CHAPTER 3
EXT. GREENHEARTH MOUNTAIN TRAILS – DAY
The party rides along winding paths through rolling green hills, the sun breaking softly through scattered clouds above. The air here is cleaner, cooler — touched with pine and damp earth. Wildflowers bloom in bursts of colour along the trail’s edge, and the chirping of distant birds replaces the silence of cursed woods and haunted towns. They pass the mouths of old caves, half-swallowed by time and moss, and the crumbling stones of forgotten ruins, their purpose lost to the ages but beautiful in decay.
As the trail winds higher into the forested mountains, the trees grow taller, richer — not like the brittle, lifeless groves of the Ashen Pines, but vibrant and alive. Shafts of golden light filter through the canopy, and for the first time in a long while, the path feels... peaceful. Reaching a high ridge, they pause. From here, the world opens.
To the north: a sea of endless greenery, stretching far into the horizon. Behind them, below: the haunting outline of the Ashen Pines, the coastline curling in a silver ribbon along the sea, and the tiny speck of Dunmere, almost peaceful in the distance.
CASSIAN (looking back, quietly impressed)
“Well... I’ll admit. This is a nice change.”
SERENA (softly)
“It feels... untouched. Like the world forgot to ruin this place.”
LUCIUS (quiet, reflective)
“I used to ride these hills... years ago. When things were… simpler.”
He looks out over the horizon, eyes distant — The wind moves gently through the grass, carrying the scent of pine and wildflowers.
LUCIUS
“Campfires. Cold mornings. Laughter...”
He glances back, a flicker of warmth breaking through the usual steel in his expression.
CASSIAN
“Was that a smile I just saw?”
LUCIUS
“Not all my memories are shadows.”
His voice softens.
CASSIAN (after a beat, tilting his head)
“Hard to picture you laughing, if I’m being honest. Brooding in silence, sure. Scowling into a fire, absolutely. But laughing?”
He grins, then quickly adds before Lucius can cut him down—
CASSIAN
“I’m not saying it’s impossible. Just... surprising.”
LUCIUS (dryly, but not unkind)
“I used to be someone else. A long time ago.”
SERENA (gently)
“Weren’t we all.”
A silence settles — not heavy, but reflective. The horses tread onward as the ridge winds into deeper woods.
SERENA (after a moment)
“Do you ever wish you could go back? Before all this?”
LUCIUS (quietly)
“Wishing doesn’t change what’s burned behind you.”
CASSIAN (leaning back in his saddle)
“No, but sometimes it helps warm the road ahead.”
That earns him a glance from Lucius — not quite approval, but not dismissal either. A rare middle ground.
LUCIUS
“Careful, Cassian. Almost sounded wise for a second.”
CASSIAN (grinning)
“Gods forbid.”
They continue on, hooves crunching gravel beneath them, the mountains welcoming them with a quiet majesty. A brief reprieve from the darkness trailing at their heels.
EXT. GREENHEARTH MOUNTAIN TRAILS – NIGHTFALL
The party has set up camp deep in the forest. A small fire crackles. Lucius sharpens his blade, Serena tends to a small pot of stew, and Cassian reclines on a log, whittling a stick. The shadows stretch long beyond the firelight.]
CASSIAN
“You haven’t mentioned who you were before the Order. Guessing there’s a reason.”
Lucius watches the fire, quiet for a long moment, reflecting on their journey, without looking up, his voice low and honest.
LUCIUS
“I served the crown. Under King Edward—Roderic’s father. I was an Inquisitor. Our job was to root out threats to the crown, But we didn’t need proof. Just an accusation... and a name.”
Cassian remains silent, listening.
LUCIUS
“We called it justice. I led burnings. Executions. Just because someone whispered the wrong prayer or owned the wrong book. I believed I was protecting the realm. Until I realized the darkness wasn’t in the hunted—it was in the hands holding the torch.”
Serena and Cassian are silent.
