The dream began with fire.
Kael stood on a broken world, surrounded by black ash and violet flames that danced like ghosts. A city lay in ruin around him—twisted metal, shattered domes, and the scent of something burning deep into the stone. The sky cracked with red lightning, splitting open like an old scar.
And from the sky… she descended.
Not fell. Not floated. Descended.
As if summoned by the collapse itself.
A girl with silver hair trailing light like a comet's tail. Her eyes shimmered with galaxies, but they were tired—so tired. Her robes, stitched in patterns Kael couldn't read, whispered as they moved. They weren't made of fabric, but memory. Stars flickered inside the threads.
She landed before him. Not with sound, but with weight—the kind that presses against your ribs without touching you.
"Kael Saran," she said.
His name in her voice sounded older than the dream. It sounded true.
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. No breath. No thought. Only her voice.
"You are awake too soon. And far too alone."
She stepped forward, and when her fingers brushed his temple, a thousand stars wept behind his eyes.
"Your seed has not yet rooted," she said. "But it will. In time. In pain."
Kael's knees buckled. He fell. But the dream held him, cradled in the war-torn silence of a forgotten future.
She leaned in close.
"Find the gate. Open it. Before they do."
"Who are you?" he managed to whisper.
She paused.
"I am the last of the Shardborn. And you… you are our echo."
Her voice faded like the dying hum of a tuning fork.
Kael gasped awake.
He was drenched in sweat, heart pounding like a war drum. The disc lay beside his pillow, still glowing faintly—but dimmer, as if the dream had drained it too.
He sat up, catching his breath. The words clung to his mind like spider silk.
Find the gate.
But what gate? Where?
There was a knock.
He almost groaned. "What now?"
But when he opened the door, it wasn't Zaira.
It was Headmaster Yven.
The man's robes were spotless. His beard, perfectly trimmed. But his eyes… they were too sharp. Too knowing.
"We need to talk," Yven said. "Now."
Kael hesitated. "About what?"
Yven looked past him—at the disc on the bed, now partially hidden under the blanket.
"About the artifact you're hiding. And the memory you just unlocked."
Kael's mouth went dry.
"You've been watching me?"
Yven didn't blink. "You're not the only one dreaming of the Shardborn."
He stepped inside without waiting.
Kael followed, tension building in his chest like a string pulled too tight.
"Sit," the headmaster said.
Kael obeyed, eyes never leaving the man's.
"I need to know everything. Now. Before the Overseers get to you."
Kael's throat felt like sandpaper. "Why? What do you know about them?"
Yven's expression darkened.
"They're not protectors, Kael. They're scavengers. And you've just been marked as prey."