Book Contents

Eira woke with a gasp, clutching her hands to her temples as an ache pounded through her skull. Ouch, that again? She glanced down at her hand as her fingers unfurled. The spiral mark was there, winding like ink burned into her skin, darker, more vivid than before. The door creaked open, and Lirien entered.

Inside the council hall, Aldar sat at the head of the table, leaning forward with his arms folded on its polished surface. At his right side sat Kaelion, relaxed yet alert, his dark-blond hair catching stray beams of sunlight. The sounds of approaching steps broke the drone of the hall, the echo announcing the arrival of another. Brynor, a rare figure within these walls, strode in with a noise that matched his bulk. He claimed the seat directly to Aldar’s left.

The ferryman’s call drifted after them as they stepped onto the creaking wood of the Fyrhaven pier. “See you later!” he barked, lifting a hand in farewell. Eira raised her own hand in response, though her attention was already sliding elsewhere. Her green eyes snagged on the sight of an airship in the distance, floating like a majestic leviathan through the streaks of clouds.

The walls of Dravemir groaned beneath Aurion’s feet as he stood tall, outlined against the black expanse ahead. The Land of Darkness spanned before him, a place that devoured sound and light alike. Beyond its infinite depths, movement emerged—an undulating swarm that rustled like a single, malevolent entity. The darkness itself was abnormal, but the roiling mass approaching made the void somehow blacker. Beneath him, scattered essence lanterns dotted the wooden battlements, their glow too feeble against the foreboding abyss.

A few days later, Aurion sat in the Luminary Halls, the grand chamber where council meetings and gatherings of state took place. But today, the vast expanse of arched columns and sweeping banners felt smaller. Most of the seats meant for ministers and advisors sat empty, leaving only a few at his side. Kaelric and Daryas flanked him, both silent for the moment, while Seralyth, his queen, sat across the table. Kaelric spoke first, his gray eyes resting on the obsidian surface of the table.

The boat rocked lightly against the current as Fyrhaven finally disappeared from view, the tranquility of the water below blending with the cadence of the waves as they pushed toward Irrathis. After a while, at last, it surged up in front of them—the sprawling city rising like a beacon on the horizon. Eira’s boots scuffed against the dock as she and Lirien disembarked, and the sight of the city towered over her. The colosseum dominated the background. Positioned at the city’s outskirts, it was where all the tournaments took place.

Aldar sat at the head of the council table, his eyes moving across the chamber. He tapped his fingers against the cold wood of his high-backed chair with no pattern, just an absent drumbeat to guide him as the council filtered in, one by one. Being punctual was hardly their strength, though he suspected it wasn’t calculated discourtesy. Finally, Lyssara crossed through the towering doors last, her footfall practically whispering over the floor. Her arrival brought some smell of nature—wild herbs and charred earth from wherever initiates had been tested today.

Aldar sat alone at his desk, his fingers drifting over the parchment absently. The script that had adorned the wall during the council meeting echoed in his thoughts as if carved into his very skull. It has to be Eira. There was no other possibility. No one else had found what she had, no one else slipped through impossible paths as though guided by invisible hands.

Eira’s dreams had been chaotic and disjointed, but exhaustion had won over all else, pulling her into the kind of sleep that felt more like falling into a pit than resting. When she woke, the haze clung to her, but there was something grounding about sunlight streaming through the window and the clamor of the city waiting outside. She had one goal today: the essence tower. After dressing up, she walked into the streets of Irrathis. The morning brimmed with energy, the uneven cadence of footsteps on cobblestone mingling with the swirl of activity around her.

“How are you feeling?” Lirien asked. The two of them stood at the southern outskirts, where the city’s structures of wood and stone began to melt into open farmlands. “I’m better,” Eira replied, offering a half-hearted smile. “It’s not like I have a choice, right?”

Aurion stood on the balcony of the Luminary Halls, the crystalline spires of Zeydrith sparkling beneath the sun. Interwoven streets, paved in patterns of constellations, spiraled outward like cosmic maps guiding the footsteps of its citizens, while dark stone towers rose high above the sprawling districts. But it wasn’t this thriving marvel that held his attention—it was what towered at the borders of Soltheris, far beyond the city’s boundaries. He curled his fingers on the cool railing, his star-gray eyes pinned on the distant wall of darkness that reached into the sky, extending endlessly toward the heavens. I will be the one to end this.

Back in the chambers of the Luminary Halls, Aurion sat at the head of the table, as was his right. To his right, Daryas sat straight as always, while Kaelric paced the room. Seralyth was not with them; she remained in the aftermath of the plaza, her healers working tirelessly to rescue lives from the brink. Kaelric spoke first. “That spectacle today, Aurion—” he said, halting his pacing abruptly as he turned to face the king.

The streets of Velundra teemed with activity, though the energy lacked the carefree spirit of Irrathis. Soldiers marched in disciplined rows, while watchful scouts scanned the horizon. Kaelion slipped through the crowd with a fluidity that seemed second nature, offering polite nods and smiles to the many familiar faces who waved or called out to him. “He’s really popular here, isn’t he?” Lirien mused with a crooked grin, glancing around at the friendly gestures of merchants and fishermen directed toward Kaelion.

Eira crumpled to the ground near the shoreline, her body limp against the coarse, damp sand. “Eira!” Lirien yelled as she rushed forward, dropping to her knees. Eira’s face was eerily still, her breath shallow but present. Lirien placed her ear to Eira’s chest, her heartbeat thundering in her own ears.

Kaelion moved through the crowded streets, his eyes scanning the rows of stalls for essence cores of higher quality. His task was straightforward: to keep them alive… and make sure Eira succeeds. But would he really be able to do as Aldar asked of him? Eira—cute as she was, with her bright mind and burning curiosity—was something more; Kaelion was sure of it. Yet, as far as he could see, she wasn’t ready.

The southern gate towered in the distance, a hulking mass of reinforced iron and stone, but Eira’s attention stayed on Kaelion, striding just ahead. His oversized pack hitched on his shoulders, the leather straps straining under the bulk of supplies meant to sustain them through whatever challenges awaited. But Eira’s attention wasn’t on that pack. It went in two directions—one toward the vision of the old mage, and the other toward Kaelion himself. She flexed her fingers absently, feeling the heat rising from the spiral mark.

The metallic device quivered in Lirien’s hands as she nestled an essence core into its chamber, her amber hair catching a glint of reflected light from the magical mechanisms. “Let’s see how this works.” A crisp click echoed, metallic and hollow, as the core locked into place. For a moment, it did nothing—then, with a sputtering whine, a dome of radiant light unfurled from it. The haze of darkness recoiled, retreating several strides to reveal barren terrain on all sides.

“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” said Daryas, standing next to Aurion. The two of them stood at the verge of the forest, where the last remnants of daylight melted into the shifting shadows between the trees. “There’s no better plan,” Aurion replied without turning. “At least take this,” Kaelric said. “My enchantments are the best in all of Zeydrith—you know that.”

Later, beneath the dark sky and shadowed trees at the forest’s border, small bands began to reappear. The sweat-streaked faces of mages and soldiers emerged from the dark brush, formations diminished and steps weighted by fatigue. Daryas arrived first, outlined by wavering essence light. Blood matted his shoulder, though he seemed fine. “Report,” Aurion rasped, pulling himself upright.

Aldar remained by the arched window of his chamber, observing Irrathis, where the streets and wavering lanterns below barely pushed back the encroaching dusk. The most central city in Xalmyrra sprawled like a web of stone and light. When the council had first convened centuries ago, the question of where to seat its immense power had nearly undone its goals altogether. But in the end, the nations agreed—begrudgingly—that the neutrality of Teryndal and its pivotal geography made Irrathis the obvious choice. Still, Aldar had always resisted entangling himself in the murky depths of politics.

The Temple of no Return towered before them, less like a structure and more like an immense aura. Lirien shivered, the air around the temple strangely unmoving, as if the entire world were holding its breath. “Do you feel it?” she asked Kaelion. “It’s like… it’s calling to us.”

Eira reached for the walls—or what she thought were walls—but her fingers grasped nothing. Her hand moved through the air as if there were no solidity or resistance. Yet she could see them, curving upward into impossible shapes—undulating like liquid stone. She saw rainbows warping into hues she had no name for, spirals of blue and purple twisting as if they whispered to her. Her lips moved, forming the beginnings of a word, but no sound came out.

Brynor stood at the stern of the airship, the essence core cradled in his hand. But here, riding high above the green expanse of Xalmyrra, he let himself stretch further. Up here, I can drain a little more from the world too. The pull was careful, as precise as Brynor himself. He’d long since mastered the art of taking only what was necessary.

“I knew you would ask me,” Aurion said. “And I’ve already prepared an airship… just for the two of us.” “An airship?” Brynor blurted out. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Two days later, Daryas, commander of Soltheris, stood overlooking the colosseum from the elite viewing arena, his fingers tapping in a pattern against the stone railing. The dark seats beneath him were packed with thousands of spectators. The scene below felt surreal to him—too extravagant, too public. Aurion’s plans often teetered on the brink of genius and recklessness, and today, Daryas couldn’t help leaning toward the latter. He glanced downward at the combat platform, where the preparations had nearly finished.

Aurion stood in the open arena, observing the spectators. Stripped down to a short tunic and pants, his frame was poised. He flexed his fingers, feeling the familiar charge coursing through him as the cosmic glyphs inscribed along his arms glowed to life, sparking energy that danced like ephemeral constellations. I’ll need more than just power today. There’s no way I win through brute force alone.

What is that smell? Eira roused sluggishly, dragging herself from the depths of sleep. Her senses were slow to return—disjointed fragments fighting for recognition. First came scent: smoky, earthy, charred, something biting and savory underneath. Then came sound: the snap of firewood and… song?

Not long after, they reached the eastern outskirts of Irrathis. The training grounds rose in the distance, the sparring rings illuminated by the creeping hues of dusk, while the imposing arches of the colosseum stood farther beyond. As they walked, Eira’s stomach turned over itself, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on why. Home. For all that she’d told herself Irrathis was her home, it felt… strange.

Aldar sat at his usual place, the seat of authority at the head of the great table inside the council hall. He had summoned them again. The frost crystals across Irrathis had cracked three times, ringing through the city like an invocation. They would come. They had to.

The sun struck Aldar as he strode across the main square of Irrathis. Both unyielding and unwelcome, the light seemed to claw at the back of his eyes, amplifying the nagging exhaustion rooted deep in his bones. The square itself swarmed with the usual hullabaloo—merchants haggling over wares, mages debating spells—but their noise was nothing but an irritating note, a dissonance that heightened the ache behind his temples. People drifted from his path—they knew who he was, and no one wished to meet the tired stare of the council head. The imposing facade of the Assembly dwarfed those around it.

Eira woke abruptly, her body snapping from sleep. Her first thought was how strange it felt—not to wake against the rough ground of a campsite or an inn mattress, but her own bed. It didn’t completely feel like home anymore, though. The familiar softness of the sheets was underscored by the odd disorientation of having been gone for so long. Weeks?

“I kinda understand,” Eira admitted as they walked into her home, “but it’s still… too much.” Lythariel, standing down the hallway, propped an elbow on the back of a chair before crossing her arms. “Scary man.” Eira exhaled, her fingertips tapping lazy circles against the wall. “I can’t even argue with his logic.

Brynor sat in the dining hall. This room had become somewhat of a retreat for him in the days since his arrival in Soltheris—not that he’d call it restful. The fluted arches soared overhead, giving the space a grandeur befitting Aurion’s kingdom, though their celestial carvings seemed almost too pristine, too undisturbed in their perfection. Mirael sat beside him, calm as ever. They’d crossed back to Zeydrith in record time, thanks to his seismic leaps.

The council meeting played on an endless loop in Kaelion’s mind as the days passed. Eira. It wasn’t just the way her appearance had changed, though the changes were impossible to ignore. But it went deeper than that. The way she looked at him—through him—like she was grasping for something hidden just out of reach, left him exposed.

The grand dining hall of the Assembly, with its polished oak table and arching ceilings, was unusually empty today. Most of the workers and attendants were still deep into organizing and planning for the tournament. Xarion’s hand struck the table with a controlled slap. “I swear, something is up with the council. They’re acting… stranger than ever.”

The elite viewing area of the colosseum was perched high above the arena, granting a commanding view of the vast circular expanse below. Xarion sat in his chair, arms loosely folded, his focus drawn toward the scattered attendants below. “Good day, Xarion,” Aldar said, entering the large balcony. He punctuated his words with a polite bow, his silver-threaded cloak catching stray beams of light. Xarion’s mouth curved in what might pass for a greeting.

“Where are we going?” asked Cassian. “There is someone I want to see,” said Xarion as they walked north of the Imperial Institute, the imposing spires fading behind them. Past the fine rows of polished gates and well-tended homes where Xarion himself lived, the city began to transform. The heart of Irrathis loosened its hold, giving way to a stretch where nature crept back into prominence.

As they passed through the gates of eastern Irrathis toward the training grounds, Eira couldn’t help but notice the influx of mages and spectators that had filled the city in recent days. Word of the tournament had spread far, and now every participant had arrived. Still, her mind was elsewhere. She needed to reach Erenmyr. Soon.

Morning light filtered through the thin curtains of Eira’s dining room, spilling pale gold onto the modest table where she and Lythariel sat. The scent of freshly baked bread mingled with the smell of herbal tea, their meal quiet except for the occasional clink of Eira’s fork against her plate. “The next match will be tougher,” Lythariel said, slicing into her bread. “I’m aware,” Eira replied mid-chew, tearing into a piece of crust with less grace. She had defeated three mages since her bout with Veyrik, each harder than the last, until she had clawed her way into the top thirty-two.

The cool shadows of the corridor enveloped them as they entered, the echoes of their footsteps merging with the chatter drifting from above. The shift from the sunlit colosseum to the confines of the passage felt strangely abrupt, a momentary reprieve from the air outside. Eira’s fingers skimmed the stone wall for balance, the uneven surface grounding her amid a growing ache in her arm. “What was that about?” Astheron asked, turning to Cassian.

The next day had come, and Eira stood once more at the heart of the colosseum. Overhead, the sun hung high, its light glinting off the arena’s barrier—a distortion of sparkling magic, sealing them within their stage. Xarion had wished her luck earlier with his usual exaggerated manner, but there had been something behind his words today. Eira thought back to it as her eyes wandered toward the elite viewing area. Aldar was there, stroking his beard with a nod.

“And now—we proceed to the top eight announcements!” Rhyzmar declared. Eira had been avoiding looking too closely at the bracket, partly out of distraction, partly to keep herself centered. By now, the names meant little compared to the next match. Still, she looked forward to hearing the names of the others who had made it this far.

The deafening roar of the colosseum washed over him like waves. Even Rhyzmar’s booming announcement, always so clear, felt as though it existed in another layer of reality altogether. Opposite him, Eira stood, her stance already tense. Why couldn’t he remember her? It wasn’t like anything about her felt forgotten—it was that something connected the two of them, and his mind skittered around it.

Eira whipped her head around. Where is he? The arena felt colossal in moments like these, every shadow around its stones shifting as if it knew something she didn’t. Then—there. Movement to her left.

I gotta admit, you had me there for a moment. The thought came as another tendril grazed past Kaelion. Her strikes had been precise, almost overwhelming. For a beat, she almost pinned him, her darkness outpacing the illusions skirting his perimeter. Yet he knew better.

“Do you notice that?” Brynor asked, bolting upright from his bed. Mirael’s reply came sluggishly, filtered through the haze of interrupted sleep. “What is it?” “Someone is approaching our door,” Brynor said.

“Thalvian, is it going to be ready in time?” Aurion asked, his outline framed by the celestial orrery. “Yes, Your Majesty,” Thalvian replied, flinching as he retreated from the mirrors and polished wood of the colossal device. His hands twitched as if resisting the urge to fuss over the mechanism. “How are the invitations?”

“Welcome, welcome, Brynor,” Aurion began. “How was your stay in Dravemir?” Brynor sank into his chair, the polished obsidian table amplifying the outsized span of his battle-hardened hands resting on its surface. “It’s been… quiet,” he replied. Mirael, seated beside him, dipped her head slightly.

Two matches remained before the finals, and Aldar sat alone in the council hall. His thoughts turned inward, winding their way through plans that extended beyond this tournament, connecting splintered pieces of the larger war they all felt inching closer. Soon, he would rise to his role as announcer for the finals. His words would move the audience, a perfect cadence between ceremony and command. But beyond those carefully chosen phrases, something far more direct awaited: the march.

