The night sky was restless. Stars shimmered and bled across the heavens, shifting patterns that hadn't changed in a thousand years. Lira watched from the ridge, her breath forming pale clouds in the cold air.
Kael stood beside her, silver aura faintly pulsing with each beat of his heart. It wasn't just light anymore — it was alive. The energy around him hummed like a low melody, echoing with the same rhythm that had once sung from the ancient ruins.
"Do you feel that?" Lira whispered.
Kael nodded. "The stars… they're moving. My grandfather told me they were placed by the dragons themselves — as warnings."
Before Lira could respond, the wind shifted. The forest below went utterly silent — no crickets, no owls, not even the whisper of leaves. Then, a shadow darted through the treeline, fast, almost unseen.
Kael drew his blade. "We're being followed."
A voice answered from behind them, calm and aged, yet carrying a strange rhythm — almost musical.
"Followed? Perhaps. Or perhaps guided."
Lira turned, hand ready with her dagger. A man stepped into the moonlight — tall, cloaked in deep blue robes woven with silver threads that shimmered like constellations. His eyes gleamed faintly amber beneath his hood.
Kael tensed. "Who are you?"
The man smiled faintly, but his reply came in riddles.
"Names are stones in a river, carried and worn by time. Mine once meant Seeker of Lost Flames. But you may call me Eryndor."
Kael lowered his sword only slightly. "You're one of the Arcanists, aren't you?"
Eryndor tilted his head. "Once. Now, I am something between memory and exile." He took a slow step forward. "You walk toward a storm you cannot yet see. The stars are shifting because they remember you."
Lira frowned. "That makes no sense."
He smiled. "Riddles rarely do — until the end."
Then his eyes sharpened, and the playful tone dropped. "Tell me, Kael of the Silver Flame — do you know what it means when the constellations bleed?"
Kael shook his head.
"It means the heavens mourn. And they only mourn when a dragon's heart is about to break."
Before Kael could question him, the ground trembled — a low growl rising from beneath. The soil cracked, and dark mist erupted, forming the shape of a monstrous figure — a Wraithspawn, a creature of Vael's making.
Lira stumbled back. "What is that!?"
Eryndor raised his staff, and blue runes flared across its surface. "The past's mistakes — come to reclaim the present."
Kael's aura ignited in silver fire. "Then let's show them the future instead."
The wraith lunged, shadows twisting around its form. Kael met it mid-leap, his blade burning like sunlight against storm. The creature shrieked — but the sound wasn't pain; it was fury.
Eryndor moved beside him, his staff cutting the air in graceful arcs. Each motion left glowing symbols behind, weaving into protective wards.
"Balance your breath with your flame," he said in his cryptic rhythm. "Too much light burns the wielder — too little, and darkness feeds."
Kael followed instinctively, syncing his energy with the flow. For the first time, his power didn't lash out wildly — it sang.
When the last wraith dissolved into smoke, the night fell quiet again.
Lira leaned on her knees, panting. "You… could've warned us sooner."
Eryndor chuckled. "Where's the lesson in that?"
Kael glared, but beneath the exhaustion was curiosity. "You helped us. Why?"
"Because," Eryndor said, turning toward the starlit horizon, "your destiny burns brighter than you know — and the stars are running out of time to guide you."
He started walking, his cloak shimmering like the night sky itself. "Come. If you wish to live through the eclipse… you'll need to learn how to wield truth as well as fire."
Lira and Kael exchanged glances — and followed.
Far above, the bleeding constellations flickered once more, as if whispering an ancient warning.