ShadowBound: The Need For Power-Chapter 359: It Has Began

Lucy studied Liam for a long moment, eyes quietly measuring him as he stood firm before her. Then she finally spoke, her voice calm and composed.

"First, Liam, let me thank you," she said. "You gave us a critical lead—something no one else could’ve possibly predicted. I truly appreciate your contribution to all this. However, that doesn’t give you the freedom to come in here with nothing but a hunch and expect us to act on it."

Liam met her gaze without flinching. "I don’t expect you to act on my words blindly," he replied evenly. "But I do have good reason to believe the Western Region should be our first priority."

With that, Liam proceeded to explain his reasoning—the same detailed logic he had shared with Mabel. He laid out each connection, each clue, every pattern he had noticed, drawing a clear line from the present chaos back to the Land of Ruins.

As he finished, a thoughtful silence followed. Lucy, Mystica, and Magnus each wore a pensive expression as they weighed his words.

"He’s not wrong," Mystica finally said, folding her arms. "The Land of Ruins is thick with corrupted myst—leftovers from the last demon wars. It’s practically drenched in residual chaos. If Sylvathar wanted a place to hide, one that naturally obscured magical signatures, that wasteland would be perfect."

"Exactly," Magnus agreed with a nod. "And if that’s true, the hybrid helping Sylvathar might be a high-level spatial mage. Someone capable of cloaking an entire domain."

Lucy turned to Mystica. "What’s the likelihood that Eliv is the one veiling Sylvathar’s presence?"

Mystica shook her head slightly. "Eliv is a Grand Mage, yes. But he spent his life honing light and ice magic. Not spatial. I’d say the chances are low. But not impossible."

"Which means Sylvathar likely has a hybrid with a natural spatial affinity," Lucy concluded.

"And if that hybrid is strong," Mystica added, "then any veil they cast would be nearly undetectable. Their mastery might surpass mine—or anyone else’s. Even with focus, we could still fail to find Sheila."

"True," Lucy said, her eyes falling back to Liam. "But we still have to try. Especially since Liam’s been the one pointing us in the right direction ever since this began. We owe it to him—and to Sheila—to give this lead a chance. If it leads nowhere, fine. We regroup and focus our efforts on the Three Kingdoms."

A quiet pause lingered in the room.

"Thank you for your insight, Liam," Lucy said. "But now, I need you to return to your chambers. Your safety is also a priority. Like you said this morning, Sylvathar might have an interest in you as well."

"Yeah... you’re right," Liam nodded, turning back toward the flickering portal. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

As he stepped through the portal, Mabel gave a polite bow to the room before following him through, vanishing behind the arcane shimmer.

Once they were gone, Mystica turned to Lucy, her tone calm but laced with curiosity.

"I’ve been thinking," she said. "Ember once claimed she could reveal Sylvathar’s whereabouts—and even his generals. Why haven’t we interrogated her yet?" freēwēbηovel.c૦m

"I already did," Lucy answered, leaning back slightly in her chair. "Right after you left to check on Sheila."

"And?" Mystica asked. "Any success?"

"Unfortunately, no," Lucy replied with a grimace. "It seems Sylvathar still has a mental hold on her. She’s hollow—a breathing shell. There’s no response from her. It’s like her entire sense of self has been sealed off."

"But how?" Mystica pressed, eyes narrowing. "I place the suppression spell on her. That should’ve broken any lingering influence. Besides, she said she no longer felt Sylvathar’s presence. Dove also confirmed her mind was clean."

"I know," Lucy said. "And yet, this is the reality. We’re left with no reliable intel. Which means, until we break Sylvathar’s grip on Ember, we have no choice but to rely on Liam’s instincts. We’ll begin assembling troops from all three kingdoms. We’ll scan the Land of Ruins in waves—and we’ll keep sweep teams active in the zones just in case it’s a misdirection."

Mystica gave a nod of reluctant agreement. "Alright, we accept the reality and deal with it. Any specific orders?"

Lucy turned to Magnus. "Return to the Academy. Brief Thion and Varyn on everything, then gather a strike force and move west immediately. Begin the search."

Then she faced Mystica. "You’re to contact every mage you can find who specializes in spatial magic. We’ll need their expertise to detect whatever veil may be hiding that place. And reach out to Galen—those Ember Eyes of his might help cut through anything magical."

"Understood," both replied in unison.

"I’ll handle the rest," Lucy said, standing. "I’ll send word to the Crescent and Solara Kingdoms about our intentions and get their forces moving toward the Western Region."

With a shared nod, Mystica raised both arms, conjuring two portals—one swirling toward the Academy, the other toward a destination only she knew.

Without hesitation, Magnus stepped into the portal leading to the Academy, his figure disappearing into the light. Mystica turned to the other and vanished through it as well.

