Banished thief, his cloak marked with their sigil.

Arion’s hand shot to his side. The mask was gone.

— “This ain’t yours, skeptic!” the thief snarled, brandishing it aloft. “The Banished will use Galahad’s toys to break their chains!”

The mask pulsed violently. A burst of light erupted, searing the thief’s eyes. He cried out, dropping it. Arion lunged, clutching the artifact as its warmth surged into his chest.

A voice whispered inside him: “Beware the Banished… they seek to unravel the divine.”

At the alley’s mouth, Lirael appeared, her hand glowing with magic. — “Impressive. The mask chose well. Come with me — the Knights can help you before others come hunting.”

Arion’s grip tightened. His heart pounded with equal parts doubt and resolve. Was this destiny? Or just another illusion?

As the sun sank behind Eldoria’s spires, the shadows deepened — and the mask pulsed like a second heart.

For the first time, Arion felt he might step closer to the truth.

🌘 To be continued…