Storms gathered above the shattered spires of Al'Theras.
The old gods had not spoken in ages — not since they buried Vaeren Tenebris beneath the world.
But now, the skies trembled again. The divine still watched, still remembered. And one of them — cloaked in stars and silence — whispered across dimensions.
"He walks again. The shadow we could not kill."
—
In the Ashen Wastes
Lyssara followed him.
She had no sword, no spells, no power. Only instinct and wonder. She spoke rarely, only when the wind allowed it.
"That place you destroyed… it was Imperial, wasn't it?"
Vaeren didn't answer.
She didn't press. But she remembered.
—
They traveled through the ruins of dead kingdoms, broken god-statues, and wastelands scorched in ancient wars. Every so often, Lyssara would pause, sketch something in a ragged notebook.
Vaeren finally noticed.
"What is that?"
"A record," she said simply.
"For who?"
"For the world. Or… for no one."
He looked away.
"The world doesn't deserve records."
But he didn't stop her.
Not this time.