Eira slipped seamlessly into another vision. She was back in Erenmyr—she knew that instinctively. The hills swept outward in smooth, rolling curves, their vibrant green dusted with bursts of purple and pink flowers swaying gently in the wind. The trees stood tall, their branches extended like arms embracing the sunlight filtering through their leaves. Near her feet, a river carved its way through the land.

Rhyzmar’s voice thundered through the colosseum: “First, we have: Kaelion Saeryth, Voice of the Veil!” The crowd roared as Kaelion entered the arena. He lifted a hand in acknowledgment to the crowd, but then his eyes shot up to the stands—straight to where Eira stood. His nod radiated a confidence so natural that Eira found herself grinning like she could draw it into her own spirit. “Gooo Kaelion!”

Brynor landed with an earthbound thud that sent a whispered shiver through the ground underneath. His seismic leaps had brought Mirael safely in his arms, each arc leaving behind soft indentations in the dirt. Now, as he set her down with care, the air cooled around them. “Welcome, welcome!” Aurion declared, his stride toward them as open as his extended arms.

“You seem awfully happy,” Lythariel remarked. “And you didn’t come home last night.” Eira’s reply came as an awkward smile, her cheeks warming. “Shooo, let me have my happiness.” The path they walked was alive with the vibrant life of Irrathis.

What have I done? The thought struck Aurion as he stared upward, his body rooted to the ground. Above them, the sky had become a battleground, white and black warping together as if the heavens themselves fought. The beam from the orrery lanced upward, a white strand connecting the earth to the duel above. It should’ve been daylight.

The winds tore across the open plains, nagging at Brynor’s tunic as he stood in place. Somewhere far beyond the seething black and white in the sky above, the tournament’s finals must have begun. Was it coincidence or fate? “I will go closer,” Brynor yelled. He planted his feet deeper into the earth, the ground beneath him quaking in response.

“Shields!” Aurion yelled as his arms flared with cosmic energy. Strands of light exploded outward, spinning and interlocking into a starfield barrier thick with swirling hues of blue and gold. The barrier expanded rapidly, enveloping them in its protective shell as he concentrated, glyphs along his arms blazing to life in brilliant symmetry. Beside him, Mirael was already at work, her gold-lit hands moving swiftly.

Eira could barely process what was unfolding around her, the world collapsing faster than she could think. “Cassian! THE CITY!” Xarion bellowed. “Ilyra!

Aldar came to himself slowly, shaking off the brutal headache that clung like shards rooted in his skull. The world swam for a moment before coalescing into crisp focus. Maelis was already over him, her hands sure as she worked to heal him. “I’m fine,” he grunted, batting her efforts aside. The headache was waning, and with it came the return of clarity.

There he was again, the old mage. Another vision—that much she understood now. The toll of defending the city had dragged her under, and she’d been pulled into… this. The plains of Erenmyr sprawled out before her, but they had been warped into something unrecognizable. The sky was split unevenly, with half of it swallowed by a black fog.

Xarion sat silently at the long oak table in the Assembly’s dining hall, his eyes fixed on the sprawling map of Xalmyrra spread across its surface. To the east, the nation of Soltheris wavered dangerously close to spiraling out of control. To the north, the untamed expanse of Erenmyr clawed its way toward the horizon. Northeast lay Keldara, a dependable nation of hardy people. Meanwhile, Teryndal dominated much of the southwestern lands.

Aurion entered the Luminary Halls, his boots striking the tiles hard. He held Seralyth against his chest, her lifeless body cradled in his arms. Her golden hair spilled over him like strands of unspun sunlight, and for the first time in years, Aurion’s hands truly trembled. The hall was vast and empty, yet it felt strangled. Zeydrith had endured—their cosmic barriers, fruits of his ambition and vision, had held.

“How many do you think there are?” Eira asked. The two of them stood south of Irrathis as the day’s final light began to wane, the sun sinking behind the city’s spires. All around them, shapes moved in an ever-turning cadence—soldiers, constructs, and beasts of burden flowing through the organized tumult of an army on the threshold of war. Lythariel gave a nod.

Just as Aldar descended the steps of the Imperial Institute, a distant thud punctuated the now-quiet of the city. Before the echoes of the sound stilled, Brynor landed with the tremor of earth yielding to something unmovable. Gravel scattered as boots hit ground with a solid finality. “Brynor!” Aldar exclaimed.

The mix of ruined landscape and lush greens sprawled endlessly. Scorched tree stumps jutted out, the air saturated with the scent of damp ash and churned earth. Eira’s boots scuffed against the uneven dirt as exhaustion began to seep into her legs, each step feeling heavier than the last. Kaelion had drifted ahead, his dark-blond hair an occasional flash among the crowd of mages clustered around him. Lythariel, of course, seemed untouched by the endless march.

Cassian moved slowly through the cacophony of soldiers and mages assembling ahead of the march. The morning sky was pale, caught somewhere between gray uncertainty and a blush of dawn. She was gone—Eira. He’d noticed her absence when the hours of night had crept their fingers into the camp. Someone, or something, had taken her, slipping into the darkness like a shadow devouring light.

“It’s your first day at school,” Dorian said. “Aren’t you excited?” Cassian stared at the floor. His brown shoes, still too clean for someone who spent most of his days running through woods or scrambling over rocks, felt awkwardly out of place, like they didn’t even belong on his feet. “I… don’t know,” he mumbled, not looking up.

Cassian drew them back to the present. “Then I saw her again,” he said. His eyes glanced from Kaelion to Lythariel before finally resting on the latter. “She entered the institute with you.” Cassian’s finger pointed toward Lythariel.

A brisk knock startled Eira from sleep. She blinked into soft, filtered light spilling through the ornate curtains, the details of the room coalescing around her. It was grander than anything she’d ever been accustomed to—cosmic-patterned drapes that took on a soft sheen in the rising sun, and a golden obsidian bath in the corner. Though she had rested, the unfamiliar opulence left her dizzy. The door creaked open, and an attendant entered.

Cassian was striding at the front now. The land extended before him as the cadenced sound of the marching army filled the space. Ahead, a streak of fire arced through the air like a rogue comet, trailing thin streams of smoke across the open sky. There was no mistaking it. Feryon was on his way back.

As Eira walked with Aurion and Kaelric, the silence was unreal, even in the face of two massive armies. Ahead, she spotted them—Xarion and Cassian. The sight of them brought back a familiarity that felt more like home than Zeydrith’s soaring towers ever could. Cassian looked at her, and it was all there, plain as day—he hated this. When he raised his hand in a small wave, a fleeting smile alongside it, she lifted hers in return, echoing the same hope that maybe—just maybe—this could end without the ruin both sides feared.

“Stay behind me, Xarion,” Cassian commanded, extending both arms outward, layering one divine shield atop another in rapid succession. Each golden barrier burst to life in the air, only to crack and dissolve under the merciless wave of darkness crashing toward them. The ground beneath them felt precarious with the impact, though neither dared alter their stance. “Or you die.” The wind whipped past with unforgiving ferocity, a shrill howl that dug into their ears and pinned their hair backward, pulling at their clothing.

Aurion watched as Cassian, Kaelion, and Lythariel disappeared into the forest. Friend, huh? You’ll protect her, won’t you, right, Cassian? Kaelric and Daryas came up to him then. Their shoulders heaved with exertion as they scanned the horizon.

It was like any other day near Lake Lucerne, where the lapping waters mirrored the gentle radiance of the Alpine sun spilling over snow-frosted peaks. David Vorrel sat at the dining table in his house, the window framing a still, perfect view of the lake. By his own estimation, he was an ordinary man, despite the Nobel Prize gleaming on some forgotten shelf, draped ceremoniously in accolades that felt like relics of someone else’s work. Respected. Revered.

Accepting the name as naturally as breathing, he walked deeper into the village. Life unfolded around him in small movements. Children ran barefoot, chasing each other across the dirt pathways, their laughter rising in bursts toward the clear sky. Vendors set up modest stalls, offering baskets of vegetables, dried meat, and strange roots with what Deylin now recognized as traces of essence. He noticed the cores—the small, crystalline artifacts glinting in the hands of workers or tethered to plows.

As the years rolled on, Deylin and Ilyra watched their daughter from afar. Hidden in shadows, always just out of reach, they witnessed her blossoming into the radiant child the old mage had vowed she would become. They couldn’t hold her, couldn’t whisper reassurances into her ear, but they saw that she was thriving—strong, brilliant, and everything they had hoped she might be. The old mage, true to his word, visited them often. His appearance, however cryptic, became part of their routines.

“I can’t keep up,” Kaelion gasped, each word dragged out as he could barely lift his feet. They’d been moving for hours—through endless forests where roots curled to catch his footing, over rivers in the dappled light. Little had been spoken all this time; words required breath, and they didn’t have much of that to spare. Ahead of him, Lythariel tore through the terrain. She was a shadow made flesh, her darkness tendrils spiraling out to snatch at low branches, crags, or whatever footholds lay just beyond her reach.

“I need to stop soon,” Cassian said as he bounded forward, each enchanted leap feeling heavier than the last. “We’re almost there,” Lythariel replied without looking back. She swung herself from branch to branch, darkness tendrils shooting out like ropes to grip the trees and propel her forward. Cassian gritted his teeth. “I really can’t,” he said, stumbling slightly as the enchantments on his legs wavered.

As the trees began to thin, Lirathen finally emerged from the landscape—a city nestled like a jewel among the forest’s edge. The gates stood open, revealing the life within, though Kaelion’s focus was elsewhere: the laughter behind him. “I gotta get myself one of these,” Brynor said as he clung awkwardly to Splin’s ridged back. “She’s great, right?” Kaelion replied, patting the smooth, emerald-green skin beneath him.

Did I put the girl through too much? Aldar had sent Eira to speak with Aurion, a choice attached more to desperation than certainty. Silas, ever reliable, had been tasked with escorting her—but to what end? For what desired result? For all his calculations and long-buried instincts, he couldn’t predict what would emerge from this gamble.

“What were those things?” Daryas questioned, staring into the table. The essence lights above cast their glow unevenly, catching on the glyphs but doing little to banish the shadows that clung to the room. “Nothing we could fight against,” said Astheron. He sat motionless, his hands loosely clasped in his lap, the wrinkles in his silver-embroidered robes stark under the ethereal light.

“We’re here,” said Lythariel, still holding Eira in her tendrils as the city finally emerged from the trees. One moment, there was dense, tangled overgrowth, and the next, open air swept with movement—trees giving way to a city that felt as if it had been waiting. Cassian turned his head, his eyes wandering over the remarkable scene before him. It was concealed in such a way that, if one had not known where to look, the city could have remained a secret forever. And yet, now that it stood unveiled, it was filled with activity.

Eira’s eyes fluttered open, and the world felt unfamiliar—as if she had been lost in shadow for years and only just emerged into the light. Where am I? What am I doing? The last thing I remember… Xarion… Aurion… and then another face. Deylin?

Moments later, a loud clank resounded through the forest. The sound rolled through the air, mechanical yet ancient, as though something immense and ageless was waking deep within the earth. Before them, an opening appeared in the dense vegetation, the moss-covered ground jittering as the forest seemed to part itself. Eira halted as she focused on what stood beyond: a massive gate, its half-circle structure towering beyond belief. Symbols were carved along its curved frame—eleven of them, evenly spaced.

Just as Eira looked up, another woman emerged from the shadows beside Emperor Tazarin. “We should execute them immediately,” she said. Tazarin didn’t so much as flinch. Slowly, he lifted his arm. “That will be my decision, Ziyara.”

As Eira woke, the first thing she noticed was the strange, almost comical scene before her. Lythariel, in what could only be described as the oddest sleeping position she had ever seen, was sprawled on her bed in a way that defied logic—her head dangling upside down off the side, her feet braced against the windowsill, while dark tendrils wrapped around her legs and torso, half suspending her midair. “Wake up,” said Eira with a half-laugh. Lythariel repositioned immediately, her tendrils retracting in a smooth wave as she snapped upright with a fluency that suggested there was nothing remotely unusual about how she’d been sleeping. A quick look around the room revealed that someone had left clothes clearly intended for the two of them.

And so the days passed. As the four of them spent more time talking and piecing together fragments of observations and memories, a conclusion slowly took shape. The storms surrounding Xalmyrra were neither random nor just a natural phenomenon—they were linked to the cycles that defined their world. Eira’s own journey through one when she first acquired the shard only confirmed it. “So there’s another version of me?”

Two nights later, Eira sat on her bed as her eyes drifted over to Lythariel. Once again, Lythariel had assumed one of her bizarre sleeping positions—her face buried in the pillow while her legs dangled in midair, suspended by tendrils curling around the bedframe. For a moment, Eira almost smiled—it was absurd, yet so distinctly Lythariel. But her attention snapped back to where it needed to be. She had something far more urgent to focus on now.

Kaelion stood atop a grassy hill overlooking Tequaltor, the city spreading wide below him. From this vantage point, every angular rooftop and glittering canal could be spotted, though the sight was framed by expectation—by those who had started calling him emperor. Beside him stood Tazarin, the man they all revered. This was where they often trained, a reprieve perched just above the life below. Kaelion caught sight of the guards stationed nearby.

At the Zeydrith magic school, Kaelion had always stood out. By the time his temporal aura started to show—a blue hue that swirled softly around—the instructors had already marked him as someone destined for greatness. “Temporal magic—at such a young age,” they had said. But Kaelion wasn’t tangled up in the future they spoke of. He was focused elsewhere—lost in the sprawling myths about Arcanis.

The next day, they were summoned to the throne room by Tazarin himself. Did he figure out that Cassian is gone? Eira’s breath ran shallow, and she could feel the beginnings of cold sweat blooming across the back of her neck as she and Lythariel rose to prepare. The room felt colder than usual—or maybe it was just her nerves. “He’s gone,” Lythariel said.

Cassian had walked out through the northern gates under the cover of night, the shadows pooling gently along the road behind him. Beyond the gate, the jungle spanned endlessly, a dense web of trees and tangled flora illuminated by the broken light of the moon. The winding road ahead ascended toward Aurivallis, carving a path through the lush wilds. But something about it was disturbing. Despite the famed significance of this road—the single route leading to the city—it was strangely deserted.

Eira observed Xalatun in the far distance as she and Lythariel slung themselves over the savanna, rushing through the golden grasses that spanned all around them. The sun hung high, bathing the landscape in an unforgiving glare that made the horizon waver. Above, massive birds glided on the air currents, their silhouettes cutting dark shapes into the endless blue sky. Scattered among the grasses were other animals that caught Eira’s attention, familiar enough to make her pause. Some bore resemblances to creatures back in Xalmyrra, though altered in ways she couldn’t quite place.

Kaelion walked through the streets of Xalatun. The city buzzed with activity—mages practicing their spells, soldiers adjusting armor, orders shouted in clipped tones as preparations continued. Everyone seemed prepared. Everything was in place. Yet as his eyes drifted to the side streets, civilians were quickly retreating to their homes.

“We need to find Kaelion,” said Eira as she prepared to summon a darkness tendril to launch herself forward. “Wait,” Lythariel said quickly. “What if they attack us?” Eira tensed, shadows coalescing at her fingertips. “We need to find him,” she repeated.

No. It cannot be. Lythariel held out her hand as she watched Zayren’s aether magic rip into Eira, tearing through her. The scene unfolded too quickly, a flash she hadn’t been fast enough to stop. Her little Eira was falling now, her body collapsing against the crimson-streaked earth.

Xarion leaned against the airship’s railings, his hands planted on the surface. Below him, the forests and fields of Erenmyr sprawled in every direction, a breathtaking patchwork of greens, purples, and violets. The colors shone with a kind of untouched beauty, but for Xarion, it felt like staring at something distant—serene, yet unreachable. Far off to the west, the black storms boiled and seethed on the horizon, carving a dark scar into the sky. Is that where you’ve gone… Cassian?

“I’m somehow supposed to help manage this city… but now I don’t even know what I do,” Arinella said as they walked. Cassian angled slightly toward her. “You mean you don’t know what you are doing?” “Everything is hazy,” Arinella replied, her steps slowing momentarily. “I know what I did… sort of.

