The rain fell like shards of silver against the black rooftops of Voltixol City, and Kaelion Veyr stood beneath the flickering neon light, eyes fixed on the empty alley where his best friend, Eryndor Vale, had vanished. The air smelled of ozone and wet asphalt, carrying with it the faint hum of energy from the city's electricity veins. Something wasn't right, though Kaelion couldn't yet name it.
Eryndor had always been daring, impulsive, the kind to dive headfirst into trouble, but this disappearance felt… different. Deliberate. Calculated. Kaelion's instincts, honed through years of training in secrecy, screamed that a shadow was moving behind this event—one he couldn't yet see.
He walked the narrow streets alone, Rykas Thorn by his side. Silent as always, Rykas's eyes scanned every corner, every shadow, fingers resting lightly on the hilt of his dual swords. He had never questioned Kaelion's judgment, and he never would. The city was alive with subtle electricity, every light flicker a reminder that danger could strike at any moment.
They arrived at the workshop—a hidden enclave beneath the ruined quarters of old Voltixol. The heavy metallic doors creaked open, revealing dust-covered instruments and shelves lined with jars of faintly glowing substances. Here, Eryndor's grandparents, the long-forgotten guardians of Essentia Prime, had kept their secrets, hidden from the world for centuries. Kaelion stepped inside, feeling the hum of energy beneath his feet. Something about this place made his pulse quicken—the air itself seemed aware, waiting.
He traced his fingers along the edge of an old table, noticing a faint shimmer in a cracked glass container. It pulsed like a heartbeat. For a moment, a memory not his own whispered through his mind—the story of a world lost, of beings who had fled a dying planet, leaving behind gifts that could create or destroy. Kaelion shook his head, suppressing the tremor of realization. He was the last vessel, the one who carried the Mother Oil within him. And yet… the world did not know. Not yet.
Rykas's voice broke the silence. "Kaelion, something's here. I can feel it."
A faint ripple of energy surged beneath Kaelion's feet. The first instinctive test of his power flared—lightning danced along his fingertips, reacting to the presence in the shadows. He clenched his fist, pulling it back as if startled by the force. No one else would know what had just occurred. Not yet. Only he understood that something—or someone—was deliberately leading him here.
A journal lay open on the desk, brittle pages covered in the careful handwriting of Eryndor's grandparents. Symbols Kaelion didn't recognize glowed faintly in the dim light. "They were more than guardians… they were hiding truths," Kaelion murmured. "And someone doesn't want us to know."
Outside, the rain continued, masking the faint footsteps of another presence. The game had begun, and Kaelion knew that the disappearance of Eryndor Vale was only the first thread. Pulling it would unravel everything—the lost histories, the Solyrian Accord's secrets, and the dormant power that had slept for centuries inside him.
And in that moment, Kaelion felt the weight of the centuries pressing on him. He was the last vessel. The world didn't yet know. And perhaps, by the time they did, it would be too late...