The shadows surged toward Alric like a living storm, tendrils of darkness coiling and writhing in the dim starlight. The Witch of Ebonreach stood at the heart of the swirling void, her crimson robes blending into the blackness, her ink-dark eyes fixed on Alric with an intensity that pierced through his every thought.

  Kaelion’s voice roared in Alric’s mind, sharp and commanding. “Don’t let her into your head, boy. She’s not just a sorcerer—she’s a predator. If you falter, she’ll tear you apart.”

  Alric tightened his grip on the obsidian dagger, its faint pulse resonating with the tension in the air. “Who sent you?” he demanded, his voice echoing off the stone walls of the tower.

  The Witch’s smile was slow and cruel. “You know the answer to that, little prince. Your uncle is… very interested in you. Though I must admit, I came here as much out of curiosity as duty. The bloodline’s power is… fascinating.”

  “You won’t take it,” Alric growled, stepping back as the shadows crept closer.

  “Oh, I don’t need to take it,” the Witch said, her voice lilting like a lullaby. “I only need to break it. And once you fall, your precious rebellion will crumble with you.”

  The first strike came without warning. A tendril of shadow lashed out, its edges sharp as a blade, aiming for Alric’s chest. He dodged to the side, the tendril slicing through the air where he’d been a moment before.

  Kaelion’s voice rang out in his mind. “Move, boy! She’ll overwhelm you if you hesitate.”

  Alric surged forward, his dagger flashing in the faint light. The obsidian blade cut through one of the shadows, the tendril dissolving into smoke with a hiss. But more came, surrounding him in an instant.

  The Witch raised her hand, and the shadows coiled tighter, pressing in like the walls of a closing trap. “You’re strong,” she said, her voice almost admiring. “But you’re not strong enough. Not yet.”

  Alric gritted his teeth, his movements growing faster as he fought to keep the shadows at bay. Each strike of his dagger sent ripples of dark energy through the air, but the shadows kept coming, relentless and unyielding.

  “Kaelion!” Alric shouted in his mind. “What do I do?”

  “You use us,” Kaelion replied, his voice low and steady. “But remember: if you draw too deeply, you won’t walk away from this fight unchanged.”

  Alric hesitated, the weight of Kaelion’s words sinking in. But as the shadows closed in, he realized he had no choice.

  He let the power of the Echoes surge through him, his eyes glowing faintly with golden light. The obsidian dagger burned in his hand, its pulse quickening as if alive. Alric’s movements became a blur, faster and sharper than before. Each strike sent waves of energy through the shadows, forcing them back.

  The Witch’s smile faltered, her eyes narrowing. “So, you’ve begun to embrace it,” she said, her voice dripping with malice. “But the power of the Echoes isn’t yours to wield—it’s theirs. And they will claim you in the end.”

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  Her words cut through Alric’s resolve like a blade, but he pushed them aside. He couldn’t afford to falter now.

  The dagger’s energy grew stronger, the golden light spreading through the chamber. The shadows recoiled, hissing as they dissolved into nothingness.

  The Witch raised both hands, her expression twisting into one of fury. “You dare to defy me?” she snarled. The shadows surged again, forming a massive clawed hand that lunged toward Alric with blinding speed.

  But this time, Alric didn’t retreat. He stepped forward, the dagger raised high, and struck with all the force he could muster. The obsidian blade pierced the heart of the shadowy mass, and with a deafening roar, the darkness exploded outward, scattering into the night.

  The Witch staggered, her form flickering as the shadows around her unraveled. For the first time, her confidence wavered. “This… is not over,” she hissed, her voice echoing unnaturally.

  Before Alric could respond, the Witch dissolved into the shadows, vanishing into the night.

  Alric stood in the silence that followed, his chest heaving and his hands trembling. The golden glow in his eyes faded, and the dagger’s pulse slowed, though its weight felt heavier than ever.

  Kaelion’s voice broke the stillness, calm but grim. “She’ll be back. And next time, she won’t come alone.”

  Alric nodded, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “I know. But she didn’t win this time.”

  “For now,” Kaelion said. “But you felt it, didn’t you? The Echoes are taking hold. Every time you use us, you let us in a little more.”

  Alric’s jaw tightened. “I’ll deal with it. One fight at a time.”

  Kaelion sighed. “You’re playing a dangerous game, boy. But I suppose you already know that.”

  By morning, word of Alric’s confrontation with the Witch had spread through the rebel camp. Though most of the fighters hadn’t witnessed the battle, the tale of how Alric had driven off one of Mordain’s most feared agents sent ripples of awe and fear through the ranks.

  Iridia found Alric in the war room, where he was poring over maps of the Amber Veil. She leaned against the doorway, her arms crossed.

  “So,” she said, her tone dry. “You fought off a sorcerer in the middle of the night and didn’t think to tell anyone?”

  “I handled it,” Alric said without looking up.

  Iridia snorted. “I’m sure you did. But you’re not invincible, Alric. Sooner or later, this thing with the Echoes is going to come to a head. And when it does, we need to be ready.”

  Alric met her gaze, his expression weary but determined. “I know what’s at stake, Iridia. And I won’t let it destroy us.”

  “Good,” she said. “Because the rebellion needs you. Whether you like it or not, you’re the one holding this thing together. Don’t forget that.”

  Alric nodded, though the weight of her words pressed heavily on him.

  Far to the north, the Witch of Ebonreach knelt before Mordain in the Iron Keep. Her crimson robes were scorched and tattered, and her pale face was lined with exhaustion.

  “He is stronger than I expected,” she said, her voice low. “The bloodline’s power grows with each battle. The Echoes are feeding him, even as they consume him.”

  Mordain’s gaze burned into her, his expression hard. “Then you failed.”

  The Witch bowed her head. “Not entirely, my lord. I’ve seen his weakness. The power he wields comes at a cost, and that cost is breaking him. If we press harder, he will fall.”

  Mordain leaned back in his throne, his gauntleted fingers drumming against the armrest. “Then we press harder. I want every resource, every soldier, every sorcerer focused on the Amber Veil. Burn it to the ground if you must. But the prince will not leave that valley alive.”

  The Witch smiled faintly, her black eyes gleaming. “As you command, my lord.”

  In Blackspire, the rebels prepared for the battles to come. Alric stood atop the fortress walls, his gaze fixed on the horizon where Mordain’s forces would soon march.

  The rebellion was growing, but so was the darkness that sought to crush it.

  And in the depths of his mind, the Echoes whispered.