Kaelion had traveled straight for Tequaltor, steering clear of the main road. The jungle closed in around him, the dense undergrowth crowding inward, leaves and vines clinging to Splin’s damp skin as she bounded forward. Splin croaked happily, her contentment obvious as she snapped her long tongue to snatch a low-hanging bug without missing a stride. Along the journey, she had seemed almost inexhaustible in her resourcefulness, feeding herself, providing water, and offering companionship with her gentle calls. Her powerful legs suddenly compressed beneath her, launching them into an enormous jump that sent the forest spinning beneath them.

Aurion walked the familiar stone paths of Zeydrith. The streets were orderly again, paved with their familiar constellation tiles that reflected the soft light of the glyph-lit buildings. Most of the city had been restored by the tireless efforts of the mages. Though scars from the cataclysm remained in subtle ways, Zeydrith stood whole once more. Beside Aurion, Kaelric moved close, his company comfortably familiar as he matched his king’s pace.

Aldar sat in the council hall alongside Brynor, who had just returned from Varentis. Silence held for a moment, save for the soft rustle of papers tucked neatly into piles near Aldar’s seat. Even Silas, his trusted blade, had been of no use—once again leaving Aldar empty-handed. Worse still, Draven was gone. Not just missing, but somehow vanished completely.

The lesson droned on as Jin listened to the tales from his masters. The words blurred into a monotony that tested his patience, but it had to be done if he wanted to get anywhere in life. He sat inside the temple, nested within the cliffs of the mountain, far above the world below. Stone pillars carved with storm motifs framed the room, the surfaces worn smooth from years of wind and rain. A chill clung to the air, a constant reminder of their elevation.

Merely a day later, Jin was back in the temple, far ahead of expectations. His arrival caused a wave of whispers. The courtyard reflected the golden hues of the afternoon sun as others gathered to witness his return. Word of his record-breaking time had already spread, but it wasn’t just the speed of his descent that drew attention—it was the strange group with him. These mages from across the mountains possessed significant power.

Jin picked up Rhalyn swiftly as he gathered her onto his back. The storm swirled ominously above as he ascended into the roiling skies. He flew fast, threading the maelstrom before anyone below could react, leaving behind the city. They landed minutes later upon a rock outcropping, jutting abruptly from the surrounding land. “I will explain soon,” Jin said to Rhalyn as he glanced out over the expanse.

Even so, it didn’t take long for the locals to look at him. They had clearly seen the man coming from the storms, flying through the skies at first. But they did little to approach him before he reached the harbor. There, on the sunlit waves beyond the harbor, a silhouette streaked toward him. Jin’s focus locked on immediately, recognizing a mastery that surpassed the mundane.

As Jin wrestled with these truths, the months began passing as though they themselves operated on Chronasis’s shifting flow of time. Days blinked into weeks, and weeks turned to months. Jin trained under Thalena, learning the foundations of aether magic. He found it challenging, almost unnatural compared to his mastery of nature, yet he pushed forward. While he wouldn’t call himself gifted in her element, he began to grasp its details—enough to hold his ground, at least.

As Jin crossed the rolling storms, the sprawling expanse of Xalmyrra unfolded on the horizon. “What about Eira? She’s not from this cycle, right?” “You are most correct, but I am told it’s taken care of,” replied Tianlei. The revelation struck with an odd resonance.

Thalena sat in her chair, her stillness mirroring the serenity of her chamber. The framed mirror before her reflected a woman untouched by time, her iridescent silver hair cascading over robes decorated with constellations. She studied her face—calm, beautiful, ageless. This was the vessel that had carried her for more than five centuries, a body that endured when the world around her had changed. Rising, she adjusted her flowing robes and walked to the arched window.

At first, Thalena flew low, drifting over the sprawling violet-silver grasses and iridescent trees of Chronasis, the city’s glow slowly fading behind her. Soon, the terrain changed. Her path cut into the endless plains of Aetherion, green and gold in the sunlight, winds dancing across the open fields in visible currents. It was Zephyra’s domain, with her air magic, but she was likely far from home. Perhaps I’ll visit her on the way back.

As morning came, the jungle roused softly with life. Thalena was the first to wake, her eyes sweeping over the small clearing. Farther ahead, Kaelion lay slumped against Splin’s enormous side, one arm tucked under his head. Arinella had rolled over in the grass nearby, strands of hair plastered lightly to her cheek from the dew. And then there was Cassian, lying on his back.

“Aurion, you cannot go out there. Not again,” said Kaelric, his fist coming down hard on the table in the main hall. “I agree with Kaelric,” said Daryas. “This expedition is not for a king.” “Khoradyn is going,” said Aurion as he leaned forward, resting both hands lightly in front of him.

Aldar sat in his chambers, the book resting on his desk, its well-used pages open to the information he had painstakingly compiled about the various mages. Finally, the expedition into the darkness was set in motion. Perhaps, at long last, answers would surface—perhaps even traces of Lirien, if there was anything left of her to find. Brynor, Mirael, Orin, Khoradyn, Kaelric, and Astheron had been handpicked for the mission. It was a group of immense strength; their combined powers potent enough to meet whatever they might face.

Xarion stood in the warmth of his living room, his eyes tracing the distant outline of the Imperial Institute through the window. It had been a long time since Cassian vanished—simply gone, somewhere beyond his reach. Yet Xarion knew with certainty that they would meet again. For now, other matters demanded his attention. His advisors had spent weeks piecing together fragments of information about ruins, unexplored places scattered across the land.

Cassian lay in his bed in Stella Aeterna, surrounded by luxury that still felt foreign to him. The chamber unfurled around him in opulence, with walls veined in silver and lined with constellations, casting a soft glow over the room. The bed itself was vast, cloaked in silk sheets and pillows so fine they seemed to swallow him. Somehow, this grand space was his home for now. And yet, as plush as it all was, as inviting as the patterns on the ceiling seemed, sleep refused to come.

Jin hurried through the cave. He launched into the sky, wind and lightning dancing around him. His direction was clear—Stormpeak waited on the distant horizon, carved into the heart of Thundermarch’s highest plateaus. Yet despite Tianlei’s enduring bond, the god had grown quiet before abruptly asserting he needed to leave to “see something.” Jin hadn’t pried, but he had become too used to the god in his palm.

Cassian and Arinella strolled through Chronasis, its timeless elegance wrapping around them in ways that felt both imposing and serene. For once, he wasn’t confined to the research center, and he figured it would be better to see the city rather than let himself grow restless indoors. The tiled streets extended endlessly, lined by pristine white stone structures. “Look,” Arinella said, lifting an arm to point far into the sky. A massive windweaver soared high.

Brynor stood near the railing of the airship, his hands gripping the cold metal. The deep blue skies unfurled far beyond them. Teryndal spread below in a patchwork of greens and browns and black, with rivers slicing through the landscape. Mirael stood beside him. The breeze ruffled her pale blond hair as she glanced at him.

“This is boring,” said Lythariel as she sat back in her chair, arms folded. The small inn room, lit by a single wavering oil lamp, was cluttered with books and maps spread haphazardly on the battered wooden table they shared. The air smelled of damp wood and old parchment—reminders of the late nights they’d spent poring over scraps of information. “It has to be done,” Eira replied as her green eyes remained on a Valrindor text she had been studying. “Besides, it’s quite interesting.”

Aldar sat alone high up in his chambers. Before him, his book lay open, its pages filled with meticulously written notes on the mages of Xalmyrra. Each page chronicled their real strengths in combat, the roles they could play in fighting the darkness, and observations Aldar had written over the years—personal, targeted, and precise in ways only he could see. He turned another page, his fingers gliding lightly over the margins, pausing to reread the characteristics of one particular mage. Perhaps it was time to check in on the expedition.

Cassian sat aboard a sleek windweaver, cutting through the air as it sped toward the Celestial Nexus. The wind brought a clean, crisp bite, their vessel slicing above rolling fields and scattered rivers below. Kaelion stood near the railing of the deck as he watched the landscape unfurl beneath them. Arinella nestled against Cassian as she leaned her forehead lightly to his shoulder. She said nothing, and while others might have found this comforting, Cassian’s thoughts wandered, as always, far from the present.

Malcairn stood behind the remnants of a fallen watchtower, his outline still against the broken stones. His attention rested on the walls rising impossibly far in the distance. Barely visible shapes moved along those fortifications, mages on constant patrol. The stretch of land separating him from that border—a vast desolation—was devoid of life. The dry, cracked earth seemed like it had given up long ago in this barren place.

Malcairn stood atop the hill, rigid against the whipping winds that swept over the barren rise. Below him sprawled the once-thriving capital of the Malverand Empire, Maraveth—a city now poised at its final threshold. The great towers, which had once glistened in the sun like jeweled peaks, now looked broken under the shadow that brooded on the horizon. The darkness expanded endlessly, and even from this distance, he could sense it. He knew, with a certainty that chilled him to his bones, that it would consume Maraveth.

As Malcairn opened his eyes, the light creeping through the cracks in their modest home felt muted. Krexyn was already waiting outside as he called out, “So, what are you going to ask Zharrek this time?” Malcairn advanced. “Ask him to show care. We truly don’t know what’s out there anymore… not really.”

“Where now?” Malcairn asked. “South first,” Zal’therak replied. “Through Hengvaris… and then we go west, to Xalmyrra.” “Xalmyrra?”

And so the days unfolded, Silas watching Eira’s life from the shadows. “She has no idea of her powers,” Silas remarked one day from the void, his eyes tracing her erratic movements as she practiced spells with awkward determination. “Very much like Lythariel,” Zal’therak noted. “And the people of Xalmyrra seem to know her too.” “Cycles… memories,” Silas replied.

“I don’t know what he meant,” said Lythariel as she stood there, one hand cupping the opposite elbow. “I really don’t know.” Eira stole a look at Silas’s sleeping body, his chest rising and falling. “Maybe we should rest too,” Eira said, though she didn’t bother reaching for her pack. The questions kept returning, one after another; this man lay before her, and she couldn’t stop wondering.

“This feels slightly awkward,” said Jin as he glanced around the courtyard. The mages and soldiers who had bowed moments ago had begun returning to their tasks, though some still cast curious glances his way. “You did well,” said Kren. “Excellent display!” Zhang said with a broad grin, clapping Jin on the back hard enough to rock him half a pace.

The trip back from Velundra had gone faster than expected as Ilyra shared what she could. Yet, Xarion kept his focus forward, knowing there was little point in digging deeply here; Aldar would insist on hearing what she had to say firsthand. The burden of recounting things twice would serve no benefit. “We need to visit Aldar immediately,” Xarion said as the ship’s platform locked into place with a metallic hiss. “Imagine all the rumors,” Maric said.

Eira and Lythariel sat huddled together for what felt like hours. Their breath mixed in the cold, and the sound of half-stifled sobs and tears filled the otherwise still evening. In the end, it didn’t matter what Silas had said. Lythariel was real—so much more than real. “I’m not the most sensitive person,” Silas said, one shoulder lifting and dropping as if shedding rain.

Kaelion leaned against the rail of the windweaver, the wind ruffling his hair and ferrying with it the dry heat from the volcanic city below. Pyrenis sprawled outward, a landscape alive with molten rivers spilling from the distant volcanoes. The lava cast its fiery glow upon ashen cliffs and gilded every contour of the metal-forged architecture in the city. “Isn’t it fantastic?” said Ignaros.

Brynor watched intently as Lirien began to regain pieces of herself—her movements less sluggish, but the toll of her time inside the temple remained clear in her thin body and persistent fatigue. Orin and Mirael had poured their magic into healing her, stabilizing her fragile condition, but there was no denying she was far from ready to continue with them. Not here, deep into this forsaken land. As they rested, they shared what little they knew with her, giving her moments to process the chaos she had awoken to. “I always knew Eira was special,” said Lirien.

Aurion sipped his wine lazily, the crimson liquid staining his lips before he set the goblet down on the table. His seat in the Dravemir tavern offered a clear view of the swirling crowds—all manner of travelers, soldiers, and merchants filtering through the haze of pipe smoke and poorly aired space. Across from him, Daryas leaned forward, stabbing the meat in front of him with an extra hard thud. “How long are we going to stay here?” Daryas asked.

Jin quickly descended into Raindawn, looking at the defenses as the city was in full preparation. His landing near the central square brought him face-to-face with Master Han and Yǐngshuǐ, both of whom were deep in the throes of coordination. Barriers glimmered in the distance as earth and water melded into a massive defensive wall outside the city, designed to slow their enemies’ advance. Along the towers, platforms had been hastily constructed for cosmic and divine mages to rain their magic upon whatever dared approach. Water magic, abundant and versatile in Raindawn, poured from the mages, streams arching and swirling as they carved channels, reinforced barriers, and prepared devastating traps.

Renneth trudged through the crisp, snow-dusted streets of Varentis, his boots crunching against the icy ground as a chilly wind ran through the fortress city. The towering stone walls, lined with banners bearing the crimson fist of Keldara, reared above him. He was looking for a gate, and if one even existed, it could finally connect all the fragments of this maddening puzzle. “Remind me why I let you come along,” Renneth grumbled, glancing back at Maric, who sauntered with a jaunty bounce despite the biting cold. “You love my company,” Maric replied, his arms wide as if inviting a hug, his grin as insufferable as ever.

Aurion stood at the prow of his majestic airship, its polished steel and dark wood glittering under the diminishing sunlight. The wind rushed past him in brisk waves, harboring the scent of the Aethrendar Sea far below. They glided over the lands of Teryndal, bathed in pale hues of twilight, as Irrathis crept closer in the distance. The horizon unfurled ahead, scattered with repaired towns and green stretches of recovering fields. Even the harbor of Irrathis, once destroyed by the cataclysm, appeared whole again, the scars almost erased with sturdy docks and ships.

Xarion and Xandor sat across from each other in the grand dining hall of the Assembly, the space still and quiet except for the soft scratching of a quill. The high-arched ceilings and the polished oak tables lent the hall a sense of stately authority, though Xarion found its persistent rituals tiresome. Papers were sprawled before him, sorted into indistinct piles stacked both orderly and chaotically. “The rebuilding is going well; everything is fine, but…” Xarion exhaled, leaning back in his chair. He dropped the quill from his fingers with an audible clatter against the wood.

As the doors creaked open, Aldar stroked his beard slowly, recognizing the people entering. The trio was unexpected, but not unwelcome: Ilyra, Aurion, and Xarion. “What is this?” Xarion said as he marched in. “Lirien is back,” Ilyra announced.

Eira was already dressed and ready for the day, standing by the glow of the fire as the morning chill seeped into the room. Their journey would take them south, to Skarnheim, and as she considered the plans ahead, Lythariel appeared, descending from the stairs. Her footsteps were slow, and as Eira turned to greet her mentor, she caught a smile from Lythariel—a sign that perhaps she was beginning to recover. “Good morning,” Eira said, walking forward and wrapping her arms around Lythariel in a hug. “I will take care of you.”

“Are you sure about this?” Ilyra asked as they walked the finer streets of Irrathis. “I couldn’t be more sure,” Aurion replied. “This is a magnificent opportunity.” “And you really think the gate could lead us to Eira?”

The windweaver sailed through the sky, blending with the open air as Chronasis emerged into view. Cassian stood at the railing alongside Cyrena, the chill of high-altitude winds skimming his skin. Behind him, Lunorax followed at an exact distance, his hands clasped behind his back, footsteps nearly inaudible. Though he appeared neutral, Cassian could feel the attention fixed on him. There was no malice in it, no latent threat beneath the surface.

Morning arrived with the soft rustling of fabric, the light filtering into Cassian’s chambers as the curtains were drawn back. Stretching groggily, he turned toward the woman by the window, and stopped mid-movement. Thalena stood there, framed by the rising sun, its golden rays catching on her long, silver hair. She was quiet, pulling the last of the curtains aside with her aether magic. The translucent robes she often wore clung lightly to her, the material catching in places under the bright light.

Thalena stood at the wide window of her chamber, the pristine streets of Chronasis spreading beneath her. The city drifted with a serene cadence, the violet and silver hues of iridescent fields blending into its architecture. She kept her hands folded, thinking through the centuries she had ruled. Five centuries I’ve lived in this world, and yet… I feel younger than ever. Her palm rose to her chest, where her heart beat with a vigor she hadn’t known in years.

What emerged before her defied logic, shattering even her vast understanding of magic and reality. The being stood at the heart of a coruscating conflagration and froststorm, its mere existence tearing at the boundaries of the world. It was a living paradox, one half incandescent magma shaped into humanoid form, the other an obsidian sculpture wreathed in frost. Fire blazed cold, frost burned hot—nothing about this being obeyed natural laws. Thalena’s temporal shields rippled, bending against waves of pressure.

