After discussing the kingdom’s affairs and instructing Neva Sterling to placate the elders and prepare for battle, Eleanor resolved to enter the forbidden land and claim her inheritance. She was certain it was the only path forward.
Neva protested her sudden decision, but in the end she understood... without the sword, the kingdom stood no chance against the might arrayed at its borders. They might fend off one army, but doing so would expose the other fronts. And even if they repelled the Troll King, the others would strike the mont their forces weakened.
At last, with a heavy heart, Neva agreed to Eleanor’s plan. While Eleanor attempted to gain the inheritance, Neva would ready the armies for war. Whether Eleanor erged from the forbidden land in ti or not, the Wolf Kingdom would stand against the Troll King’s advance.
When Eleanor reached the land behind the castle, an ominous sight greeted her. No signboard was needed; the thick, unnatural mist was warning enough.
Leaving Neva standing at the edge, Eleanor stepped forward.
She walked into the forbidden land with steady confidence. Yet the mont she crossed into the mist, a cold tremor ran through her. She had not felt such a sensation for a long ti... a primal fear curling around her from every direction.
Eleanor recognised it at once: this was the influence of the formation guarding the outer region. If she wished to pass through unscathed, she would have to rely on the Thunder Style Phantom Arts. As long as she executed the techniques correctly, she would be safe.
She suddenly felt a tingling prickle along her spine. She didn’t need to look... soone was behind her. Her body blurred into the mist, dissolving for a heartbeat before reappearing behind the attacker. Illusory Phantom. Her fist crashed into the back of the man’s skull, lightning sparking on impact. His solid form dissolved instantly, turning into mist that swirled back into the fog.
That was only the beginning.
The once-still fog grew restless, coiling and shifting like sothing breathing around her. Eleanor steadied herself, controlling each inhale and exhale. The fear in her gut hadn’t disappeared, but she let it sharpen her focus. This formation existed to kill anyone in its periter and she refused to be its prey.
A faint whisper of air brushed her left side. She didn’t look. Her footwork activated instinctively... Speed Phantom. In a flash she slid two steps forward, the air behind her splitting with the swing of a grey sword that would have taken her head. Even while moving, she spun sharply, lightning humming along her arm as she struck. Her fist pierced into the attacker’s chest using Internal Feasting Phantom, compressing all her power to a needle-like point. Lightning erupted from within him. He, too, dissolved into mist.
Before she fully exhaled, two more figures surged out of the fog, blades raised overhead in a heavy downward strike.
Eleanor dropped low and swept her leg, using Counterweight Phantom. She didn’t block the swords. She struck one attacker’s leg, destabilising him. His swing collapsed sideways and slamd into his partner instead.
While they staggered, Eleanor was already gone from their sight. Lightning coursed around her hands. She struck one in the head, the other in the chest... a fluid blend of Soul Stealing Phantom and Internal Feasting Phantom.
Both forms burst into pale mist and vanished.
She didn’t wait for the next wave. Step by step, she pushed forward. The fog pressed against her as though it had weight, slowing each movent. Every step felt harder than the last.
The next attacker didn’t simply appear... he flickered in and out of the mist, striking the instant he took shape. A sword flashed at her throat, but she was already gone. Illusory Phantom. Her afterimage took the blow while she slipped behind him... only to find the space empty. Pain lanced across her upper arm as a blade grazed her from nowhere. Lightning crackled over her skin to seal the cut. Gritting her teeth, she pressed on, deflecting and dodging every new threat.
Ti lost aning in the endless white shroud. Her muscles burned from constant shifts into the Speed Phantom. Her lightning was thinning; she had been forced to use the Soul Stealing Phantom several more tis to break through the strongest mist-warriors.
Then four attackers erged at once, forming a perfect square around her. They moved in unison, their blades weaving a cage of steel. No angle to redirect. No gap for a counter. They were a closing wall, intent on crushing her where she stood.
Eleanor acted on instinct. She drew a sharp breath and summoned the last of her strength. Illusory Phantom... but not in a single direction. She moved so quickly she left three faint, shimring copies of herself within the tightening square. For a heartbeat, the mist-warriors faltered, unsure which was real.