LUCIUS
“I left after a child died by our command. A boy no older than ten... I still see his face.”
Serena (gently, with quiet understanding)
“That kind of grief never really leaves, does it?”
LUCIUS
“I wandered. Empty. Until Elias found me. The Order didn’t welcome me with open arms—they tested me. Reforged me in the light of their creed. I learned their ways. Learned restraint. Mercy. Purpose.”
CASSIAN
“Faith?”
LUCIUS (quietly)
“He saved me.”
A pause lingers between Cassian and Serena, the weight of Lucius’s words settling over them.
Lucius reaches into a pocket in his cloak, fingers brushing a locket—his wife's. He sits in silence for a moment.
CASSIAN (with a raised brow, half-grinning)
“I thought you said it wasn’t all shadows.”
A faint smile touches Lucius’s lips, but it fades quickly.
LUCIUS
“I was married once. Elira... Closest thing to an angel I’ve ever known.”
A silence stretches. Something in Lucius’s voice shifts—just enough to hint at a deeper pain still buried beneath the surface.
Cassian opens his mouth, then hesitates. For once, the words don’t come. He sees it—whatever Lucius carries—and chooses not to press further.
LUCIUS
“Let’s get some rest. The temple’s getting closer.”
EXT. GREENHEARTH MOUNTAIN TRAILS – DAWN
Morning breaks over the valley, golden light spilling across the horizon. Mist clings to the lowlands as the sun rises, casting a soft glow over the distant hills. There, nestled against the sloping ridge, a silhouette emerges through the morning haze—a grand castle built into the side of the mountain.
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LUCIUS (with quiet reverence)
“There it is... the Temple of the Celestial Order.”
The party follows a winding road, the scenery around them growing more serene—ancient trees arching overhead, wildflowers brushing their boots, the air crisp with dew and memory. As they draw closer, the temple reveals itself fully. Once proud and radiant, it now wears the touch of time. Ivy clings to stonework, vines drape over marble archways, and moss softens the lines of weathered statues. Yet despite the decay, its majesty remains—a holy relic wrapped in the arms of nature. At the gate, tall iron braziers still hold the glow of smoldering coals. Thin ribbons of smoke rise into the morning air.
LUCIUS (quietly, almost to himself)
“It’s different to what I remember, how long has it been?”
CASSIAN (half-whispering)
“Someone still tends the flame.”
They share a glance, the silence heavy with anticipation. Lucius steps forward, his hand resting briefly on the worn gate.
With a creak and a push, the door opens. The party crosses the threshold and steps inside the forgotten sanctuary.
INT. TEMPLE OF THE CELESTIAL ORDER – MORNING
Inside, the temple is quiet. Dust hangs in slanted shafts of sunlight, filtering through cracked stained glass. The air smells faintly of old incense and damp stone. Though time has worn at the structure, it’s clear someone has kept it from collapse. The floors have been swept. Candles sit in wall sconces, some freshly burned. Books, though few, are neatly stacked on tables.
They move through the grand hall, footsteps echoing against vaulted ceilings. Statues of forgotten saints’ line the corridor, their faces weathered, their names lost. As they near the altar at the far end, a voice breaks the silence behind them—calm, knowing, threaded with a smile.
ELIAS (dry, with wry affection)
“I never thought I’d hear your boots echo in these halls again, Lucius. Still dragging trouble in behind you, I see.”
The party turns. There, standing in the shadow of a column, is an older man in a threadbare cloak. His beard is streaked with silver, and his eyes—sharp, perceptive, they gleam with restrained warmth.
LUCIUS (a rare smile tugging at his lips)
“Some things never change.”
ELIAS (stepping forward)
“And yet here you are—changed more than most. Come. Let us speak before the shadows creep in.”