Cassian, my love. I hope you are doing fine. The words drifted through Arinella like a prayer as she sank into the baths of Aetherion, nestled within the Palace of Air. She sat back, letting the liquid lap against her collarbones. She had parted ways with Cassian and Kaelion only recently.

The land grew wetter the farther they traveled, thick with the smell of wet bark and rich soil. Grass sprawled farther now, lush and fed by the constant rain. Trees gathered closer together, interlacing into a patchwork that allowed streams of light to trickle through. In the forest’s clearing, the rain fell in a continuous clattering of droplets, but it didn’t touch the trio. Silas had conjured a small barrier—a deep blue starfield that curved overhead like spun glass, keeping the rainwater from soaking them as they sat around the clearing.

“Brynor! Wake up!” The voice cleaved into him like a blade, and a sudden jolt tore him from unconsciousness. “Who’s there?” he demanded as he tried to gather himself.

Thalena let the water slip through her fingers as she lowered herself into the calm, cerulean expanse of the Aetherion baths. The water curled and danced along her skin, slick as polished stone, its warmth a fleeting comfort. Now, all she had to do was proceed with her plans. They would all remain within her grasp, even Eira, eventually. That certainty should have grounded her, yet there was a flutter deep in her stomach.

There were too many voices, loud at times, swirling somewhere. Cassian needed a bit more time, just a little longer, but even in this strange half-sleep, he knew. Thalena and Arinella had spent most of their time in his room. Sometimes Zephyra and Ziyara too, but… what were Arinella and Thalena doing? I’m an idiot.

Jin had been flying for days, uncharacteristically slow. Exhaustion dragged at every movement, his body no longer responding with the pinpoint precision he was used to. Stops had been brief and unceremonious—just enough to scrounge for food wherever he could find it. No time for villages or settlements, only fleeting pauses to keep his body from failing outright. The sky felt like his only companion, a vast and empty expanse reaching endlessly before him.

They had finally reached Rimvold. The city stood at the foot of the mountains, enclosed by wooden walls laced with protective runes. They’d found an inn tucked near the perimeter, a place of safety, or so it seemed. But Lythariel refused to sleep. “I will be fine,” Eira said as her fingers worked absent patterns into the coarse blanket beneath her.

The air in the border forest hung damp and otherworldly, seeping into Renneth’s clothes and clinging to his skin. The trees rose around them, their roots drifting and breaking apart as the ice boat Maric had formed glided across the marshy ground. “Tell me again, why did I agree to this?” Renneth barked as he squinted into the endless tangle of branches. Firelight wavered in subdued arcs at his fingertips, giving light to the deep greens of Erenmyr’s undergrowth.

They had arrived long before Kaelion. Splin, for all her impressive build and boundless leaps, was no match for Thalena’s unstrained speed through space. At some point during the flight over, he’d found himself wishing he’d learned aether magic instead of resonance. But no matter how hard he’d tried, he’d shown no aptitude for it. It wasn’t a matter of effort—not exactly.

Aurion sat at the head of the circular table in the Luminary Halls. The chair beneath him felt colder than usual, as though the burden of its meaning bore down more insistently today. This chamber had seen countless meetings, decisions, and plans—all of which had begun with him seated here. And yet, as he observed Daryas seated across from him, he wondered: Would he be better suited for this throne than I am? Such thoughts had been returning more often now, especially since Thalvian had gone to Irrathis.

Brynor walked along the streets of Irrathis. The city was lively as always, with the shuffle of merchants, mages, and common folk skirting one another. Yet, none of it registered to Brynor. Mirael had left for Zeydrith, which meant his days were filled with the noisy, unruly lives of their children, their laughter and small troubles keeping him grounded, but at night? The dreams always came.

Cassian didn’t realize at first that he had let his guard down again. His eyes began to blink open, drawing him dimly toward the waking world. His body felt sluggish—he had spent an immense amount of essence the day prior—too much. Do I really feel… this safe here? Was it because of Thalena?

Thalena sat at her desk, deep in conversation with Lunorax and Kaelion. They had gathered for a specific reason—she had news regarding Naryon’s recent expedition. Cassian observed from a short distance. He leaned against the wall and turned toward Kaelion. “Is that why you decided to stay a bit longer?”

Silas strode through the streets of Skarnheim, keeping to the sides where the shadows of overhanging rooftops reached longest. He avoided notice as best he could. But here, in the lowlands, the rules altered the game: the runic carvings in nearly every surface seemed to nullify his usual tricks, protecting against illusions or tampering. Even so, he looked everywhere he could, his eyes flitting across the streets and alleys. Passing villagers cast cursory glances his way, and while most quickly looked away, a few seemed to notice.

Eira drifted in her sleep, the sensation disjointed and untethered. How long had she been asleep now? She couldn’t gauge it. The depth of rest drew her further, pulling her into uncharted stillness, until the world around her was no longer the black and white of Atraxis Prime but the strange vastness of the white space. She recognized it.

As they sat around the long table, Silas observed. Sigurd occupied the head of the table, the position itself enough to confirm what Silas already knew—he was the one who had called them here. To Sigurd’s right sat Thorik. On Sigurd’s left was Svanhild, her keen green eyes absorbing everything as if missing nothing. Near the far end of the table, Halgarr was seated next to Silas.

Aurion paced the outlines of Zeydrith. Hours had passed, and there was still no sign of Kaelric’s return. He had intentionally stayed on the outskirts, where any who returned would easily spot him. He had sent them all. If trouble emerged, Kaelric would likely remain in Dravemir and send word.

“Tell me, what am I doing here?” Renneth groaned, muffled slightly as he tore off a piece of bread and chewed. He studied the crust like it had personally offended him. “As if I don’t have coin for better than this.” “There’s nothing better to do,” Xarion replied, lounging back in his chair.

Aldar stood motionless near the heart of the council hall. The echoes of their departure resonated—Renneth and Maric. They would reach Velundra quickly enough, aided by that peculiar assortment of mounts they had acquired. Ilyra had joined them soon after, her magic burning as brightly as the healing light she had summoned just moments ago. And Brynor had wasted no time at all, already tracing fire and havoc across the horizon in his uncanny charge toward Soltheris.

The salty sting of the coastal air hit Aldar’s face as he stood at the dock, the ocean expanding before him in dark, endless swells that reflected the overcast sky. Somewhere on the horizon, a storm rumbled deep and low, as it always did in the western seas where the skies refused to clear. Dampness clung to his skin, the kind that never quite evaporated near these waters. The small boat bobbed against the dock, its chains groaning softly as Dorian worked them free. It had been some time since Aldar’s last true adventure, his duties on the council barring him from the reckless freedom he used to enjoy.

“I didn’t find him, nor hear anything, no,” Aldar said. “I’m sorry.” Rowenna’s green eyes fixed on him. “Then why did you come?” “Don’t be so harsh on him,” Dorian interjected.

A few days had passed, and Cassian now found himself in the lounge of Stella Aeterna this morning. He didn’t mind the calm as he waited. It gave him space to relax between his otherwise lively days. Having Deylin here in Chronasis was a strange event, and it had made him understand that Deylin, for all his knowledge and power, didn’t truly know Eira that well. And just as Cassian closed his eyes, a familiar voice jolted him back to the present.

Jin sliced across the winds, the sky extending wide and boundless around him as he soared over Valrindor’s sprawl. A rasp of static trailed in Jin’s wake, his magic giving off a crackle charged by restrained storms as the vast expanse of Bjarnholt drew closer beneath them. His eyes focused on the horizon, where the wall of darkness rose, thicker and more foreboding than he could recall in recent memory. Its size was staggering, a towering monstrosity that devoured ocean and land alike, as if the very world had been severed in two. “What have we gotten ourselves into?”

How many days had it been? Did she sleep for days? Eira quickly dressed up, pulling on her clothes with the urgency of someone waking from a nightmare. She moved to the wide, spotless windows that framed her room, resting her hands against their cool surfaces as she stared out into the pristine, too-perfect stillness of Atraxis Prime. It felt like days, though she had no reason to believe it.

A few days had passed since that night—the very night everything had changed between them… or had it? What began as teasing and fun had spiraled into something consuming, something Thalena hadn’t quite predicted. When did I lose myself? How was it that, after all her calculations and expectations, one young man had completely undone her? Just by the way he looked at her.

Kaelion rode south, having left Chronasis not long ago, with the landscape of hills and winding rivers painting the way toward Thalmyris. He held Splin’s reins loosely, the fabric warm under his fingers from the mid-morning sun. With the knowledge that he could cross the storms, he could finally find them. Somewhere, across that storm-wracked gulf of sea and lightning, Eira and Isrynn were waiting. And he would find them.

Kaelion sat at the far side of the chamber as the doors burst open, and with it came a whirlwind dressed in teal and silver. She strode in as she pointed straight at Tazarin. “My mom demands you go to Chronasis!” People exchanged uncertain glances before focusing their stares on her. Zephyra, of course.

Halgarr placed the book on the table with a thunk that echoed across the chamber. It was massive, hinting at untold layers of time, and easily one of the largest Jin had seen in recent memory. “Thank you,” said Jin, giving Halgarr a dip of his head as he slid the book closer to him. “I’ll see if I can find something on eastern Valrindor,” said Svanhild as her eyes scanned the rows of aged spines along the shelves. “Perhaps you can check western?”

Eira sat cross-legged in the grass, her fingers idly combing through the soft green blades as she fixed her attention on the distant wall of darkness that encompassed Atraxis Prime. Around her, life thrived. Deerlike creatures bounded through the meadow. A family of bears lumbered along the verge of the distant trees. Butterflies danced between blossoms, their wings painted in hues too vibrant to belong to anything but a dream.

Thalena sat in the lounge. She played idly with a strand of hair, just as Deylin appeared with his new attire. Chronasis had finally coaxed him into its mold, though only slightly. The flowing robes he now wore mostly adhered to the city’s style, but their neutrality—grey from collar to hem—made him stand apart yet again. “Do you really prefer grey?”

As Eira’s days dragged onward, she lost track of how many she had spent simply drifting in and out of sleep. Jorhan evaded her questions with maddening consistency. She had learned nothing new, despite countless conversations that seemed to lead no closer to the truth. She knew some of his disciples had gone to Arcanis, but he refused any further explanation. One day, while wandering near the river, she saw him speaking with Jareth.

The shadows unfurled as Silas emerged just beyond the city walls, his appearance as unnatural as the silence that followed. Merchants along the road stumbled back, goods forgotten in the dust at their feet. Even the mages stationed high above on the massive wooden wall reacted, their hands sliding into spell-casting motions. From above, Jin descended. His hair, streaked with static from his earlier flight, clung to his brow.

Silas emerged from the darkness, blending into the charred remains of the land around him. The remnants of a once-flourishing forest lay scattered—cracked branches blackened into brittle charcoal. And above it all, as if untouched by the carnage below, Zharrek floated in the sky—a sovereign of his crumbling domain. His outline blazed, a warped constellation burned into his flesh. Silas came to a halt.

The boat pushed eastward, slicing through the restless waves as the steel-gray sky began to fold into darker shades with every passing moment. The ominous storm ahead seethed and boiled, and yet Zayren began to speak through the damp air. At first, Kaelion barely registered the words, just noise against the slap of water and the hiss of the wind. But soon, Zayren spoke louder, too loud to ignore. “Zephyra,” he said at intervals that became increasingly frequent the closer they got.

The early parts of the day unfolded as expected. Cassian had gone on a morning run with Deylin, their shared routine unbroken even as the latter prepared to leave for the south. Before he departed, Deylin had shared something with Thalena—something that, as he put it, only she could truly understand. “I think the gates are matter stabilizers of sorts,” said Deylin, casually strolling into her office. “Matter stabilizers?”

The moment Kaelion and Zayren walked into the house, they collapsed almost instantly. The scent of old wood and stone filled Kaelion’s senses as he drew in a long, labored breath, his shoulders finally loosening. The next morning came. He didn’t remain long in his home; other matters pulled at his attention. They passed by Cassian’s house on the way to the Imperial Institute, and Kaelion slowed, his pace stalling as he studied the familiar structure.

Thalena… I can’t stop thinking about her. Come on, keep going. Focus. Cassian could feel the warmth sneaking along his skin, circling through his veins faster than he wanted. This is ridiculous… It’s been hours.

“And then you just do like this,” said Jareth as he crushed a metallic cylindrical device in his hand. Moments later, the gate in front of her burst open, first releasing a swirling mass of blue light before turning into an inky void. “Pretty cool, right?” he added. Eira stared.

The journey to Velundra sprawled in grassy hills and slopes along the coast. While they avoided the crowded roads, they could still see the activity that coursed along them. Distant masts swayed on the horizon, ships inching across the waters that mirrored slivers of an overcast sky. Xoh’Tenol had gone off somewhere, gathering information, or so he’d said. Meanwhile, Kaelion observed the drifting clusters of people, recognizing faces here and there.

Tianlei’s voice struck him with the immediacy of a thunderclap, shaking Jin back from the depths of unconsciousness. “Welcome back.” Jin snapped into coherence as the world came flooding back. He pushed himself upright in the bed too fast, his vision blurring as the room tilted around him. Placing his palm against his forehead, he braced the dizziness away and tried to take in his surroundings.

Cassian strode through the streets of Chronasis on his way home to Stella Aeterna. His steps quickened as he thought of Thalena’s chambers when— The wind came out of nowhere, a chaotic, spiraling force that plucked him cleanly off his path. His boots lost contact, the whirling air clutching him with reckless power and launching him upward. His arms flung out instinctively, but there was no point in resisting. “What are you doing?”

“We need to leave,” said Belanor. “I’m aware,” said Jorhan. “But we need to save as many as possible.” “And what if we die on the way?” Eshmir asked, bracing herself against the polished rail beside her.

The days blurred, slipping past with the inexorable flow of time. What began as days became weeks, and, before long, those weeks folded into months. The atraxi adapted swiftly despite the alien nature of the place. Language—the local language known as Malverine—came to them with surprising aptitude. Yet, soon it became apparent that their own atraxi tongue was a far more structured and efficient system.

Belanor had managed to convince Aldred to let them remain near the western shores for a while, giving them the time and resources needed to prepare the voyage. Finally, the moment arrived. “To think there are fewer than a hundred of us now,” said Eshmir as the boats drifted westward. “I’ve tried my best,” Amos responded, his eyes on the horizon. “But our children won’t survive without human blood here.”

The five of them—Jorhan, Belanor, Amos, Jareth, and Eshmir—traveled together. Their destination lay on the farthest edges of southern Xalmyrra, a landscape both alien and dangerous. There, in the suffocating darkness, a structure now stood. Half-embedded in the void itself, it warped between two planes. “This door is always open and leads to the void,” said Amos as he pointed forward, “and the other to the building itself.”

“I didn’t expect I’d be fighting darkness in a foreign land,” Zayren mumbled. “And I didn’t expect to be stuck in Velundra for several weeks,” Kaelion replied. The soaring silhouette of the Imperial Institute soon overshadowed the streets near its southern entrance. Irrathis showed itself as vibrant as always: cobblestoned roads brimming with traders and the rush of essence-powered carriages blending with voices raised in negotiation. The darkness was still far from its borders.

As weeks dragged by in Atraxis Prime, Jorhan started to grow distant. The gap between them felt intentional, like he feared she knew too much. And maybe he was right. Her ability—the magic that let her see through doors and people—had unfolded Atraxis Prime before her like a map. She had learned its corridors, its hidden places, its pathways.

“Dravemir has fallen,” Aurion declared. His fist struck the polished obsidian table, the piercing sound splintering through the vast chamber. The gathered attendants remained still, their faces staring at the table in front of them. Astheron stood near the center of the table, his fingers moving across the map’s surface, pausing here and there as if grasping for solutions in the parchment. But it was Khoradyn who spoke up first.

As the two men neared the southern frontlines, the blighted landscape sprawled before them. Brynor’s eyes fixed on the blurry silhouette of Dravemir in the distance. The towers still stood, but darkness snaked around them like a hazy prison, the gloom turning the ruined city into a perfect shadow of its former self. “We’ll get it back,” Brynor rumbled. “One day.”

“Can you still fight, brother?” Kaelion asked as he gripped Aurion’s arm, pulling the older man to his feet. The word felt strange as it left his lips. Was this truly the right moment to use it? Kaelion’s hands still quivered from unleashing his destructive magic—he’d destroyed the gate as Xoh’Tenol had instructed, leaving only a crater in the darkened ground behind him.

