The Dying Arcane

The temple walls trembled as the flames from the altar swirled, casting eerie shadows that danced like restless spirits. Ronan's gaze remained locked on the vision before him—a battlefield engulfed in fire, warriors clashing in a chaotic struggle between magic and steel. And at the center of it all… himself.

He saw his own face, twisted with determination and rage, his blade striking down enemies in rapid succession. Around him, arcane sigils and mechanical constructs clashed in a war unlike any the world had ever seen.

Then, the vision shifted.

A figure emerged from the carnage—a towering presence cloaked in darkness. Its eyes burned like embers, and its voice echoed like a chorus of damned souls.

"You are too late."

The words sent a chill through Ronan's spine.

The vision faded. The temple fell silent once more.

Ronan exhaled sharply, his pulse still racing. His gaze snapped to Lyara, who stood with an unreadable expression.

"What was that?" he demanded.

She tilted her head, her violet eyes gleaming. "A glimpse of what is to come. The war that will decide the fate of magic itself."

Ronan clenched his fists. "And you expect me to believe that?"

Lyara smiled faintly. "Believe what you wish. But I have foreseen this for centuries. The decline of the arcane. The rise of steel and fire. And now, the forces that seek to claim dominion over both."

His jaw tightened. "Malakar."

The name left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Lyara nodded. "He is not the only one. There are others—rulers and warlords, kings and betrayers. The war you saw is inevitable. The only question is… which side will you stand on?"

Ronan studied her carefully. There was something about Lyara—an ancient wisdom laced with something more… something dangerous.

"And you?" he asked. "What do you stand for?"

Lyara's expression darkened. "Freedom. From the chains that bind us all." She lifted her hands, the faint glow of magical restraints flickering. "The world fears those like me. They bound me in these shackles, sealed me away when I refused to choose a side. But now… the balance is shifting."

Ronan narrowed his eyes. "And if I release you, what happens next?"

She stepped closer, her voice lowering. "I help you claim the power you need. Before your enemies do."

The weight of her words settled over him like a storm on the horizon. He knew the path ahead was treacherous. But in a world where the strong devoured the weak…

Power was the only thing that mattered.

Ronan reached for his sword, the tip hovering just above the glowing sigils that bound her.

A choice.

And a price.

Was he willing to pay it?