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Chapter 1, Part 4: The Shadow-Beast Attack

  A piercing, anguished screech split the chaos of the mess hall—a sound like metal tearing and bone snapping. In that split second, the heavy doors burst open, and a shadow-beast surged into view. Its form was a writhing mass of darkness and jagged claws, mandibles clicking in a grim, relentless rhythm. The creature’s presence tore through the tenuous safety of Iron Hold, shattering the fragile calm with each resounding step.

  Pots clattered and shelves trembled as terrified children scattered like moths before a flame. Amid the bedlam, Lira’s voice rang out, cutting through the din with practiced urgency: “Now—move!” She grabbed a hand, pulling those nearest into a huddle behind a toppled shelf. In the midst of the melee, Dax’s rapid whispers—counting seconds and guards—formed a heartbeat of calculation: “Two minutes, fifty-two seconds—go!”

  Eli’s binding spell surged against his skin; the cold, relentless chain pulsed hotter along his neck. In that moment, a burst of golden light leapt from his fingertips—a spark of raw, elemental power that startled him even as it ignited the air. His pulse pounded, and his mind reeled between terror and a growing, inexplicable defiance.

  Drawing him aside into a quieter alcove behind a shattered column, Lira locked eyes with him. Her storm-gray gaze was intense, brimming with both warning and an almost tender urgency. “Eli,” she began, voice low enough to be lost amid the chaos, “listen carefully. What you just felt—that spark, that burst of light—is not random. It’s a glimpse of something called Elting—Elemental Threadweaving.”

  Eli’s brow furrowed as he tried to grasp her words. “Elting?” he whispered, his voice trembling with both confusion and awe.

  Lira nodded, her fingers lightly caressing the smooth pebble that was as much her talisman as her silent promise of hope. “Yes,” she said softly, her tone reverent, as if speaking of an ancient rite. “Long ago, our world was torn apart by a cataclysm—a rupture in the Loom of Creation itself, where cosmic forces wove our reality. That disaster fractured the natural mana—fire, water, earth, air, spirit, even chaos—into threads that still flow through everything. Only those with a weaver’s spark—awakened by trauma or born of it—can tap into these primordial threads. When our binding spells push us to the edge, the fear and defiance mix with that raw mana, and that’s when Elting occurs. Your spark, Eli, is your innate power trying to break free, to reconnect with the elemental forces that built this shattered world.”

  Her words, quiet yet filled with conviction, settled over him like a mantle. “So… when my magic flares, it’s because I’m channeling the very fabric of creation?” he asked, voice edged with wonder and uncertainty.

  “Exactly,” Lira replied, her eyes softening. “But it’s dangerous, uncontrolled Elting can unravel you—or worse, invite the Krev’s corruption. That’s why we must learn to harness it, to weave our own fate with these threads of elemental mana. Every surge, every spark, is both a gift and a burden. But if you master it, it might be the key to breaking free from these chains.”

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  Before Eli could process her words further, the shriek of the shadow-beast returned—a cacophony of snapping claws and the scrape of stone. The creature’s claws tore through the wall, and the hall trembled with its furious advance. Lira’s explanation had kindled in him not just confusion, but a fragile hope. That hope, however, was quickly challenged as the beast lunged at a guard, its claws slicing through the air. Blood sprayed in a gruesome arc, the sound mingling with Goruk’s roar as he charged in, his whip lashing with dark, writhing threads.

  The beast’s attack threw the room into pandemonium. Amid the chaos, Finn darted through the fray, his small hands clutching his crafted lockpick, while Dax’s murmured countdowns continued to mark time with urgent precision. Lira, ever the steady guide, kept a protective hand on Eli, urging him to focus on controlling the sudden surge of his magic.

  “Remember what I said,” Lira murmured urgently as she pulled him behind a fallen bench. “Elting is your gift—but you must never let it control you. Listen to that spark. Feel the elemental threads—fire’s heat, water’s flow, earth’s weight, air’s swift whisper, and even the chaotic pulse of raw mana. They’re calling out to you. Harness that power before it harnesses you.”

  Eli’s heart hammered in his chest as he tried to steady his breath. He could almost feel the vibrant pulse of elemental threads beneath his skin, a silent orchestra of power longing to be woven into something new. In that brief, dangerous lull, he realized that the binding spell, as oppressive as it was, might also be the catalyst for his transformation—a potential bridge to reclaiming the magic stolen from him.

  As the shadow-beasts and guards clashed in a tumult of noise and fury, Goruk reappeared—a looming figure with eyes that betrayed both cruelty and sorrow. His whip lashed out with a ferocity that momentarily drove back the creatures, his actions a chaotic blend of duty and inner torment. For one fleeting second, his gaze softened as he watched the struggle—a silent acknowledgement of loss and regret—before hardening again to issue orders.

  The chaos eventually receded, the beasts retreating into the dark recesses of the hall, leaving behind shattered stone and a palpable silence. Eli’s hands trembled—not solely from fear, but from the exhilarating taste of that raw, elemental power. Lira, still holding his gaze, pressed her pebble into his palm once more. “Keep it safe,” she said, voice resolute. “That spark, that Elting—it’s part of who you are. Learn to guide it, and maybe one day, it’ll be the key to our freedom.”

  In the heavy aftermath, as the scattered cries and dying echoes of the attack faded into a sorrowful quiet, Eli understood that his journey was just beginning. The binding spell’s weight remained, a constant reminder of his captivity, yet the spark of Elting now burned within him—a promise of both potential and peril. Amid the ruin and the lingering threat of the Krev, a fragile rebellion was kindling—a rebellion woven from the elemental threads of creation and the defiant spirit of a boy determined to reclaim his lost magic.

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