Eira dashed down the hallway, her severed hand clutched in the other arm. The pain shot up through her body in waves, but she bit the inside of her cheek and kept running. Behind her, she could hear Jareth’s footsteps. The gate room came into sight. Eira stumbled slightly as she pushed forward.

Jorhan remained motionless, utterly ignoring Kaelion despite the impossibly shattered battleground stretching between them. He stood hundreds of strides away, a dark shape against the blazing remnants of their battle. His posture was calm, purely fixed on the skies above. Kaelion watched Jorhan’s arms slowly rise, conjuring shield after shield. They weren’t the ordinary defenses Kaelion had seen in battle—all these shields were colossal, far thicker than anything he’d seen.

They had been flying for what felt like hours, slicing through a landscape of annihilation. Below them sprawled a wasteland of broken earth and half-submerged plains, devastation driven to such extremes that Eira could no longer tell what the land was once meant to be. “Who could possibly do this?” Eira asked. “I see Jorhan’s power, along with his shard,” Eshmir replied, scanning the world beneath them.

Vianna Kairo kept herself a half-step behind her older brother Julian, as they walked through the bright morning streets of Radiance Prime toward the school in the distance. The air smelled of salt, carried inland by the ocean breeze that drifted through her wild mop of orange-white hair, pulling the strands in every possible direction. Radiance Prime Magic School grew larger with each step, its pale walls and arching steel-and-glass spires rising like they had been placed there to touch the skies. Beside her, Julian strolled with his chin high, his bag slung over one shoulder. “You worry too much,” Julian said as they rounded a corner, the main gates of the school finally coming into full view.

Time passed until one night someone arrived at their house. Voices trickled upstairs, pulling her from restless sleep. She recognized Isaac immediately. Without thinking, she threw back her blanket and bolted toward the source. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, her father and Isaac were standing close.

Two years had passed since they last saw the city, and in their absence, it had grown beyond recognition. Buildings extended farther than Vianna could have imagined; the streets filled with new faces—migrants, traders, and refugees drawn to the city’s promise of security. One day, however, a special visit disrupted the city’s routine. Two men from Skarnheim and Bjarnholt arrived—Sigurd and Thorik. Somehow, Vianna found herself trailing behind Kren as they entered the meeting with Sigurd and Thorik.

The cold air of Kaldaryn bit at Vianna’s flushed cheeks as they approached the central plaza. It should have felt familiar, grounding even, but something was different. A man stood waiting. Her steps halted. Dark leather armor and winter-fur cloaks rustled as Garrik and Khoradyn, locked in conversation, came into view.

Vianna turned slowly, surveying the landscape. The city was magnificent, carved straight from the earth itself, with dark volcanic stone polished to a mirror-like finish, reflecting both glacial blues and ember-like reds. It was unlike anything she had ever seen—an impossible balance of elemental opposites. “What’s the wall for?” she asked, motioning toward the massive structure on the border of the city, extending as far as she could see.

And so the days went on, Vianna’s victories arriving one after the other. For the first time, she bested both Kazimir and Kyrana, her mastery surging beyond what even she believed possible. It was rare to see Kyrana quiet after such defeats, though her fiery counterpart had shown a fleeting smile of pride before moving aside. Kazimir, of course, said nothing, but his cold stare had softened. Pyrathalor returned to her side soon after, as nonchalant as ever.

“This boat is not aligned perfectly,” Virel said as they soared through the waves. His white eyes scanned the vessel beneath him, precise as ever, catching each place where lines went awry, where corners didn’t meet the way they should. He ran a hand along the railing, his fingers gliding over the splinters hidden beneath its shoddy stain. “And it’s not… particularly good either.” “Not like we can go into Pyrenis with a grand boat,” Nahm rumbled.

“Wow,” said the man stationed inside the military academy, blinking, “Hadrian recommended you?” “He did,” replied Virel, offering a shallow inclination. “I’m honored to receive it.” “Well then,” the man said. “Welcome to the Thalassai legions.”

One day, Virel noticed something different in the arena. Thalena and Kaelion were standing side by side near the center of the colosseum, yet they didn’t appear to be training. They were waiting—watching the entrance as though expecting someone. It wasn’t long before that someone appeared. “That’s him,” Nahm said.

“The things Nahm has told us… it’s worrying,” Pyrathalor rumbled, his molten-frost form glowing in the firelit chamber. Vianna sat near him, while Kyrana and Kazimir stood farther apart. “Do you think they would come for us?” Kazimir asked. Pyrathalor answered immediately.

As the meeting concluded, Isaac stood, smoothing the hem of his cloak with meticulous care. “I will return soon,” he said, nodding to the room before departing. “Stop there,” Svanhild said as she too rose, meeting Isaac head-on. “What are you, really?” “Excuse me?”

The chilled air rolled over the landscape as Jin made his way back to Rimvold. The rivers, now coursing freshly through the broken lands, had begun to breathe life into the soil. Water, clear and cold, ran over dispersed stones, leaving frothy remnants glinting in the sunlight. His hands remained slack at his sides, the familiar charge of Tianlei resonating beneath his skin. “I have contact with Zal’therak again… he’s in Thalassai,” Tianlei echoed suddenly.

Thalena moved restlessly in her bed, her fingers curling into the silken folds of the sheet beneath her. Why am I so annoyed? Somewhere—Cassian was spending the day with Arinella. She could sense him, deeper in Chronasis. Of all the things she had won, commanded, controlled, this… persisted.

The metallic gleam of the construct ship caught the rays of sunlight slicing through the overcast sky, smooth and perfect. The ship’s design was a blend of metal and wood, though the craftsmanship leaned predominantly on the former, giving it an almost mirroring quality. Symmetrical on every axis. Flawless. Ahead, a thin sliver of water cut across the land, the narrow divide between the southern and northern halves of Bjarnholt.

Cassian sprinted across the arena floor of the colosseum, his heart pounding. His boots dug into the stones, burning heat slicking his palms as he struggled to maintain his focus. Behind him, a bolt of plasma tore through the space he had just occupied, scorching the ground with its unbearable accuracy. “Wait, wait, wait!” he screamed.

As they moved toward Thalena’s office, the cadence of their steps filled the hallway. Cassian, now half asleep, spoke first. “Can I go to bed?” Thalena nodded to her daughter as she replied. “I will tell them later.”

Another plasma bolt—or a streak of white-hot fire—pursued him without letup across the arena. The air hissed, burning with invisible heat where the attacks passed, and Cassian canted mid-leap, narrowly avoiding the next one that threatened to engulf him. His reflexes were keener than ever now, something these last few days of brutal training had proved beyond a doubt. He was slipping through danger with grace, and for the first time, he was countering. He’d even managed to land a couple of strikes on Aelius earlier, though Aelius had only offered that infuriating smile in response.

“I’ve gotta admit, that’s not what I expected,” said Tazarin as he took his seat across from Thalena in her office. “Razen and Ziyara will be fine, right?” Thalena asked. “They will be,” Tazarin replied. “No issue.”

They had been sailing through the suffocating darkness for at least an hour. Sight was nearly useless here—there was barely anything to see beyond a blur of dark shadows and the outlines of the others. The entire group had fallen into silence, each person’s focus turned inward as they conserved strength. The sound of lapping water against the hull had become a cadence beneath them, distant and hollow, until finally, they reached the shore. “It should be north from here,” Virel said.

Silas and Arinella watched from the periphery of the void, shrouded in its shadows as the battle unfolded above them. “That is Ozaryn, Ozaith’s wielder,” Zal’therak whispered. “Hmm,” Silas said. Watching her, there was no denying she was formidable—cosmic beams tearing through the combat plain. “She seems strong.”

This is not a good fight for me. Virel bared his teeth, his cosmic barrier flaring as another massive explosion detonated so close it rattled his bones. The blast billowed outward, sending a whiplash of force and heat in all directions as debris struck his defenses like a storm of razors. I’m on the defense. This wasn’t a position he was accustomed to.

“Are you not going to fight?” Cassian asked as the two stood in the vast halls of Stella Aeterna. “Thalena has asked me to protect our daughter, and I will,” Jin replied, holding Thalia close in his arms. The child was fast asleep, nestled into his chest. The light of the high-arched windows reflected off the fitted leather of his armor as he looked down at her, stroking the top of her dark-silvered hair.

Virel ascended far into the air quickly, tracing vector lines. From this vantage, he scanned the shattered landscape for clarity. He needed an overview of everything. Below, Simon was locked in an exchange with a woman whose dyed blue hair streamed behind her like an extension of her strikes, Zephyra, no doubt. No problem there—Simon was winning cleanly, every strike calculated, finding gaps in her defenses.

“That is Nahm,” Zal’therak echoed. Silas’s lips twitched. “Hmm. A god, huh? I suppose you can’t exactly match him?”

“This was the worst it possibly could be,” Nahm echoed as the god returned to the shard. “I had no idea…” Virel mumbled as the group pushed onward, closing the gap toward Thalena. “Neither did I,” Nahm rumbled. “I never sensed something like this during our stay here.” At that, arcs of cosmic essence sparked around Virel’s knuckles.

Aelius opened the door to Thalena’s office. The sunlight from the windows illuminated him in fleeting waves as he crossed the threshold. “You called for me?” “I did,” Thalena replied. She turned to a drawer on the side of her desk, pulling it open.

As they strode across the now blackened Chronasis landscape, leaving the city behind them, Vianna looked down at her fading shard. She couldn’t help but wonder: would she be strong enough without Pyrathalor? Movement ahead, in the far distance, snapped her forward. Over in the open fields, far from the city, a signature came into her awareness. It was clear to her long before she could see its detail—an abyss of essence awaiting them.

Virel scanned the destruction as the battle’s aftershock ebbed into silence. The area was thick with debris, smeared with the distant glow of molten rock and icy remnants, but all was eerily still now. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, drowning out the ringing emptiness that surrounded him. He couldn’t waste any reserves to sense the ruined expanse beyond what his strained eyes could see. There wasn’t enough left in him, in any of them.

So you upheld your deal… Tianlei. Thalena’s head turned toward the storm god in the distance, each of his lightning-wreathed eyes assessing the entirety of this moment. She could fight no longer. At least not with what she currently had. Tianlei’s lightning-bolt eyes met hers, and for a fleeting second, she thought she saw him slightly bow his head.

“What’s happening?” Vianna asked. “Not so loud,” Virel rasped, sinking to his knees. His hands braced loosely against the earth as though the ground might somehow pin him in place. When his eyes met hers, there were tears falling.

Cassian burst through the doors of Stella Aeterna, driven by a need he could no longer contain. His feet pounded against the broken tiles as his eyes lifted toward the sky. And there it was, far above—an unbearable sight he could scarcely comprehend. The asteroid hung high, beyond measure. It was too big to describe, too big to imagine.

My last task, at least in this world, Thalena mused as she ascended into the skies, pushing through the thinning atmosphere. The celestial object towered ahead. Against it, she felt small—an ember fluttering in the shadow of an unspeakable monolith. The climb felt eternal, the crushing pull of gravity fading as the world beneath her blurred into shapeless obscurity. She could no longer make out Chronasis—not her fields, her waterways, or the shattered lands she had spent her life protecting.

He caught her—what was left of her luminous, beautiful being. It cannot be, can it? The thought struck Cassian even as tears cascaded down his face in uncontrollable streams. His arms cradled her gently. With Jin’s help, he had caught her midflight, moments before everything would have been too late.

The world sprawled beneath Cassian, the blackened landscape and fissures plainly visible from the windweaver. Villages that had once thrived, their laughter and life echoing through the lands, were now gone—reduced to barren patches of ash and ruin. Fields lay scorched, their fertile soil stripped to nothing but remnants of what once was. Cassian’s hand locked around the railing, the polished steel biting into his palm. Beside him, Arinella clung to his arm, her touch the only rope holding him within the moment.

Eira found herself yawning more and more as their journey neared its end, with Zeydrith’s spires finally visible in the distance. Her body was aching to surrender, but something caught her attention through the haze of weariness. “Those are… stone walls,” Aurion said. “Khoradyn?” Kaelion asked.

Virel couldn’t believe it. Thalena had somehow destroyed the asteroid as it descended on Thalassai. During this, Isaac had managed to drag them all to safety, guiding their escape past Pyrenis until they reached the ships. The constructs had torn parts of the city, leaving destruction across its streets and ending countless lives. As Virel stood on the deck of the ship, he watched Pyrenis port disappear over the horizon.

Cassian sat in Thalena’s office—no, his office now, with its obsidian floors and walls. The realization felt strange, almost intrusive. Papers, pristine books, and half-finished scrolls sprawled across the desk that once guided the future of Thalassai. Now they awaited his hand. They had just returned from the Celestial Nexus, where fate, circumstance, or perhaps Thalena herself had named Cassian the new archon of time.

Vianna stared down at her palm. It was barren—no mark, no shard, no fragment of what once was. He was gone, truly gone. The cold finality of it coursed through her, leaving the ache of absence in its wake. She would never see him again.

Eira trailed closely behind Kaelion and Aurion as they approached the sealed room. Aurion pushed the door open, revealing a strange light emerging from within. Cosmic currents coursed through the radiant divine glow, and gravitational pulls dragged at Eira’s core. “We don’t know exactly what it is,” Kaelion said. “My guess is some kind of self-repair.

Nobody was present within Stella Aeterna. The grand halls, usually alive with exchanges of officials, chronarcs, and the legions, stood eerily silent. Thalena moved swiftly, her bare footsteps muted against the floor. She glanced down at her arms. Cracks webbed her pale skin like veins of splintered glass, glowing more the longer she delayed.

On the other side, the unfamiliar greeted her, and yet some of it was not so unfamiliar. She had learned much about Xalmyrra through Cassian and Kaelion, and here it was—Erenmyr. The land of divine mages. Surrounding her spread lush forests and green plains that bloomed with wild violets and purple flowers. Bits and pieces matched the old records she had studied about this place.

Not long after, the world collapsed in on itself. Everything folded inward—land, sky, even air—crumbling to dust. Thalena blinked. And then she held it. As she held through the blink, her thoughts went to Deylin and Cassian, now blinking through the cycle alongside her.

Well, this is boring, she mused, lying motionless as the world moved around her. Kaelion kept her body stable at least. Her naked body—if it could even be called that anymore—was nothing but blazing, radiant light. Shields of divine, cosmic, and temporal energy glittered across her as layer upon layer of magic fused together, knitting her broken essence into something whole again. She wondered absently if Kaelion could even see her as a woman now or just a vessel of searing brightness.

“My Eira,” Lythariel said, pulling her into a hug that was just forceful enough to push Eira slightly off-balance. “And good to see you too,” Lythariel added, throwing a glance at Glin, Deylin, and Ilyra without loosening her grip. Eira returned the embrace, feeling the familiar warmth of her mentor’s aura, though she found herself at the brink of distraction. A barely contained impulse whispered for her to follow Thalena—to see Thalassai. The allure of Chronasis gripped her for reasons she couldn’t fully articulate; still, she knew this was not the time.

“Did you really have to send them north?” Xarion asked, his eyes fixed on Aldar as he leaned forward. “With the storms gone, the north is unexplored,” Aldar replied. “And who is possibly better?” “He’s right,” Xandor interjected, drawing closer and resting a hand on Xarion’s shoulder.

Daryas, king of Soltheris, sat at the head of the table, surrounded by advisors and ministers whose expectant faces seemed to blur into one another under the high, gilded arches of the hall. A drone of discussion filled the air, but his focus stayed locked on each speaker as they raised their points. Never had he imagined it would be this… easy. King, they called him—a title that sat awkwardly on him yet felt inevitable at the same time. Soltheris had welcomed him into this role with surprising ease.

“Are you sure Xarion didn’t need you?” Renneth called out, slicing through the rhythmic squelch of their frogs’ bounding strides. Spin and Gin, the oversized amphibians, moved with springy grace over the untamed terrain as they ventured northward. “You need me,” Maric shot back as he adjusted his grip on Spin’s reins. “Just admit it.”

Garrik stood atop the walls of Kaldaryn, the air crisp around him as it coursed down from the mountains towering above. Beside him stood Kren, having just returned from Thundermarch. “So, the cycles have been broken then,” Garrik said. Kren nodded. “Khoradyn is likely on his way.

