The Ice Fountain Cave was quieter now. Not in peace, but in mourning.
Its ancient walls pulsed faintly, mirroring the weakened breath of the Fountain itself. Cracks had begun to form along the mirrored stone, veins splitting where sacred water once ran freely. Seriane's death had changed everything. The world beyond the cavern had begun to rot, beasts moving in forgotten places, lured by the scent of imbalance.
Eryndor ran back to the fountain just to be sure of what he had seen earlier
Eryndor stood alone at the basin's edge, where moonlight no longer danced but barely glowed across the trembling waters. The song he had known since childhood, the one the Fountain whispered to its chosen, had vanished. Only silence now.
He couldn't stop reliving the night. Blood. Her scream. Her name on his lips.
"If I killed her… I am cursed," he murmured to the water that no longer listened.
And if he was cursed, the Fountain would reject him. That was its law. The soul offered must be pure. The protector could not carry rage or regret like poison in the veins.
Footsteps broke the silence behind him. Zelaira came forward slowly, her expression calm, but her eyes were storm-bright.
"You're waiting for the Fountain to forgive you," she said gently. "But it's not the Fountain you need forgiveness from."
Eryndor's shoulders dropped. "What if I've already failed?"
Zelaira Dosh wanted to tell Eryndor what she had seen in the secret room of the vault
Before she could speak, more footsteps echoed against the stone.
Kaelen.
He had been released from confinement only hours ago, watched closely since the attack. The weight of loss still clung to him, but the fire of vengeance had dulled. What now stirred in its place was confusion, and something warmer.
Eryndor turned, startled to see him.
"I thought you'd never want to see me again," he said.
Kaelen didn't answer. He walked forward and, before Eryndor could react, pulled him into a tight, unexpected embrace.
For a moment, everything went still.
"Don't ever make me doubt you again," Kaelen whispered.
"I won't," Eryndor breathed. "Not if we still have time."
Far across the land, in the Watchers' Capital City, Morvane stood before the council in the Hall of Moonlight. Grief had chiseled his features into stone. The prophecy was nearing its final chord, and the world beyond their wards was unraveling. Beasts had begun to stalk the edges of the cities. Children had disappeared. Something old and cruel had awakened beneath the frost.
"Kimono was right," Morvane said to the Watchers, his voice low and firm. "If the protector refuses the calling, we all fall."
The Seer's reply was laced with warning. "He must choose death. It cannot be placed upon him."
Morvane's jaw tensed. "Then we show him what happens if he does not choose."
He had no interest in cruelty. Only desperation remained. He would use the remaining relics to summon the Fountain's last vision. To expose the truth of Seriane's death. If Eryndor had not killed her, then perhaps the last light within him had not gone out.
In the crumbling southern ruins, the Kirenholme (Zan) family was forced to flee their ancient vault. Relics long-guarded were left behind, cold and vulnerable beneath collapsing stone. The air above twisted with unnatural wind, and the sky cracked, not with thunder, but something worse.
An omen.
Deep below, in a chamber sealed by crystal and centuries of silence, a creature stirred.
Born of the same Ice that once gave the world peace, it had slumbered through ages. It was a guardian in an age before words, a monster in the eyes of men. Now, it smelled failure. The protector was flawed.
It had waited for this moment.
And now, it would rise.