The doors opened with a hollow groan.
The Throned Chamber was quiet. The thirteen rulers stood tall, their presence vast and ancient. They had gathered to speak of the Eight — children born beyond fate.
But what came through the door was not one of them.
It was a woman — breathless, rain-drenched, clutching a newborn swaddled in deep crimson silk.
She fell to her knees before Elder Solarin, voice shaking but firm.
"Please… I was told to bring her to you. Her name is Isara. Her father… Naemir… is dead."
The name struck Solarin like thunder. His breath stilled. His voice faltered.
"…Naemir?"
One of the rulers stepped forward, his crown of storms humming with energy.
"Who is Naemir?"
The woman looked up with tears in her eyes.
"He was your brother."
The chamber erupted in whispers, shock spilling like cracks through stone. The Watcher of Worlds — with a brother? None had ever known.
Solarin lowered his head, memories stirring. "I thought… he had no children."
The woman shook her head.
"He had two. Isara, here… and Serenya. But Serenya… she was lost. She found a strange item while playing, a relic. The moment she touched it… she was gone. Taken to another place. I could not follow."
A heavy silence pressed down upon them. Then, with trembling hands, she drew something from her neck.
A pendant.
A small, ancient sigil of silver and gold, pulsing faintly with inner light.
"This was Naemir's gift. It is the only heirloom left of his house. He said it must pass to his daughters. To keep them safe."
The moment the rulers saw it, they recoiled.
The Lord of Lightning's sparks went wild, the Sea King trembled like a storm-tide, the Warden of Ice clenched the arms of his throne until frost split the stone.
"That mark…" the Lightning Lord hissed. "It belongs to a line that should have perished."
"It is the sigil of Asharim," the Sea King whispered. "The blood we destroyed with our own hands."
Gasps rippled. Shadows twisted. Flames guttered.
All but one reacted.
Aurelia, the Aurora Sentinel, remained silent. Her radiant eyes did not waver. She simply stared at the pendant, at the child, at Solarin — and said nothing.
Elder Solarin closed his eyes, his voice heavy.
"Not destroyed," he said. "Hidden."
And as he cradled Isara close, the truth struck every throne in that chamber:
If Naemir carried the Asharim sigil, then Elder Solarin — his brother — was Asharim as well.
The Watcher of Worlds was no mere observer.
He was the blood of the forgotten house they had erased.
And in his arms, their legacy lived on.
End of Chapter 5 – The Heir They Never Expected