With a shout, she unleashed the Soul Stealing Phantom, spinning in a full circle. A reckless move, pure offence. Lightning burst from her in a blazing ring. All four attackers were struck together. The blast hurled Eleanor backwards, slamming her onto the ground as she fought for breath.
The four warriors didn’t just fade... they shattered into nothing. And, for the first ti, the mist retreated.
It was a heavy, complete silence. The only sound was her own rough breathing. She pushed herself up onto her hands and knees, waiting for another attack. Nothing ca. The dangerous tension that had gripped the air dissolved. The mist thinned from a suffocating wall to drifting threads.
She had done it. She had passed the test.
Using the last of her strength, Eleanor forced herself to her feet and walked forward. With each step, the mist shrank away, until it vanished entirely.
The change was so sudden it almost stunned her. One mont she was surrounded by a grey world of cold and death; the next, she stood beneath warm, golden sunlight. She blinked rapidly, her eyes stinging after so long in the gloom.
Before her stretched a paradise. A vast, rolling field unfurled in colours so vivid they felt like a balm to her weary soul. The grass beneath her feet was a lush, erald green... soft, cool, almost comforting. Wildflowers scattered across the adow like precious jewels: sapphire bluebells, crimson poppies, golden buttercups swaying gently in a sweet-scented breeze. The air itself was different here... clean, alive, carrying the rich fragrance of damp earth and blooming nectar.
Slender trees with silver bark and leaves of gold and copper were dotted across the landscape, their branches casting soft, dappled shade over clusters of exotic, trumpet-shaped flowers. A gentle, lodic hum drifted from plump, jewel-toned bees as they floated from bloom to bloom. In the distance, a crystal-clear stream wound lazily through the adow, its quiet burbling a soothing counterpoint to the mory of clashing steel.
And at the heart of this idyllic realm rose a hill. Not tall, but graceful, crowned with a grove of trees whose leaves shimred in a breathtaking mosaic of deep purples, fiery oranges, and rich magentas. It called to her. This was the core.
Every movent sent a ripple of protest through her exhausted body; her muscles felt like lead, her spirit frayed to threads. Yet a new resolve, awakened by the sheer beauty surrounding her, urged her onward. She walked through the field, the grass brushing softly against her legs, the peace of this place slowly draining the tension from her shoulders. The long battle in the mist began to feel like a distant, fevered nightmare.
Eleanor walked up the hill. The colourful trees arched overhead, their leaves casting shifting patterns of light and shadow across the path. From here, she could see the whole breathtaking realm. A perfect, hidden heaven tucked inside the deadly forbidden land. The air was pure. The quiet was profound.
As she reached the top, a flat, grassy circle revealed itself. At its centre sat an elegant, green-skinned woman, her body draped in leaves and vines, seated cross-legged in serene stillness.
Her eyes were closed, yet Eleanor felt scrutinised... as if the spirit were peering straight through flesh and bone, seeing her soul laid bare. Instinct told her this was the spirit of the sword.
While Eleanor hesitated, unsure how to proceed, the spirit opened her eyes and said, "A Stormfang has co at last. I thought my land had passed into history with your predecessor."
Eleanor bowed quickly. "Greetings, spirit of the land. I am the new Queen of the Werewolf Kingdom."
The spirit rose with slow, graceful majesty. She was much taller than Eleanor, her feet uncoiling from the vines that had held her to the earth. With each step she took towards Eleanor, flowers burst into bloom beneath her.
Standing before her, the spirit placed a cool, gentle hand upon Eleanor’s head.
Eleanor’s vision shifted instantly. She saw a bird’s-eye view of the castle... its full grandeur revealed to her for the first ti. The fortress stood atop a vast mountain, proud and ancient. Before she could fully admire the sight, the vision swept on. She saw bustling cities, dense forests, sprawling training barracks, and people of many races carrying out their daily tasks. Then she saw the armies gathered just beyond the kingdom’s boundary.
She saw the entirety of the Kingdom, and she understood exactly where the border lay.
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