Kyranthos shone brighter with each passing day, slowly transforming into something closer to perfection. Virel smiled as he surveyed the city’s growing symmetry, his influence carved into its design. Even the lava heating channels now bore some balance, their flowing paths more uniform—a small but personal triumph that Vianna had readily embraced. The city’s progress reflected her recent equilibrium as well, her duality finally finding balance. Both of her halves appeared—at least to his eye—almost equal at last.

Tazarin strolled along the streets of Tequaltor, taking in the renewed life of his city. The sunlight struck the golden stone of the buildings, diffusing a warmth that contrasted with the shadows cast by the tall stone pillars and rooftops. This was home—the seat of the archon of cosmos. “I’d like to rename our central pyramid,” Tazarin mused aloud with a laugh. “The Palace of Cosmos!”

Eventually, Brynor arrived in Velundra. He slipped through alleyways, avoiding every prying eye, and procured a handful of essence cores from an unaware merchant’s unattended stall. The vibrant glow of the cores illuminated his rough hands momentarily before he secured them. He knew someone likely noticed his short appearance, yet the hour worked to his advantage—it was an unearthly stillness that accompanied Velundra’s harbor after dark. Without delay, he cloaked himself in air magic and launched skyward, rising above the city as its glow receded beneath him.

Zain stood at the prow of the ship, his hands gripping the cold metal railing as the wind whipped past him. The sea spread out endlessly behind them, reflecting the pale light of distant stars. Aether mages guided the vessel with speed, tense and exhausted. The fleet had just broken away from the Haverloch and Brighthaven vessels after their cataclysmic losses in the invasion of Thalassai. They had called the operation a victory, or so it was said—but even as the commander, Zain couldn’t entirely agree.

Thalena moved through the gate, her feet landing on the floor of Chronasis. The familiar ether of her home enveloped her, and for a moment, she stood still, exhaling a breath laced with four centuries of separation. Time had unfolded differently for her, and yet just days had passed for those who had mourned her loss. The commotion in the Nexus Research Center quieted as the researchers turned toward her. Cyrena, standing near the center with a set of resonance tools in hand, halted mid-motion, her mouth parting.

Cassian Ironvale, the archon of time. The title still felt strange to him, though the days of wearing it had begun to smooth that oddness into something closer to familiarity. Somehow, people listened to him—really listened. They trusted his decisions, looked to him for answers. It left him wondering now and then: did Thalena really know he could do this job that well?

As they neared the cave deep within the mountains of Keldara, Eira couldn’t help but ask, “Um… what about Splin? Is she not coming with us?” Kaelion lifted an eyebrow and replied, “What do you mean?” He gestured behind them at a distant, bounding figure. And sure enough, Splin was there, the cadenced surge of her powerful leaps bringing her closer with each passing moment.

The group made their way back to Stella Aeterna along the pathways of Chronasis. Somehow, Cassian found it natural to share glimpses of his life, while Xarion’s stories brimmed with intrigue, depth, and a surprisingly biting wit that kept the discussions lively. The moment they crossed the threshold of the palace, Zayren appeared, emerging from one of the adjacent corridors. Without much preamble, he gestured for Thalvian to accompany him to the research center, Orin following close behind. Cassian noted he’d need to carve out time later to speak with his father, especially as Dorian and Rowenna decided to explore more of Chronasis.

Virel methodically brushed the last invisible speck of dust from his adorned robe, ensuring he remained utterly symmetrical. He stood tall and immaculate in the anticipation, embodying the order he so often sought in the disarray of their world. Behind him, Maia waited, her posture far from ideal—but for now, Virel allowed the lapse. For someone who had lost so much, he could tolerate her slumped shoulders and small, uncertain steps. She would recover, eventually, in her own time.

It was early morning, and Thalena woke in an instant. Cassian had done his job last night, filling her with love, but now it was her time to rise. She let Arinella and Cassian sleep a little longer—they both needed it. Especially Cassian, with all that had unfolded yesterday. “Where are you going?”

Virel awoke with precise intent, sitting upright instantly. His sleep had been timed exactly to what his body required, as always. He strode toward the baths, where the cascading waters of the Ember Spire flowed through masterfully designed channels, always at an exacting temperature. The bath soothed him, its warmth carefully calibrated, before he dressed in his adorned robes, every fold falling symmetrically, every detail immaculate. Entering the hallway, he encountered Vianna, her face lit with a rare smile, and Kren, whose arm was loosely draped around her.

The lounge swarmed with life as Cassian strode through the doorway, with the nearly ready table dominating the center of the room. But another motion quickly caught his eye: Xarion, grinning widely, lifted a hand in an enthusiastic wave. Instinct urged Cassian to wave in return, but he stopped mid-motion—Xarion wasn’t waving at him. His hand was directed at Thalena, whose own small wave bridged the exchange. Was it a mistake uniting the two of them here?

The next day, Virel found Vianna sitting by herself in the Ember Spire’s grand chamber, just as he was about to head outside to explore the city. Morning light filtered in through the polished volcanic stone walls. She sat near the perimeter of the large room, her glaive propped beside her. “In time, you’ll feel better,” he said, approaching her with a small, restrained smile. She traced a shallow circle on the stone with the tip of her boot.

Jin felt the strangeness of the void around him. Jareth held him hard, and he wondered how the man navigated this so easily. It could’ve been seconds or hours—Jin couldn’t tell—but he tried to focus on Jareth and the way he moved. It was as if the man knew the direction of the gates instinctively. Then Jareth lifted the cylindrical device, crushed it in his hand, and a light flared to life.

Eira and Kaelion had paused their journey in Taizhou, a smaller, understated city not far from Laizhou. Surrounded by open green terrain and bordered by a forest, the town held a certain charm despite its humble appearance. The buildings, constructed from wood and stone, were a far cry from the grandeur of Stormpeak. They had chosen a modest inn for the night, and now they sat outside its small dining area, their plates filled with local dishes as they watched a serene river wind past the outskirts of the town. The water reflected the soft glow of the setting sun, corrugating under the breeze.

Two days had passed. They had crossed the Stormhaven Strait hours ago, and Haverloch’s skyline began to emerge on the horizon, a spectacle of orderly beauty blurred by distance. The passing waves reflected long streaks of silver and blue from the rising sun, but Vianna’s focus remained elsewhere. Virel had been talking about symmetry nonstop, detailing Haverloch’s architecture with almost obsessive glee, his tone climbing higher with every example. His enthusiasm had long since dried his throat, yet he kept gesturing across the deck to Maia, who surprisingly humored him on occasion.

Thalena woke early. Cassian and Arinella rested on either side of her, their breaths soft and even. Was it selfish of her to always take the middle spot? Yet it felt natural, especially with Cassian’s unconscious habit of drawing her close, his arm draped loosely over her even now. Slipping out carefully, she floated off the bed, her robes sliding over her shoulders as she dressed.

“Where are we, and what is this?” Xarion called out, his broad gestures cutting across the expanse of sand and stone. Around them, the world felt void-like, painted with shades of beige under a blistering sun. Nothing but desert. Nothing but silence, save for the wind’s low hiss skimming across dunes.

Kaelion and Eira bounced along with Splin, the smooth yet powerful arcs of the frog’s leaps propelling them surely away from the city of Taizhou. Beside them, Jin hovered, his body mimicking Splin’s movements in midair. He realized in that moment just how close he was to seeing his mother for the first time in years, but the words he would say to her escaped him. So much had changed since the days they’d spoken—his life reshaped in ways he could hardly believe himself. A girlfriend, a god, and now even a father—all these pieces of his existence that Isrynn might not even know about.

“Isn’t it perfect?” Virel said as their feet touched down on the dock, the polished boards reflecting the golden hue of the sun. He cast an appreciative look at the immaculate fishing boats lined neatly along the waterfront. Their angular shapes and flawless craftsmanship mirrored the order of the symmetrically laid docks and the buildings rising behind them. “It’s fine,” Maia replied.

Somehow, it wasn’t entirely unexpected to Xarion that others could already be here. It seemed his intense duel with Aelius had drawn exactly the kind of notice he wanted. Before he could say anything aloud, a massive blue hue erupted behind them, swallowing the landscape in its sudden and unrelenting brilliance. Xarion barely had time to react. The storm of lightning coursing through his body propelled him forward, away from the disturbance.

“Give me more,” Thalena exclaimed as Cassian tried to match her intensity. She clung to him, her fingers sinking into his back as their bodies burned with shared warmth. The bed beneath them seemed hotter than usual, the outside heat finding its way into the space. Their closeness only amplified it, though Cassian didn’t mind. Every moment like this—consumed by her touch, by her nearness—reminded him why he loved her so deeply.

Vianna stood motionless, her glaive tilted against the grass as her eyes barely focused on Deylin moving cleanly into Varnhallow’s boundaries. He made it seem inconsequential—walking through the barrier that none of the rest could breach. Yet her mind was occupied with other matters. If Thalena had been the one to send Isaac to protect her… didn’t that mean the civil war, her exile, her losses—all of it—had started because of Thalena? Her parents, her brother.

Eira kept her position a few steps behind Kaelion as Garrik approached. His attention, however, was fixed elsewhere—on Jin, Isrynn, and Yǐngshuǐ. It wasn’t surprising; neither she nor Kaelion commanded his interest yet. They were unfamiliar faces to him. “We meet again,” said Garrik, extending a hand to Jin and nodding.

The banquet had gone as expected. Wilfred had officially endorsed Xarion as the next divine patriarch, and no one in attendance dared to question the decision. Xarion had stood before the gathered guests, delivering a speech that held the room in rapt attention. Every word had served its aim, solidifying the idea that his ascension was not just inevitable but natural. Now, as he sat back in his house with the others, he was certain his victory was all but guaranteed.

“Me?” said the man as he turned around and met Isaac’s eyes. He raised a hand and pointed to himself before declaring, “Zayren, Supreme Aether Mage.” Vianna’s first reaction was to simply stare. His theatrics struck her as peculiar, out of place even, but something about him made her reach a conclusion.

Xarion had fallen into a sleep so deep that even the burden of recent events couldn’t keep him awake. He had succumbed entirely to exhaustion, his mind too weary to resist. “Wake up,” he heard suddenly. His body jolted as Aelius snapped him from the haze. Standing over him, the larger man had his arms crossed.

The furniture landed with a soft scrape against the polished stones of the courtyard, scattered amid Vianna and Isaac as the makeshift contraption came to a rest. Zayren unfolded from his seat, placing his hands on his hips. “Welcome to my home. It’s not much, but it’s mine!” “Not much…” Vianna echoed.

Virel stared at his empty palm where his symmetrical mark once rested. Its absence was jarring, as though his sense of balance had been stripped from him. Nahm was no longer here, no longer near. They were trapped in a place where even gods wouldn’t follow. The forest enveloped him in swaths of shifting shadow and light, the sunlight fragmenting through layers of greenery.

Xarion—or Thalion, as he was now known—sat on the couch within his patriarch residence. This spacious room, frequently used for private discussions or strategizing, had become essential for avoiding the prying eyes of native Varnhallow residents. Even so, Frederick and the officials working under him had done a remarkable job running the city, ensuring everything operated smoothly. Spring was approaching, and with it, the tournament. But in the year that had passed, Thalion had not been idle.

Vianna sat in her designated room, the open balcony door admitting the arena’s subdued chatter. She reclined a touch, her eyes dropping to the floor. Isaac’s insistence that she join the tournament had been simple enough—an opportunity to rise to the position of divine patriarch, to inch closer to the seat of power. Yet, that rationale hadn’t fully convinced her. There were always other reasons with Isaac that she couldn’t quite grasp.

Virel watched Vianna and the others as they disappeared into the arena, swallowed by the towering doors. He exhaled, pivoting toward Zhang and Isaac, unsure what to expect as he waited for Isaac to finally share the larger plan. “When their plan is happening, we’ll leave.” “So we’re really going to let them remain?” Virel asked, scanning Isaac’s face for some hint of hidden intention.

The grand balcony hung like an extension of the sky over the arena, its brims gilded by Varnhallow’s ambient glow. Below, the crowd was a living sea of restless movement. Eltaru’s golden mask caught the light as he gestured outward. “They can’t see us here. But make sure you suppress your essence.”

Eltaru stood motionless at the foot of the stairs, his golden mask shining under the arena’s ethereal light. A lone patriarch advanced slowly before him. This… wasn’t how Vianna imagined it would begin. Something about this felt wrong. And still, there was no sign of Zhang.

They had taken the bait far too easily. Thalion had donned the golden mask moments before the group descended the stairs, sliding seamlessly into the role they expected him to play. Svanhild and Kren sprang into action as predicted. With Tianlei’s power coursing through him, evading their advances was simple. Zayren had fallen in line almost immediately when Thalion invoked Xarion.

Virel hurled through the open expanse, the fading spires of Astralynne shrinking into the horizon behind him. His vectors carved through the air, ruffling the tall grasses of the plains below in his wake, but his mind was elsewhere—in a moment he couldn’t stop replaying. Vianna, chasing him in desperation, her plasma ball ricocheting back. The impact hadn’t just sent her careening; it had torn through dozens, maybe hundreds, of lives. The screams were still fresh in his ears, haunting every gust of wind that stung his face.

894 BX. Isandriel stood inside the government complex overlooking the city. Usually, he would cast his attention far down toward its lively streets and surging crowds, but today something else drew his focus. A skyship approached the dock near the government building, moving at a pace that could only be described as unusual. It carried the markings of Maraveth—a sight not uncommon given its trade routes and other obligations—but these markings weren’t the ones used merely for shipping.

Even with the skyship, the trip to Xalmyrra would take a while. Isandriel passed the long hours watching the sprawling landscapes of Malverand gradually thin into rocky expanses that flanked the mountainous east. As the peaks of Xalmyrra towered against the sky, he mulled over Zeydrith and whether the city had been touched by the darkness spreading across the empire. Did they know anything about the spiral shard? He doubted it.

252 BX. The atraxi had proven themselves in recent years. Kheran had traveled far east, extending his influence beyond expected borders, while Jareth had spent his time building in mainland Malverand. His hunger for discovery even led him to visit Isandriel, whose recommendation to Michael seemed inevitable. Isandriel had little doubt that the atraxi would be welcomed into the grandest halls of Maraveth before long.

10 BX. As Isandriel piloted his skyship toward Xalmyrra, he kept thinking about the other guardians. Did they distance themselves because they feared him? Was it his power that kept them at arm’s length, or simply the nature of their roles? The isolation was familiar, almost comfortable, but he couldn’t shake the questions entirely.

1104 AX. More centuries passed as Isandriel governed, the darkness creeping further year by year. Durakarn, his former homeland, was now a mere fragment of what it had once been, swallowed by corruption. The other guardians offered no counsel, nor did they act. Skirmishes flared sporadically, but the larger concerns of the empire were left untended.

The temporal bubble vanished into the distance, leaving a splintered, ethereal glow behind them. The armada soared through calmer skies now, though the atmosphere aboard the flagship was far from serene. Thalion stood by the wide windows, sunlight streaking across the steel interior, as Benedict navigated the massive vessel. The other skyships naturally fell into formation behind them, as if recognizing this one as their leader. Thalion remained motionless as he stared ahead.

Vianna had just walked out of the meeting alongside Kren. The house in Rimvold felt vast and hollow, its sturdy stone walls offering little comfort. A patriarch had led them here, claiming it was well-suited for a group their size—situated along the mountainside, adjacent to the Great Hall. Yet her eyes stayed forward, far off, as Kren’s reassuring hand gripped her shoulder. Alistair… Isaac… Virel.

Thalion cast a final look at Ivan and Vianna as the group disappeared underground. Soon, the main forces would collide, and Maia was already doing her part, taking out skyships with her iridescent beams. Divine and cosmic shields erupted across both sides, strobing barriers clashing in luminous bursts as forces surged forward. But Thalion instead looked away from them, down to his palm. It quivered.

The moment Vianna emerged, immense shields erupted on both sides. The ground beneath her feet had already turned to lava in some places, the air searing her lungs with every breath. Above her, golden lightning hammered down from the heavens, each strike shaking the ground with merciless force. She scanned ahead. Ivan was already farther out, his towering wall of stone dominating the landscape.

A day had passed since the devastating battle. The morning chill still clung to the stone walls of the Great Hall as Thalion sat at its head, waiting. The scent of damp wood and iron filled the room as attendees filtered in slowly. Midday light poured through the grand windows, warm yet indifferent to the events unfolding within. He assumed this meeting would stretch long into the night, the content of their discussion demanding nothing less.

