As the clock struck midnight, Elias and Lord Valerius set out for the ruined temple. They rode on horseback through the dark and silent forest, the only sound the rhythmic beat of hooves on the forest floor. The air was heavy with anticipation, the moon casting long, distorted shadows that seemed to writhe and twist around them.
As they approached the temple, they dismounted and proceeded on foot, their senses on high alert. The temple was a crumbling ruin, its stone walls covered in moss and ivy, its entrance guarded by two ancient, gnarled trees that seemed to reach out like skeletal arms.
As they stepped inside, they were met by a scene of eerie tranquility. The temple was bathed in the silvery light of the moon, illuminating a central altar where a group of figures stood chanting in a low, guttural tone. The figures were clad in dark robes, their faces hidden by hoods.
"The Dracul," Lord Valerius whispered, his voice filled with hatred. "They are already performing the ritual."
He drew his sword and charged towards the altar, Elias following close behind. The Dracul turned to face them, their chanting growing louder, their eyes glowing with an unholy light.
A battle ensued, a chaotic clash of steel and magic. Lord Valerius fought with a ferocity that belied his age, his sword a blur of silver, his movements swift and deadly. Elias fought with a courage he didn't know he possessed, his sword and dagger finding their mark with surprising accuracy.
But the Dracul were powerful, their magic potent and their numbers overwhelming. Elias and Lord Valerius were quickly surrounded, their backs against the crumbling walls of the temple.
Just when it seemed that all hope was lost, a figure emerged from the shadows, a figure Elias recognized instantly. It was Stefan, the steward, his face pale and drawn, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and determination.
"Stefan!" Elias exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"
Stefan drew a sword from beneath his cloak and stepped forward, his gaze fixed on the Dracul. "I'm here to help you," he said, his voice firm. "I have served the Valerius family for many years, and I will not stand by and watch them be destroyed."
Elias and Lord Valerius exchanged a look of surprise and gratitude. With Stefan by their side, they renewed their attack, their spirits lifted by the unexpected alliance.
The tide of the battle began to turn. Stefan fought with a skill and ferocity that belied his gentle demeanor, his sword finding its mark with deadly precision. Together, Elias, Lord Valerius, and Stefan fought their way through the ranks of the Dracul, their courage and determination pushing them forward.
But just when it seemed that victory was within their grasp, a figure stepped forward from the shadows, a figure that made Elias's blood run cold. It was a woman, her face hidden by a mask, her eyes glowing with an unholy light.
She raised her hands and spoke a word of power, a word that made the very air crackle with energy. A wave of force erupted from her, throwing Elias, Lord Valerius, and Stefan backwards, slamming them against the walls of the temple.
As Elias struggled to his feet, he saw the woman approach Lord Valerius, her eyes filled with a malevolent glee. "It is time for you to fulfill your destiny, Valerius," she said, her voice cold and cruel. "The ritual must be completed, and you are the key."
She raised a dagger above Lord Valerius's head, preparing to strike the fatal blow. But just as she was about to strike, Stefan lunged forward, his sword aimed at the woman's heart.
The woman turned to face Stefan, her eyes filled with contempt. "You fool," she said. "You think you can stop me? You are nothing but a pawn in my game."
She raised her hand and spoke another word of power, a word that made Stefan cry out in pain. A bolt of energy struck Stefan, throwing him backwards, his body collapsing to the ground.
Elias rushed to Stefan's side, his heart filled with fear. "Stefan!" he cried. "Are you alright?"
Stefan looked up at Elias, his eyes filled with pain and regret. "I'm sorry, Master Elias," he whispered. "I tried… but I failed."
He reached out and took Elias's hand, his grip weak and trembling. "Trust no one," he said, his voice barely audible. "Not even…"
His voice trailed off, his eyes glazed over, and his hand went limp in Elias's. Stefan was dead.