The Vault of Eternal Dawn perched precariously on a shattered isle in Skyend's heart, its crystalline spires piercing the perpetual twilight like fingers grasping at fading stars. Elarion, Lirael, and a cadre of elven wardens approached via an enchanted skiff, weaving through mana storms that crackled with unstable energy. The air hummed with anticipation—and warning.
As they breached the outer wards, the system's voice echoed in Elarion's mind, more insistent than before:
[Integration Threshold: 60%. Vault access will accelerate synchronization. Proceed? Y/N]
He ignored it, focusing on the guardians ahead: colossal constructs forged in the Elderglow era, their forms of animated crystal and Aetheric fire. "For the Covenant!" one boomed, unleashing beams of pure mana.
Elarion countered with infinite reserves, erecting dimensional shields via the Key while Lirael summoned vine tendrils to ensnare the behemoths. The wardens provided covering fire, arrows exploding into primal bursts. Amid the clash, Elarion felt the leash tighten—his veins burned, visions of void entities flickering at the edges of sight.
Deeper in the Vault, the Starheart Scepter rested on a pedestal, a rod of star-forged metal pulsing with celestial light. As Elarion grasped it, power surged: communion with the Starborn flooded his senses. Ethereal voices whispered of their exile, the Cataclysm's true cause—a failed ascension corrupted by the very "exiled" beings behind his system.
"You are the conduit," the Starborn intoned. "But the Leash devours. Sever it, or be consumed."
The revelation hit like a Vein Bleed: the system wasn't for balance; it was a parasite, using vessels to breach Terra and consume its Aetheric essence. Integration meant his erasure, replaced by the exiles.
But before he could process, alarms wailed—Arcanum and Dominion forces storming the Vault, airships bombarding the isle while Netherkin rifts opened below. A three-way siege erupted.
Elarion wielded the Scepter, channeling Starborn might to repel invaders, but the cost mounted. Integration hit 70%, his body flickering between corporeal and void.
Lirael fought beside him. "With this, we can rally Terra! End the wars!"
Yet doubt seeded: alliances would drag him deeper, the system feeding on conflict. And conflict wasn't his original purpose. As they escaped with the Scepter, Elarion glimpsed a future of endless battles—his power a beacon for every faction. And this, this truly made him afraid, afraid of himself.