Just as Vianna walked up to Aelius, Zayren loitered nearby. “Good luck,” he said with a smile, raising a hand in a casual wave. “We won’t see each other for a while,” Vianna replied. “I know,” Zayren said, walking a few steps closer to her. “But I’m sure you’ll be fine!”

Thalion paced along the outskirts of Rimvold, boots crunching against the gravel path with an uneven cadence. He kept looking around—first to the west, where Aelius and his group might appear, then north toward the route Rhyzmar and Thea were scouting, and finally south, where Svanhild’s return was just as likely. Occasionally, Benedict or Frederick would join him, offering reassurances that barely left a mark on him. These fleeting visits always ended the same way, as they turned back toward their posts, leaving Thalion alone with his restlessness. Standing by the river, the cool breeze gliding past his face, Thalion’s attention was fixed on the forested horizon when Benedict approached once more.

Isandriel stood at the forest’s outskirts, the border of the wilderness giving way to the distant towers of Jazarel. From this vantage point, only fragments of the city’s grandeur revealed themselves, pristine spires breaking through the overcast haze. The plan was in motion, but too many questions clouded him. After millennia of existence, when was the last time mere hours felt like this? He could no longer recall.

Two days passed as they decided to take their time, abstaining from traveling with magic, and they arrived in a large town not too far from Morozkaya. During their journey, they had occasionally spotted mages in deep brown with vivid blue accents, clearly looking for someone, but the group managed to pass by unnoticed, thanks largely to Aurelia this time. The enforcers weren’t particularly interested in her antics and, as such, just waved them onward. Soon enough, the landscape began to shift. The distant horizon gave way to a massive peak in the distance.

Somehow, she woke as normal, the night before dissipating in the soft morning light streaming into the room. Aurelia was already awake and sitting calmly in the bath. She made no effort to hide herself as she waved nonchalantly. “Good morning,” Aurelia said. “I hope I didn’t disturb you too much.”

2075 AX. Jareth walked aimlessly through Atraxis Prime, the paths under his feet winding through the town. His eyes slid to the atraxi around him—people like him, yet not entirely. This was so boring. He kicked a loose rock, sending it spinning into the air with a brittle crack before it disappeared somewhere far off.

They had been traveling for days, the journey spanning endlessly across changing landscapes—local villages fading into smaller cities, deserts giving way to lush rainforests, and finally, a snowy mountain ridge. “Just why didn’t we take another skyship!” Aurelia exclaimed. She hitched at her robe, now smeared with mud from the recent rainfall. The once-pristine violet fabric clung to her, its silver accents dulled.

Thalion moved along the outskirts of Rimvold as always when he was restless. He strode without purpose, his boots grinding against the stone path. It didn’t matter who tried to calm him down—nothing stopped him from this behavior, not while they were still out there. He expected Isandriel would be the first to return after setting out with Viviana and the others, but he had no way of knowing how long it would take—or what might happen along the way. As for Rhyzmar and Svanhild, he had resigned himself to the likelihood that their expedition could take up to a year.

But if there was one thing Thalion had not accounted for, it was the guardians’ sense of time. At first, Jeremiah had only sent a small force to attack Uriandel. It was easily repelled, and in retaliation, Uriandel dispatched an equally small army, but neither side committed to a true offensive. The guardians themselves never moved from their fortified home bases. It simply wasn’t enough.

Viviana and Gren stood slightly back in the top chambers of the Council Citadel. Ozaith’s throne, central and towering, remained empty, the god deciding not to descend personally. The surrounding seats were filled, and among them sat Aurelia, now holding the formidable position of council member. Viviana and Gren, though honored guests of Ishtanûr, maintained their distance, observing carefully. Nadun, standing at the forefront, began, “The Plains of Eternity are blocking our path to Myrravel completely.

2090 AX. Where did my mom go? Where are the white-haired girl and the blond man? This was a question Helena kept asking herself for the past five years. Their faces were so blurry now, fragments of a life she could barely grasp.

The days that followed with Sariel were a joy compared to anything Helena had ever experienced. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she wasn’t burdened by pain or fear. They sat by the warmth of a fire as he cooked a simple meal, the crackling flames filling the night. After they ate, he began teaching her temporal magic. To her surprise, the concepts made immediate sense.

The golden-haired man immediately caught on to them as they stood in the streets of Rimvold. His stare locked onto Jarin with such intensity that Helena barely had time to react before the man had closed the distance between them. “Jarin, what have you brought here?” he said. “We are quite busy today.”

As Thalion was heading out of the Great Hall chamber into the corridors, Helena followed like a skittish child, holding onto his sleeve. What am I supposed to do with her? She was undoubtedly powerful, but broken in ways he wasn’t equipped to handle. He opened the door to his room, its iron handle cool under his touch. “I thought you said you weren’t a child.”

Helena sat by the window of the skyship, her focus locked on the world stretching far beneath them. Everything below looked incredibly small—they were so high up that even mountains seemed like mere undulations across the land. The sound of conversation filled the cabin, the others speaking casually as if this was just another day. She remained apart, sitting alone. Even Jarin, whom she had hoped might notice her, was locked in a deep conversation with Zero.

Isandriel sat at the wheel of the skyship as he steered toward Ashenford, Uriandel’s domain. The cloud-dense sky unfolded endlessly around him, shades of gray and white blending with soft streaks of sunlight cutting through the haze. What would he even say to Uriandel? To the other guardians, Isandriel was gone, lost to his own wanderings after leaving Brighthaven in Alistair’s hands. Meanwhile, Durakarn—his old homeland—fought to defend itself against the encroaching darkness.

The journey on the skyship was slow, with Thalion and Ignatius mostly exchanging small talk or letting silence sit between them. Outside, the horizon extended endlessly, broken only by patches of clouds forming here and there, tinted gray with the promise of rain. As Thalion adjusted the wheel, they ended up catching Jeremiah’s skyship formation in the distance. They moved into position, following in line with Thaddeus, who led an organized fleet. “I’m worried for Helena,” said Ignatius as he stood near Thalion’s side, his eyes fixed on the darkening clouds forming beyond the window.

Isandriel’s skyship touched down at the back of Uriandel’s army, and he made his way out into the maelstrom outside. The rain struck him immediately as he stepped onto the ground, the barriers focused entirely at the front while devastation rained from both sides. Around him, commands and shouts rang out as mages scrambled to spread into position. The ground beneath his boots was charred black, scorched to ruin by fire and lightning. He caught sight of Uriandel’s skyship hovering far above the rest and pushed through the crowd, shoving people aside to clear a path.

“They have commenced fighting,” Benedict said as Thalion closed his eyes, focusing entirely on the massive spell at hand. “How’s it looking?” Ignatius asked. “Jeremiah seems to have a slight upper hand,” Benedict replied. “There is no Dark Lord’s influence here.”

Just as Isandriel spotted Uriandel readying a spell, clearly intent to hammer Jeremiah into the ground, Isandriel surged into motion. Shifting the balance within his body, he propelled himself forward, each step carving divots into the shattered ground beneath him. A massive crater yawned across the earth, stretching so far that the haze of debris obscured its distant edges. Uriandel streaked through the air like living lightning, but Isandriel was faster. At the last possible moment, he overtook the lightning-charged guardian, planting himself directly in Uriandel’s path.

“Are you sure it was wise to let him leave?” Sylvia asked, coming up to Thalion. “Killing him here would serve nothing,” Thalion said. “It’s better to keep him alive for now.” “He’s still good for another fight,” Isandriel said, joining them as he looked at the horizon.

The first thing Helena noticed was the smell. Salt—and was it fish? Moments later, she shot upright; she had been lying in a bed. The room around her was simple but unfamiliar, dressed in soft wooden tones of light-blue hues. A small window let in sunlight, the scent of the ocean stronger now.

Thalion stood at the rear deck with Isandriel in the middle of the night, the door to the cabin closed behind them as they stared at the fleet trailing in their wake. The low drone of engines mingled with the rush of air around them, setting a discordant cadence to their conversation. Benedict’s skyship towered farther back, visible even in the darkness, blending with the other patriarchs’ vessels and Uriandel’s forces. Isandriel’s tone was a near-whisper as he recalled everything that happened, forcing Thalion to angle closer to catch the details. As Isandriel finished, Thalion spoke up.

Thalion’s ship was visible in the distance as Kira pointed ahead, her finger tracing the path of about twenty or so skyships drawing closer. The horizon glimmered with their blurred silver hulls as she said, “Thalion’s ship is veering north as expected.” “I see two more following,” said Zero. “Everything is going well, then. Time to head west.”

Zero—or rather, Zayren, Supreme Aether Mage. He had nearly forgotten who he once was in his past life, but he had no time for introspection at this moment. As he soared through the skies, Mia by his side, the idea popped up that this mission might be his last. But he reminded himself of Thalion’s task. To subdue Jeremiah and Uriandel—was that even possible?

Helena stood by the window in the cabin of the skyship, fixed on the distant battle where Zero and Mia were locked in combat with the guardians. The scene was hard to make out, but to her, it seemed as though Zero and Mia had the upper hand. “Looks like they got this,” Jarin commented from the side, confirming her observation. The fleet of skyships had drawn closer, now hovering just near enough to join the battle whenever necessary. Kira waved them into position, and one by one, the ships remained in place.

Thalion stood at the front with the others, watching as Jazarel Lake drained completely, its massive volume now surging southward. The tidal wave rolled on in the distance, but the water around them still pushed outward, though far less forcefully than before. Benedict wasted no time, conjuring a massive ice flake beneath them. The group rushed forward on the remnants of the wave, the icy platform gliding over the currents. Smaller waves formed on top of the larger one, cresting and crashing around them.

Golden lightning snaked and sparked around Thalion, his body surging forward at blinding speed. The world blurred as he hurtled past Ignatius and Isandriel, the enchanted energy coursing through his veins propelling him like a thunderbolt incarnate. His target was clear—the sole guardian rising at the bottom of the crater: Raphael, who was already back on his feet. As he closed in on Raphael, the hailstorm ceased, and he wondered for a second—had he felt this before? Was he doing this again?

Zero and Mia soared high above the wreckage of Jazarel City, slicing through the ash-filled air. Meteors and lightning cascaded through the sky in dazzling arcs, shaking the ground with every impact. Locked in their battle, the guardians ignored them, or perhaps they just didn’t care. “Let’s land behind that hill,” Zero said, pointing to a mound that jutted up through the smoldering haze. “That hill won’t last a second here,” Mia replied.

Thalion felt her essence wane before his eyes confirmed it. Casting a glance over his shoulder, the truth struck him. Helena had been saved, flung to safety in the distance—but it had come at a cost. Mia had put herself in harm’s way. She had died this time.

Isandriel raised his hand, prepared to draw on the power of Tal’Massar. Was this truly the right choice? Certainty was elusive, but one truth remained: the guardians’ endless bickering never stopped. And worse, it could cause another catastrophe, like with Remiella. “I’m ready,” said Uriandel, his arms spreading wide in a gesture of acceptance.

Thalion watched as Isandriel turned Jeremiah into nothing but dust. The scene around them was a scorched graveyard, the earth cracked and blackened, corruption seething in every shadow. Streams of lava still crawled through the wasteland, some hardened into veins, others glowing orange and red. In the far-off distance, patches of green and scattered trees clung stubbornly to life. But here, where they stood, there was nothing left of Jazarel City.

Helena sat on Thalion’s lap, holding him hard. Her damp neck rested against him, the salty taste of sweat coating her lips. She didn’t even know why she had done it, though the question felt irrelevant now. He hadn’t faulted her. Better yet, he had said she did well—accepted her, despite everything.

Thalion sat in the top chair of the Great Hall, his hands covering his eyes as the others began streaming in. Their arrival wasn’t something he needed to confirm with sight—he could feel their essence filling the space. His mind drifted again to what had happened that morning. Helena sat beside him, her hand holding onto his sleeves. He knew she was attaching herself to him more and more.

2103 AX, Rimvold. A year had passed. Thalion found himself seated in another meeting within the Great Hall. As Isandriel had correctly predicted, Raphael and Eremion spent their time consolidating power, but once Rhyz returned, it was clear they were fully aware of Skarnheim as their enemy. The name Thalion, even if known, had not yet gained widespread recognition.

5365 AX, Shroudvale. Eira and her friends had been walking for days along the uneven terrain of Shroudvale. Once they made it through the massive wall surrounding the shaper domain, it was like entering a completely different world. Fresh water was scarce, and the ground felt drained—parched not by corruption but by the absence of life itself. The desolation clung to the landscape, yet the army marched forward undeterred, having packed plenty of supplies.

5365 AX, Thalassai, Chronasis. Cassian lay in his bed after another day of leading Thalassai. Somehow, everything was improving, though he still felt like he didn’t truly know what he was doing. But he pushed it aside, staring out the window into the stars outside as his friends and family flashed before him. Xarion, Aelius, and his parents.

5365 AX, Shroudvale, Maraveth. Eira sprinted with everything the enchantments could muster, Kaelion’s hand locked in hers. Her lungs burned, but the distance stretched ahead. The center of Maraveth and its black tower, where they had walked for a long time, now reared behind them as they fled as fast as they could. Overhead, beams erupted from the airships, each impact sending quakes through both air and ground as shields absorbed or deflected their strikes.

5225 AX, Blackcrag Dominion. Prince Garrik, heir to the Blackcrag Dominion, strode along the basalt-paved streets of Omberion near the royal palace. Beside him walked Astrid, a formidable divine mage and his mentor—when she wasn’t preoccupied with council affairs or overseeing the latest skyship developments. Everyone constantly reminded him of his destiny: the council members like Astrid and Ulrich, advisors, and even the engineers. All except his father, King George.

Three years had passed since their first visit to Morindel City, and Garrik was now more involved in ruling Blackcrag, occasionally even leading the council meetings. Despite Blackcrag keeping a low profile, Garrik had visited Magnus in Morindel multiple times, and Omberion had hosted the regent as well, establishing a formal trade route. Meanwhile, King George’s health had deteriorated significantly. Once an unshakable authority, he was now diminished, rarely engaging in council matters or public affairs. Astrid, too, had grown more withdrawn, spending her days shut in her workshop.

Soon enough, the months had passed, and there were only a few days left until Garrik would officially be crowned king. Yet Eremion’s influence had grown even stronger. He had held a highly productive meeting with Magnus, the regent of Morindel, leaving Garrik sidelined to watch. Perhaps he would be nothing more than a puppet king, forced to bend to Eremion’s will as long as everyone followed the former guardian’s vision. And somehow, that realization led him to another thought—why wasn’t he swayed like the rest?

A year passed quickly, during which Garrik gained a solid understanding of the political landscape in central Valrindor. He learned that Shaoying was part of a fragile alliance with two other nations—Hengvaris and Linsothar—meant to hold back the threat of the shapers. However, this alliance seemed more theoretical than practical. Shaoying’s ambitions often led it to expand aggressively under the Green Emperor’s rule, with justifications as simple as reclaiming lands that “used to belong to them.” In his time there, Garrik also encountered new knowledge about southern regions such as Borovia, Drozhvenya, and the peninsula of Morozkaya.

And so their travels began, spanning the varied, war-torn lands of central Valrindor. Garrik and Astrid moved between cities, villages, and strongholds, offering their aid to leaders, mages, and lords in need. The issues they encountered blurred together over time—rogue mages, bandit clans, and skirmishes ignited by petty feuds. Even as Garrik intervened, the problems seemed to multiply endlessly. One city’s conflict was resolved only for another to fall prey to the same disorder.

As Eira, Kaelion, and Jin considered departing, something unusual caught their attention. From the southern horizon, an airship approached, growing clearer against the sky. Eira squinted, a crease forming between her brows at the unfamiliar design. “Is it from Brighthaven? They have advanced airships too, right?”

Brynor—or Belanor maybe—moved through the rubble of Atraxis Prime, keeping Jorhan and Eshmir in his peripheral vision. Blackened stone and warped metal told the story of a battle, reminding him of their destroyed homeworld from millennia ago. Atraxis Prime Alpha had been proud, dominated by its black symmetrical structures with hints of white, advanced yet functional. Yet it was a world almost devoid of green, instead colored in palettes of reds, oranges, and deep browns. The sight made him imagine the other planets—Beta, Theta, Gamma, Delta, Epsilon.

As they arrived in Kaldaryn, Kaelion laughed. “Looks like a fusion of Varentis and Irrathis.” Eira immediately saw what he meant: the city blended the dark, sturdy stone and rugged aesthetic of Varentis with the elemental ways of Irrathis. Once again, they were well taken care of as Garrik’s friends. The accommodations provided were luxurious, with warm living areas that reflected Kaldaryn’s disciplined elegance.

