In the vastness beyond the stars, where thought and time blurred into echoes, Velkaron stirred.
He no longer walked as flesh, nor burned like demonfire, nor shimmered like elven light. He existed now in a place between, where dreams were clay and reality bent to belief. A place he had created.
His domain was The Aether Vault, a realm of unformed ideas and abandoned timelines. Here, mountains floated on winds of memory, and rivers flowed backwards through days that never were. He stood at its center, wrapped in cloaks woven from the forgotten fates of kings.
And he dreamed.
In this dream, Eldaris belonged to him.
No war, no rebellion. No Ardent Kael. No kingdoms divided.
Just a single unified realm, eternal and unchanging, where every breath and heartbeat echoed his will.
The people bowed without question. The skies shone with his sigil. Time moved only because he allowed it.
Yet something was… wrong.
The dream stuttered. Flickered.
A figure walked through the illusion had uninvited, unbound.
A boy. Silver hair. Eyes of starlight and fire.
Alden.
Velkaron watched, confused.
"This is my dream," he whispered.
But Alden did not vanish.
He reached down and picked up a fallen memory of a sword once wielded by Kael. He turned it in his hand, then looked to the sky.
"It's beautiful," Alden said, "but it isn't real."
Velkaron's voice rumbled across the Aether Vault.
"It could be."
Alden turned to face him.
"But it isn't right."
The landscape twisted. Towers of flame turned to ash. The crowd of dreamers vanished.
Only Velkaron and Alden remained, standing in a vast, starless void.
Velkaron stepped forward, cloaked in impossible shapes. "You don't understand. I saw what was coming. I saw the Shadow, the corruption, the endless pain. This world of Eldaris, now breaks itself. Over and over. I offer it peace."
"Peace," Alden echoed, "without freedom."
"Peace without death."
"But also without choice."
Velkaron's form wavered.
"You would rather endure more centuries of blood and fire?" he asked.
"No," Alden said. "But I'd rather bleed for a world that lives than rule one that sleeps."
The Aether Vault trembled.
Memories within it began to crack.
Scenes of Ardent Kael and the Four Kings glimmered like constellations being reignited. The sacrifice of Thalorien. The courage of Freya. The love between Selene and Ardent. The redemption of Nyxara.
They flickered into existence around Alden like guardians of the truth.
"You tried to erase us," Alden said. "But the world remembers."
Velkaron turned away.
"I was the Fifth Spark," he muttered. "I was supposed to be hope."
"You still can be," Alden replied. "But not like this."
The Vault shook violently. Cracks of light split the dream-realm open. From within came voices—Selene, Freya, Kaelen, Elira, even Durgan—all calling out to Alden.
The time to awaken had come.
Velkaron stepped aside.
"I cannot stop what is to come," he said. "But neither can you. The next Herald is already born."
Alden's breath caught. "Who?"
Velkaron raised a hand, and within it formed a glowing ember.
It pulsed with life. With potential. With vengeance.
"He was once called Rhaegon, a child of two bloodlines, raised in secret, cursed to remember all his past lives."
"And what does he want?"
Velkaron's eyes dimmed. "To erase history itself. Not rewrite it. Not rule it. Just… silence it."
The Aether Vault shattered.
Alden gasped and sat upright, his body trembling, surrounded by his advisors.
Elira steadied him. "You were gone for hours."
"I was… in his dream," Alden whispered. "I saw what he's trying to make."
Lysara frowned. "A trap?"
"A lullaby," Alden said. "Beautiful. But empty."
He looked to the horizon.
"And a new Herald is coming."