The wind that swept across Eldaris that morning was wrong.
It didn't carry the crisp clarity of mountain air, nor the rich scent of elven groves or the metallic tang of the forge-fires of Ironspine. Instead, it bore a quiet dread—like a breath held too long by the world itself. High atop the Sunspire, Solandria's tallest tower, Prince Alden Solvar stood watching the eastern horizon as the golden morning light flickered… then bent unnaturally, as if shying away from something unseen.
The light returned a moment later, but Alden had already seen it. A ripple in the sky, barely visible, like a mirror cracked across the heavens. It lasted only a breath, but it was enough to confirm the rumors.
The Veil was weakening.
Behind him, the sound of armored boots echoed across the marbled floor as Commander Liraine approached. Her armor bore the deep blue and gold of Solandria's Royal Guard, and though her posture was formal, her voice betrayed urgency.
"Your Highness," she said, offering a shallow bow. "The anomaly near the Greyfold River has expanded again. Witnesses report animals walking backward, rain falling skyward… and a shepherd who vanished only to return an hour later, aged thirty years."
Alden turned slowly, his brow furrowed. His silver-edged cloak fluttered in the wind, and his ocean-blue eyes, so like his father's, were filled with quiet storm.
"Send scholars from the Academy of Starsight. And call a meeting of the Council of Realms," he said. "We can no longer pretend this is coincidence."
Liraine hesitated. "That may prove difficult. The Dwarves closed the northern pass two weeks ago. Queen Freya's messengers have gone silent. And… there's word that Sylvaran druids are abandoning their circles and heading east, claiming to be 'drawn by the call of the Forgotten Roots.'"
Alden said nothing for a long moment. The sky shifted again above them, just a flicker. But he could feel it now, as if the very air quivered beneath reality.
The world was unraveling.
Far across the sea of trees and runed roads, deep within Sylvaran, Princess Elira knelt beside an ancient obelisk, half-consumed by ivy, its carvings worn smooth by time. A soft pulse of light beat from within it like a heartbeat.
"Another one," she whispered, brushing moss from its surface. The runes were unlike any in the known elven or human lexicons.
A gruff voice echoed behind her. "That's the fifth this moon. If you ask me, it's time we stop poking at shadows and start calling in swords."
Kaelen Starwind stepped into view, his dark green cloak dragging dried leaves in his wake. Though no longer a prince in title, he still moved like a general, measured, confident, but weary. A thin scar traced his jawline, a remnant of the final war against Zevrak.
Elira stood. "These obelisks are older than the kingdoms. Older than the gods, maybe. They're reacting to something... awakening."
Kaelen glanced at the pulse of light within the stone, his hand instinctively falling to the hilt of his blade. "Then maybe we shouldn't be standing next to them."
A sudden gust of wind tore through the trees, and for a moment, Elira heard something that chilled her, a whisper. Not in Elvish or Common Tongue. It was a sound she felt rather than heard, and her magic flared unbidden at its presence.
She turned to Kaelen, face pale. "Did you—?"
"I heard it," he confirmed grimly.
Back in Solhaven, King Leonhart sat alone in the royal study, lit only by the flicker of a dying hearth. His silver hair was cropped short now, his once-proud frame bent slightly by age and battles both seen and unseen. Before him lay a map of Eldaris, and atop it, a shattered gemstone pulsing with faint violet light.
He touched it gently. "The last shard of the Ebon Mirror… and still it breathes," he murmured.
Selene entered quietly, no longer the wide-eyed princess who once longed for starlit adventure. She had grown into a queen of grace and insight, her presence calming even when the world was not.
"You feel it too," she said. It was not a question.
Leonhart nodded. "The peace we forged was a thin shell, Selene. The Shadow is sealed, but it was only a reflection of something deeper. Something older."
Selene stepped forward, eyes narrowing as she saw the shard. "It shouldn't still exist."
"It won't for much longer," Leonhart replied. "But I kept it… because it whispers sometimes. Names. Places. And last night, it spoke a word I've not heard since I was a boy."
Selene tilted her head. "What word?"
Leonhart looked up. His voice was hoarse as he whispered it:
"Velkaron."
Selene's breath caught in her throat.
The name rang with ancient power, a forgotten name. Not of demon, elf, dwarf, or man… but of something else. A god? A king? A mistake?
Selene reached for the shard. "We need to warn the others."
Leonhart stood slowly. "No. We need to find out what he was… before the world remembers him for us."
Far from all thrones and crowns, in a ruined city swallowed by sand, a pair of glowing eyes opened in the dark.
The wind whispered through broken towers. Stones trembled. A voice, deep and ancient, echoed in the emptiness:
"I am the Fifth. I am the Forgotten. And my world shall rise."