A/N~ Yeah, I know it's short, but I promise something lengthier and more exciting in the next chapter. It should be up this week.
The Wise One released the Obsidian's neck and watched as his lifeless body crumpled as though dead, arms and legs hitting the stone floor at strange angles.
"Their leader is the poor Obsidian who failed to attempt to take my life," The Wise One faced Sagaciter, but his words seemed to point at himself. "He calls himself 'Mortem'—such a suitable name for one who causes death. They are planning a full-on attack with all Obsidian in attempt to tear us down. They caught Serpo in the process of taking back the power. They're both being held in the same castle."
"Shall we send an army to free him?" Sagaciter leaned towards the door, as if preparing for another battle.
"No," The Wise One whirled around and made his way to the exit of the altar. "If they are as dangerous as they seem with the power, we need all our Ancients to regroup and prepare for war. This may be the last battle we will encounter, and we must ensure victory will be ours." The Wise One called upon Gladius and ordered him to assemble all Ancients dwelling in the castle and villages nearby.
"Sagaciter, remain in the altar until I return," The Wise One made his way to the altar's exit. "There is something I must do."
The Wise One didn't believe in ghosts. Dead men stayed in the grave. But the tunnels crisscrossing underneath the castle, echoing with rustling, whispering sounds made him think otherwise. The torch he held casted skittish shadows on the gray stone walls. Moisture dripped low from the ceiling, and The Wise One thought of blood. The corridors reeked of earth and rainwater, and he thought of graves.
He had to do this. If the entire Obsidian army was planning a war—a war that would mean the end of the Ancients and everything—he needed to be prepared for what was to come. Those Obsidian are amateurs at using the power. The Wise One knew the consequences if the power raged out of control.
He moved deeper into the dark corridors, making left and right turns as he remembered the way to get there. He stopped when he came to a dead end, but he knew he was in the right place. He traced his hand over the cold stone wall, placed it in the center, and murmured an ancient chant under his breath.
Creases and gaps in the stone began to form the shape of a rectangle, and white light began to peer through the folds. A stone door materialized out of the wall, and it sunk back before moving out of his way. A circular chamber with a locked chest in the center stood before him.
Careful not to step on any of the traps set up, The Wise One made his way to the sealed chest, producing a gold key that hung around his neck and unlocked it. A sliver of air escaped the chest, but The Wise One focused on grabbing the two books that lay inside. He checked their red and green leather-bound covers front and back before scanning through their contents. He tucked them away in the folds of his cloak and shut the chest before making his way back to draw out the battle plan.