In the distance, far across the cloud-sea from the floating plateaus of Lesternam, lay Corholt—a kingdom carved into the heart of a jagged, volcanic mountain range. If Lesternam was a city of glass and light, Corholt was a fortress of iron, steam, and stone.
The air in the meeting chamber was thick with the smell of sulfur and cold pipe-smoke. Deep within the mountain, five figures sat around a table made of solid black glass.
These were the High Wardens, the "mates" who had sworn an oath to protect Corholt's borders. Unlike the polished royals of Lesternam, these men and women wore heavy leather, scarred armor, and expressions of grim exhaustion.
Varick, the eldest of the group and a man with a beard like steel wool, slammed a heavy parchment onto the table.
"The maps are bleeding again," Varick growled, his voice like grinding gravel.
A woman named Kora, the group's lead scout, leaned forward. She traced a finger over the parchment. The ink on the map was literally shifting, turning into a dull, smoky grey as they watched. "It's not just the maps, Varick. I sent a patrol to the Iron Pass three days ago. They came back this morning, but they didn't come back whole."
"Injured?" asked Bram, a massive man whose hands were stained with the grease of the mountain's Great Engines.
"No," Kora replied, her voice dropping to a whisper. "They forgot why they went. They stood at the gates and asked me who had sent them. They didn't even recognize their own captain. It's like the 'Purpose' was eaten out of their heads."
The youngest of the mates, Jax, tossed a small object onto the table. It was a royal coin from Lesternam, but it looked strange. The face of the King on the coin was fading, the metal turning translucent and brittle.
"The abnormalities are spreading," Jax said. "My contacts in the sky-docks say the same thing is happening across the abyss. Lesternam is losing its history. First, it's the small things—trinkets, names, dates. But now, it's people. The 'Grey' is coming for everyone."
"The King of Lesternam claims everything is fine," Bram snorted, crossing his arms. "He calls it the 'Golden Age' while his kingdom is literally evaporating."
"The King is a liar," Varick said, standing up. "He's trying to hold onto power by pretending the rot isn't there. But if Lesternam falls, the chains snap. If the chains snap, the balance of the sky is gone, and Corholt falls with them."
Varick looked at his mates, his eyes burning with a desperate intensity.
"We can't wait for the Prince of Lesternam to wake up and see the truth. We need to find out what is causing the Vanishing. Kora, take your best riders. Go to the border. Don't look for soldiers. Look for the Source. Something—or someone—is acting as an anchor for this magic. If we don't find the anchor, we all become ghosts."
Kora nodded, her hand instinctively going to the hilt of her dagger. "And if the anchor is within the Palace of Lesternam?"
Varick looked at the fading coin on the table. "Then we prepare for a war against a kingdom that might not even remember we exist by the time we arrive.