And with that, Lucy was left alone in her study, the weight of diplomacy and war pressing firmly on her shoulders as she prepared to contact both kingdoms.

***

Deep within the forgotten reaches of the Land of Ruins, far from the knowledge of the world above, Morbuan and Eliv Borges arrived at the entrance of Sylvathar’s underground chamber—Sheila floating silently between them, suspended by telekinetic force.

The chamber was vast and dimly lit, its walls covered in faded murals and stonework inscribed with old, forgotten glyphs. At the center of the room, as ever, sat Sylvathar—cloaked in his dark green robe embroidered with twisting, silver-green runes. He was lounged calmly on his low couch, a large tome resting on one thigh, and a goblet of dark crimson fluid glinting beside him on a table.

A few paces away from him stood Morenelle, his ever-silent companion, poised and unmoving like a statue, hands folded in front of her.

"Lord Sylvathar," Morbuan spoke, lowering himself to one knee, one fist to the cold stone floor.

Despite the stiffness in his bones, Eliv mirrored the gesture, though with far less zeal.

Sylvathar made no immediate reply. He simply closed the tome in his hands with deliberate care and placed it aside. He then reached for his goblet and took a slow, thoughtful sip. Only after savoring the taste did he lift his gaze—cold, ancient, and calculating—toward Sheila’s unconscious form.

"You’ve done well, Mage Borges," Sylvathar said at last, his voice calm and wise, as though praising a loyal pupil.

"My loyalty is yours alone, Lord Sylvathar," Eliv replied without lifting his gaze. "It’s only right for me to remain true to my word."

Sylvathar stood from his seat, moving with the grace of a serpent uncoiling. He passed by Morbuan and Eliv without pause, stepping closer to Sheila. The glow of magic danced faintly off her silver hair, her body limp in midair.

With a gentle touch, Sylvathar raised her chin, studying her face with a strange mixture of fascination and reverence. His fingers, veined and cool, wiped a streak of blood from her cheek with almost tender care.

"A face so innocent," he murmured. "Truly... admirable. Such purity in form."

He glanced sideways, speaking without turning. "Tell me, Mage Borges... how does it feel? Knowing you’ve led this child to her destined ruin? Knowing that you taught her—raised her understanding of magic—only to now offer her up like a lamb for slaughter?"

His words hung heavy in the chamber.

Eliv remained still for a moment, unmoved, his expression hollow and unreadable—just as it had been when he ended the lives of the royal guards and Berg Thuden without flinching. Then, in a voice devoid of regret, he answered.

"I feel accomplished, my lord. Honored, even. Through my loyalty and obedience, your dream inches ever closer to reality."

Sylvathar’s fingers lingered on Sheila’s cheek one moment longer, then slowly withdrew. A thin smile tugged at his lips—empty of warmth.

"Precisely why I chose you as one of my generals, Mage Borges. A man of resolve. A man of purpose."

He turned and walked back to his seat, his robes dragging lightly across the stone.

"You may both rise now."

At his command, both Morbuan and Eliv stood.

Sylvathar’s eyes now shifted to Morenelle. "Morenelle."

She lifted her gaze instantly. "Yes, my Lord."

"Shrine."

Without hesitation, Morenelle’s eyes gleamed an eerie green, and at once the chamber began to transform.

The refined decor—portraits, ancient tomes, plush seating—was obliterated in seconds. The walls expanded outward with a rumble, clearing all elegance and leaving behind a wide, barren expanse. One by one, torches of emerald flame ignited along the perimeter, encircling the space in an eerie light.

Two rune-circles appeared on the stone floor—one large, surrounding a smaller inner circle. Around the outer ring, thick stone pillars erupted from the ground, each etched with glowing emerald glyphs. Then, within the smaller inner ring, three more pillars rose, smaller but pulsing with intense mystic energy.

An invisible force seized Sheila from Eliv’s telekinetic grasp and gently pulled her to the center of the inner circle, placing her upright between the three inner pillars.

Her body floated in place, her silver hair drifting around her like liquid ice. Then the air grew heavy.

Emerald threads of myst began emerging from the three earthen pillars—thick, pulsing with life. Two of them pierced through her neck with surgical precision, yet left no physical marks. Another slithered into her mind. A final one dug deep into her heart. Though unconscious, Sheila flinched subtly with each intrusion, her body reacting even as her mind remained dormant.

Two more myst threads extended beyond her, reaching across the shrine and connecting to Sylvathar—one pressing into the left side of his chest, the other the right.

As they made contact, the energy within the threads brightened, glowing brighter with each passing second. Sylvathar closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, as though bathing in long-awaited warmth.

This was the beginning of his transcendence.

The divine light within Sheila—pure, powerful, and sacred—was being extracted, thread by thread, to nourish the dark ambition that was Sylvathar’s grand design.

The sourc𝗲 of this content is free(w)𝒆bnov(𝒆)l