There was a strange rustling within the silence of Aethelgard—an eerie sensation, as if the very walls were breathing.
Azeal and Vaelora had stepped into the heart of the city, the Great Hall of Records. The ceiling stretched impossibly high, vanishing into darkness, while across the vast floor, soft blue crystals floated weightlessly, casting a dim, misty glow that danced like fading starlight.
Vaelora's hand still rested on the Book of Origins. As she moved closer to a massive crystal sphere, something stirred within it. Images began to form—shifting, alive.
These were no ordinary visions.
They were memories.
"Azeal… look," Vaelora whispered, her voice trembling.
Inside the crystal, they saw the true form of the Drazhin. They were nothing like the terrifying beings of the present age. Their wings shimmered with gold, and their eyes held a deep, peaceful serenity.
But then, the vision changed.
A new race appeared—fragile bodies, no wings, no horns… yet their eyes burned with an unfamiliar, defiant light.
"What are they?" Azeal asked, his grip tightening around the hilt of his sword.
"They are not us," Vaelora said softly, her gaze fixed as the prophecy revealed itself through the book. "They are the race that will rise from our ashes… Humans. When our world, our kingdoms, and our very existence come to an end, they will inherit what remains."
"No!" Azeal roared, his voice cracking through the hall. "We will not fall. I won't allow it!"
"Your sword cannot defy fate, Young Prince… not even King Aetheron could,"
The voice was ancient, heavy—echoing from the depths of the hall.
From the shadows, a figure emerged.
His robes were worn, his presence fragile, yet his eyes carried the weight of centuries. This was Kaelen—the last guardian of this forgotten land.
Azeal instantly stepped forward, placing himself between Kaelen and Vaelora like a shield.
"Who are you?" he demanded. "And what do you know of my father, King Aetheron?"
Kaelen gave a slow, knowing smile.
"I knew your father, Azeal. He was a great warrior… but he never saw this city. Not because he was weak, but because this place was never meant for him."
He paused, his gaze drifting across the hall.
"This city remained hidden… veiled by forces beyond time. It awaited only the one who could awaken The Source—the Book of Origins. Your father spent his life searching for it… but the path never revealed itself to him."
His eyes turned toward Vaelora.
"You stand here today not because of your strength… but because of her destiny."
From within his robes, Kaelen pulled out a heavy, rusted key.
It was no ordinary key.
Celestial runes glowed faintly upon its surface—the same markings that shimmered across Vaelora's book.
"This," Kaelen said, extending it toward Azeal, "belongs to the First King."
Azeal hesitated… then took it.
The moment the cold metal touched his skin, a deep, crushing weight settled into his chest—as if centuries of history had been placed into his hands.
"Your father read of this key in ancient texts," Kaelen continued. "But he could never claim it."
He stepped closer, his voice lowering.
"It is the key to the Vault of Souls."
A silence followed.
"Draeven Zareth has already awakened the powers of Xeraphyn and Mordaen," Kaelen warned. "He is preparing to unleash the Void upon this world. And when everything burns… when all turns to ash… this key will be the only path to salvation."
Azeal's fingers tightened around the key.
"Draeven believes he has already won," Kaelen said, his voice darkening. "But he does not know… the White City has awakened."
His expression hardened.
"You must leave. Now."
"His spies are everywhere. The moment he learns that the True Flame still lives… he will send his full army to these gates."
Vaelora clutched the Book of Origins tightly against her chest.
There was no turning back anymore.
They had crossed the point of no return.
They needed to reach their palace—Solthera—as quickly as possible.
Because somewhere in the shadows…
Draeven Zareth was already planning his next move.