INT. TEMPLE OF THE CELESTIAL ORDER – INNER LIBRARY CHAMBER – DAY
Elias leads them through a set of tall, creaking doors into a grand circular chamber. Bookshelves rise to a vaulted ceiling, filled with ancient tomes, scrolls bound in cracked leather, and parchments etched with faded glyphs. Dust dances in shafts of golden light piercing the stained glass. An ornate table stands at the centre, strewn with maps, relic fragments, and unsealed letters.
ELIAS
"This way.”
Lucius steps inside slowly, his eyes tracing the room with a complex mixture of awe and sorrow. He runs a gloved hand over the edge of the table, fingers brushing parchment like it’s a ghost from another life.
LUCIUS (softly)
"This place… isn’t as I remember, old friend."
Elias offers a faint, melancholic smile.
ELIAS
"Neither is the Order as you remember. We have unravelled… Slowly at first. Doubt took root in the hearts of men who once stood unwavering. They feared irrelevance more than they feared darkness. One by one, they left. Some returned to the kingdoms. Others disappeared chasing visions.”
He walks to a shelf, removing a leather-bound volume with the insignia of the Celestial Order—now dulled and barely visible.
ELIAS (cont’d)
"We are but a shadow now. Just myself... and two others."
Lucius glances up.
LUCIUS
"Who?"
Elias places the book down, his expression growing distant.
ELIAS
“Myself… Brother Merin, who resides in Stonevale… and Brother Hadric. Both exceptional Clerics."
Lucius turns to face him recognising a name.
LUCIUS
"Hadric, where is he now?"
Elias moves to the map, his fingers tracing a northern path—past Stonevale, beyond the mountains that divide the continent.
ELIAS
"He’s on a pilgrimage. Headed northeast, beyond the Valspire Mountains, seeking answers. He believes something ancient has breached into the Veil."
SERENA
"The Veil? You mean the Elven lands?"
Elias nods.
ELIAS (cont’d)
"The Dwarves uncovered something within Karzak-Dum. Buried deep beneath its stone. He believed the relic unearthed was not dwarven. That it was a key, that ties the realms. He believes it is what allows demons to pass through uninvited… no longer needing broken souls to slip through."
A silence settles over the chamber, heavy with implication.
Lucius’s eyes narrow, the weight of Elias’s words clearly settling in.
LUCIUS
"Serena. Show him."
Serena steps forward, unslinging the satchel from her shoulder with quiet urgency. She unfastens the clasp and pulls free a dark, rune-etched container—the relic vault Lucius had previously sealed. The hum of the contained energy is faint, but unmistakable. Even with the lid closed, something inside pulses with restrained power. She places it gently on the table. Elias watches, his brow furrowing.
SERENA (quietly)
"It was in Haldrin’s manor."
Lucius steps beside the vault and undoes the runic bindings, the lid clicks open.
Inside lies the crimson stone—jagged, humming faintly with a heartbeat of light, as though it breathes. Wisps of red energy coil around it like smoke underwater.
Elias stares at it, transfixed. Then he exhales—a slow, uneasy breath.
ELIAS (voice low, almost reverent)
"Then it is true."
LUCIUS
"You know what this is?"
ELIAS (nodding grimly)
"Only from whispers in the oldest tomes. But there’s no mistaking it."
He reaches out slowly, fingers stopping just short of touching it.
ELIAS (cont’d)
"This is an Umbral Shard, one of seven when the first breach occurred—long before the founding of the Order. These stones are not made. They are left behind. Scars in the world… fragments that exist between the realms."
SERENA
"It called to something. When we first found it."
ELIAS
"These shards are not passive. They attract those who listen. Those who hunger. They want to be found."
He looks to Lucius, eyes sharp now.
ELIAS (cont’d)
"Where there is one, there are others. Alone they are powerful enough to forge a gateway between realms. And if all are reassembled, the gate for their lord is made whole again...”
CASSIAN (quietly)
"Then we’re not dealing with just demons anymore."
ELIAS
"No. Then we’re dealing with whatever commands them."
Suddenly, a low hum rises in the silence — faint at first, like a sigh beneath the earth. The sound blooms from the sealed container resting near Elias, a soft but undeniable vibration pulsing through the stone table.
Lucius stiffens.
The relic’s dull surface begins to glow faintly, as though something within had stirred from slumber. The air thickens around it — not hot, but heavy, like breath held too long.
Elias steps forward, his expression darkening.
ELIAS
“It’s waking… faster than I’d hoped.”
Lucius turns to him.
LUCIUS
“Why now?”
Elias’s gaze lingers on the container, jaw set.
ELIAS
“Because it may no longer be alone… One of its brothers… may have already been found.”
Lucius closes the chest, re-sealing the bindings with a short incantation. The hum fades.
LUCIUS (grimly)
"This isn’t possession or corruption. It’s an invasion."
Elias nods solemnly.
ELIAS
"And the war may have already begun."
[CINEMATIC CUTSCENE – THE VEILSPRE MOUNTAINS & THE VEIL]
EXT. VALESPIRE MOUNTAINS – NIGHT
A sweeping aerial shot soars over the snow-laced peaks of the Valespire Mountains, their jagged forms cutting against a moonlit sky. Thunder rumbles low in the clouds. A faint red glow pulses in the distance, near the northeastern edge of the range. The camera glides toward it.
EXT. THE VEIL – ELVEN LANDS – CONTINUOUS
On the other side of the mountains, the camera crests a ridge—revealing the ethereal beauty of the Veil. Verdant forests shimmer with silver-leafed trees and crystalline rivers cut across wildflower-draped valleys. The architecture is ancient and elegant—woven with nature, glowing faintly with runic enchantments.
Suddenly—a low, cracking sound echoes across the valley. The sky above the highlands split. A rift—jagged, violent—tears across the air like shattered glass. Energy surges from the rupture, crackling red and black like lightning in water. A PORTAL rips open in midair, pulsing with chaotic magic. From its centre, demons begin to pour forth—twisted creatures of fang and claw, winged horrors with eyes like coals, howling as they descend upon the elven lands.
Behind them, on a floating shard of stone at the edge of the rift, stands a dark figure. Cloaked, face hidden, one arm extended. In his hand: an Umbral Shard, pulsing with the same energy as the relic Lucius now carries. The figure watches silently as the chaos unfolds.
EXT. THE ELVEN FRONTLINES – MOMENTS LATER
The camera cuts to a massive elven city—Faelwyn, crowned in light. Horns blare. Bells toll. Elven warriors march into position—rows upon rows of finely armored fighters, faces grim and resolute. Their helms are crowned with silver. Blades shimmer with moonlight. Spellcasters channel protective wards into the sky. Banners of starlight ripple in the rising wind.
In the distance, the portal pulses again—larger now, and growing.
The sky darkens.
COMMANDER OF THE VEIL (elven, regal, steely voiced)
“Hold ranks. Let none cross!”
A moment of silence.
Then—
A SIGNAL HORN BLARES.
VOLLEYS RELEASE.
Hundreds of elven archers—lined across carved marble battlements and high forest platforms—loose arrows in perfect synchronicity. Shafts of whitewood streak through the sky, glowing with enchantments, raining down on the charging demonic horde.
Spellcasters, standing in sacred circles etched into the earth, begin to chant. Glyphs ignite around them in radiant hues—wards of protection, beams of light, chains of binding. Searing magic tears through the frontlines, pinning demons mid-charge and reducing them to ash. The impact is brutal. Demons scream, their forms torn apart in explosions of black flame and shattered bone. The ground scorches with every corpse that falls.
But the tide doesn’t stop. More come. Hundreds. Thousands. The rift continues to expand—twisting wider, like a wound in the world. The dark figure at its edge raises his free hand. A wave of shadow erupts from the shard in his grasp—rushing forward like smoke and fire, snuffing out magic wards, disrupting formations, and hurling elven mages through the air.
Cut to black.