As they landed, they were greeted warmly. Eira strode off the ramp, her boots clicking against the elegant tiles. In the distance, the astragons and Kaelion were nowhere to be seen. “He’ll be back,” said Eira. “I think he wants to avoid the first confrontation,” Jin replied, a crooked grin taking shape across his face.

Thalena held out her hand as Eira was pinned to the ground by her aether magic, unable to move at all. With Eira immobilized, Thalena glanced toward the colosseum stands, where the spectators had gathered as always. Among them was Kaelion, his watchful eyes fixed on the arena. “You can do better than this,” Thalena said as the crushing force of her magic intensified, making it nearly impossible for Eira to breathe. In an instant, Eira blinked, vanishing from the ground and reappearing behind Thalena with golden fists raised, enchanted to their maximum.

5368 AX, Chronasis. Eira lay in the lavish comfort of her Chronasis bed, its silk sheets cool against her skin. Kaelion slept beside her, his breathing even and calm. She had finally met everyone in Thalassai, including the archons and Tazarin once again. She had also learned much from Thalena during her time here, but the time to move forward drew close.

“Back together again, like old days,” said Khoradyn, tapping a knuckle against Garrik’s shoulder. The two stood atop the massive wall Garrik had constructed, its immense scale running endlessly in both directions. “I hope you’ll stick with me this time,” Garrik said, his eyes on the horizon. “This man is beyond both of us.” “Eremion, huh… a guardian of Malverand,” Khoradyn said.

Thalena watched the windweaver disappear into the distance over the vast ocean. Within it were Eira, Kaelion, and Jin, preparing for their next adventure while Jareth steered the vessel. The ship was a masterpiece—so fast, so incredibly advanced. For a moment, she admired its sleek design, its smooth glide across the horizon. Then she looked down to the volcanic city of Pyrenis, its blackened cliffs and fiery rivers glowing in the distance.

A long time had passed since they first entered this strange world—the temporal bubble of Varnhallow. Eira, Kaelion, and Jin had spent that time learning everything they could about the nation, quickly using their skills to rise within its ranks. Eira had explained more of her idea about finding everyone and bringing them back, but it became clear they were far too early, long before Xarion, Aelius, and the others would appear. Though they occasionally heard whispers of Malverand, it was difficult to determine exactly when they were, as years here were referred to as “springs.” On top of that, the skyships in this world were even more advanced than the ones she’d seen when engaging Blackcrag’s forces.

Kaelion sat on the balcony overlooking the Grand Court, Eira and Jin beside him. Below sprawled the immense arena, its vast design echoing the grandeur of Astralynne. Across the space, smaller balconies housed competitors, each stationed to watch the unfolding matches. To the right, towering above the rest, stood the massive balcony where Eltaru and the other patriarchs would preside. Benedict had stopped by earlier, stating that Eltaru had finally arrived and would see them once the event concluded.

Eira stood in the arena of the Grand Court, scanning the thousands of spectators whose curious glances fell upon her. Whoever her opponent was, the fight wouldn’t last long. There wouldn’t even be much of a chance to showcase her skill. As her false name, “Arcanis,” was announced over the arena, she felt it again—those signatures in the balcony reacting, just as she had expected. When this part of the tournament was over, she reminded herself that they’d need to disguise themselves just to be safe.

2151 BX. Michael walked out of his house in the early morning. The sun greeted him immediately, casting a warm, golden light across the streets of the newly named Maraveth. He paused at the threshold, taking in the sight of the thriving city that stood as a symbol of transformation. Maraveth had grown faster than anyone could have predicted, and now it attracted people from every corner of Valrindor.

2118 BX. In the following days, Michael began to feel the toll of the so-called Malverand heart. At first, he merely noticed his magic weakening with a gradual, creeping drain. Then, one day, a minor scratch healed instantly, but it left him utterly drained. He spent the rest of the day confined to bed, his wife and daughter nearby in silent vigilance.

Michael woke to the soft drone of essence engines and shot up, gasping for air. Glancing around the cabin, his eyes locked on Arcanis and Jeremiah seated at the helm, exchanging words in low tones. Barachiel sat nearby, his posture rigid as he stared into his palm. Michael’s eyes slid to the others—Raphael, Thamrielle, and Remiella—lying unconscious. “Tell me everything,” Michael demanded, but his footing was shaky as vertigo overwhelmed him.

“I will go, of course,” said Arcanis, not looking back as he adjusted the skyship’s trajectory to line up with the floating gate far above the glittering sea. “Absolutely not,” said Michael. “It’s far too risky for you.” Arcanis stood up as the skyship stabilized. “I don’t think so.

“Wow! What a story!” Eira said, her mouth open as she stared at Michael, who had just finished after three days of sharing his past. Hrzai coalesced into existence beside Eira within the grand hall of the government complex. The light cascading down from the dome above bathed the table in a pale glow.

2103 AX, Thundermarch. Thalion sat in one of the chairs on board his flagship, Helena resting her head on his shoulder, deep asleep as they traveled south, heading closer to the darkness where the drought was even worse. The dry landscape sprawled beneath them, cracked and barren. Over the past days, he had traveled with Helena, Ignatius, and Sephara, working to bring forth the legend of Tianlei—the storm god who would one day awaken. He turned his eyes to the lightning sigil in his palm.

Isandriel stood still for a moment along the shoreline, watching as the large boat with its metallic hull reinforced by light wooden panels was prepared by a group of artisans and patriarchs. Somehow, Benedict had spared no expense, sending not only his best workers but essence engines modified specifically for aquatic use. Isandriel wasn’t entirely certain what he would do with such a massive ship—capable of stowing several skyships and over a hundred passengers—but it was a welcome resource nonetheless. “What do you think?” he asked, glancing at his palm where the cracks of the shard glowed.

Thamrielle had just returned from Maraveth, making her way back to her base in Rahmavir. Sariel, her son, was under Isandriel’s care. Everything seemed stable for the moment, but a troubling event kept circling as she sat within the skyship. Barachiel had given her an unusual mission: to investigate Rahmavir and uncover the truth behind its prolonged conflict with the Plains of Eternity. He didn’t provide specific details, only a sense that something was deeply wrong.

“The rest of it you already know,” said Thamrielle. “Barachiel disappeared shortly after, and I never saw him again.” “That’s… a very strange coincidence,” said Isandriel, “but even if we know—” “There is nothing we can do about it,” Thamrielle interjected, clawing at the grass in her hands. “And I was afraid… I’d be blamed.” “All true,” said Sylvia, eyes narrowed on Thamrielle as she sniffed the air, watching her like a hawk.

The drone of the engines intensified as Sylvia adjusted the power, the skyship banking into a broad arc. “Want to go there immediately?” “We might as well,” said Thalion. “Get it over with—and I wouldn’t mind meeting the prince myself.” But even as he spoke, Thalion couldn’t stop thinking about Thamrielle’s earlier story.

Unknown Time. Years had passed since Eira and Kaelion began their roles as Halcyra’s patriarchs. Kaelion had grown slightly more muscular, his features more defined, harder, though Eira wasn’t entirely sure if it was age or his increased training. Eira herself had changed in other ways—her appearance almost reversed. Her once dark amber hair had turned almost entirely golden, like Cassian’s, though silver strands had begun to lace through it.

5368 AX, Thalassai. The ocean spread endlessly ahead of Thalena, its surface ruffling under a cloudy sky. Far in the distance below, near the busy Pyrenis port, she noticed an unusual commotion. Hmm… so he wanted to come along after all. Between the red and blue sails of Pyrenis and Thalmyris ships, a massive shape moved through the water.

5368 AX, Durakarn, Drakarim. “We’ll stay in touch then,” said Brynor, reaching out a hand to Rowan. As their hands clasped, Rowan asked, “So will you return through the gate, or other methods?” He gestured toward the half-circle gate standing in the center of the cave. “I’m not sure,” said Brynor.

2103 AX, Skarnheim, Rimvold. Thalion sat at the head of the table in the Great Hall, leaning back against the imposing chair’s high back. He idly glanced at his lightning shard, barely visible against his skin now. He wondered how much time Tianlei had left. Could he even share this with anyone?

2103 AX, Skarnheim. Helena sat aboard the flagship heading toward Crosford. She had just said goodbye to Thalion as Rimvold disappeared beneath them, the sprawling city fading into the horizon. Sylvia sat at the helm, while Benedict sat idly across the cabin, his blue eyes as cold as ever. A large book rested in Helena’s hands.

5368 AX, Kaldaryn. Thalena was soon soaring high above Kaldaryn, seated on top of Glin. The sprawling city far below fanned outward, offering glimpses of her train tracks snaking toward the distant horizon. Northwest lay Hengzhou, and from there, Maraveth wasn’t far. Rain hissed against Glin’s cosmic barriers, the celestial energy shielding her from the damp weather, leaving her fully prepared for what awaited ahead.

Unknown Time, east of Varnhallow. “We should get going,” Jin said, poking Kaelion’s shoulder slightly as he sat in the desert sand. “I know… I know,” Kaelion answered, running a hand through the fine, hot grains beneath him. “But I have to try again.” Rising to his feet, he closed his eyes and reached out, focusing on the temporal barrier wavering in the distance.

2107 AX, Ereshval, Qarezh. Kaelion woke to the sound of Jin’s knock against the door of their temporary home. Rubbing his eyes as he sat up, Kaelion let out a yawn. The storm mage didn’t wait, striding in and holding out a hand to send a gust through the room, peeling the curtains open to flood the space with sunlight. “I’ll be ready soon,” Kaelion said, swinging out of bed and grabbing the Ereshval-style clothes folded neatly nearby.

2107 AX, Skarnheim. Thalion stood at the shoreline, watching the flurry of activity as the expedition prepared to depart. Helena stood slightly behind him, surrounded by the others. The events in Crosford—the encounter with Raphael—had led Isandriel to agree to delay the mission, a decision even Igor supported. Igor had redirected his efforts to aiding the towns across Valrindor, helping rebuild the lands scarred by the past.

Isandriel held the map in his hands, the winds surging past his face as he studied the planned route alongside Igor. Nearby, Varin, one of the patriarchs who had joined them on the expedition, stood unshaken at the helm amid the gusts. “I’m starting to think we should make a stop in Qarezh,” Isandriel said as his eyes traced the markings. “Maybe they have some knowledge of the plains.” “What about taking one of the airships over the coast?”

Kaelion strolled along the outer street of Qarezh, where it met the teeming docks swarming with fishermen tending to their boats and nets. A breeze drifted through the air, bearing the scent of saltwater and fish. Somehow, with his new title and bronze robes, trimmed with ornate black embroidery, Kaelion had become something of a familiar face in this city. Drashir and Vashir had returned from the front, reporting the evacuation a success. The ships were ready too.

Jin had been flying over the deserts of Ereshval for a while now, or maybe it was John now? Either way, he was taking it slow; there was little reason to rush. He didn’t want to arrive too early, just in case. Occasionally, he soared just above the ocean, letting the salty air and mist wash over him as he tried to piece everything together. For a fleeting moment, he wondered why they hadn’t just stayed in Varnhallow, waited for everyone, and gone along with them.

Thalion didn’t exactly know why he had done it, but at the last second, he let his power go. Now, he would lose Tianlei. The moment he crashed into the divine barriers surrounding the arena, he knew it was over. John had won. But did John realize that Thalion had held back?

1052 BX, Malverand Empire. Eremion sat at the table in the gilded hall of Maraveth, one elbow propped on the smooth white surface, his chin resting on his hand. His eyes stayed on Isandriel, who was performing the grim duty before him. Eliona, the newest guardian of Malverand, had exceeded all bounds of the guardians’ code. In a recent conflict, he had chosen to slaughter his opposition entirely, shunning any attempt at diplomacy.

Isandriel stood at the back of their massive ship, its hull cutting through the waters as it exited the towering wall. Behind them, earth mages worked swiftly, raising the barrier once more as the city of Qarezh started fading into the horizon. The sun had already set, casting the sky into deepening indigo. Above the city, the vast crystal atop the sultan’s palace scattered its reflected light, bathing the metropolis in a luminous glow. Smaller crystals throughout the city added to the unique radiance, marking the skyline with prismatic hues.

One day, Jeremiah’s troops attacked Morindel in broad daylight, leaving thousands of civilians dead in the central square. Watching from the top of his tower as fire and blood erupted below, Eremion’s patience finally snapped. “We follow them!” There were only four attackers, but Eremion had seen two of them. A man and a younger girl wielding strange magic.

Unknown Time, Myrravel. Viviana was walking alongside Gren along the winding, spiraling roads of Myriandel, the capital of Myrravel. They had been staying there for the past several months after their harrowing journey, though it wasn’t nearly as unbearable as they had initially been told. The trek across the Plains of Eternity had been treacherous, plagued by attacks from warped creatures, but their losses had been minimal. The only significant casualty had been a large land snake that had swallowed several of their members without warning.

With their options limited, all they could do was wait. Sharuzh informed them that Nadun had been delayed due to the acclimatization process required at the plains’ border, but eventually, Nadun arrived. Along with him came a contingent of Ulzathir’s finest mages. They were welcomed just outside Myriandel’s outskirts, near the peculiar area of purple rock that Viviana and Gren had crossed when they first came here. A small group of the blue flowers had gathered as well, seemingly drawn to the commotion.

Viviana and Gren moved toward the rear of the marching army, blending into its tail to avoid prying ears. What caught Viviana’s attention the most, as they walked by the side of the lake in the distance, was the wide road that seemed strangely well taken care of. Why would there be a road like this in such an unwelcome place, a road leading directly to the River of Eternity? “Should we ask Aurelia about the road?” she whispered.

Thamrielle stood just behind a tree at the forest’s outskirts, her palm set against the rugged trunk as she surveyed the ships and the final few stragglers bedding down for the night. The swaying blue grass, rustled by strong winds, created a whispering sound that, combined with the distant crashing waves on the crystalline shore, masked any trace of her. Above her, the massive trees rose, entirely obscuring the dark green night sky. She had suppressed her essence to the best of her ability, ensuring that even the most capable among them would not detect her. She waited, her fingers knotting the fabric of her robes as she paced softly on the forest floor, careful not to snap a single twig underfoot.

Kallion stood at the forefront of the boat, his eyes fixed forward as the vessel glided out of the wide river and into the expanse of Lake Eternity. The urgency that had propelled them came from Isandriel’s discovery of Thamrielle’s disappearance. They had rushed ahead without pause, and though Rhys had scoured the surrounding area extensively, he had kept the ship within view. Yet even with his broad search, no trace of her could be found. “Do you have any idea why she would do this—or what she wants?”

The area ahead funneled abruptly into a narrow passage, the valley framed by massive mountains on either side. As Thamrielle propelled herself forward in a series of rapid leaps, there was no mistaking what lay ahead. A dark wall spanned the width of the valley, anchored to the mountain bases on either side, leaving no alternative entry points. The terrain had smoothed out, the once rolling hills now flattened into an expansive plain. The grass was a peculiar blend of brown and blue, with sparse trees dotting the landscape.

Thalion sat in the ornate chair at the head of the solid timber table deep inside the Great Hall, flanked by Zero and Ignatius as the day’s discussions unfolded. Maps blanketed the table’s surface—larger maps of Valrindor displayed broad strategies, smaller regional maps detailed key points, and the most elaborate city markings allowed for perfect planning. Adjustments to plans were constant; every detail was analyzed, challenged, and revised to ensure their preparations could withstand any surprise. Small stone figures, carved by Igor before he departed for the expedition, marked the roles of every possible player. John’s latest report dominated the meeting.

Still propelling herself forward with spikes of earth, Thamrielle was certain she was closing in on Isandriel’s expedition. The source remained secure within the folds of her robes, encased in its dull stone shell. Yet, if anyone was pursuing her, there was no sign of anyone catching up. Each time her feet touched the ground between leaps, she scanned for movement. All she found were the massive armies she had already left far behind.

“We need to get her under control,” Isandriel whispered to Rhys. “She seems completely out of it.” “What is even happening to her?” Rhys asked, leaning closer as more people began appearing from the hatch. Viviana and Gren came onto the deck, followed soon by Igor, who came rushing to join them, while Kallion vaulted from the railing of the Ereshval ships, where he had been preparing meals only moments earlier.

Eremion stood on the rocky shores of eastern Ashenford, the blue horizon ahead extending endlessly beneath a shroud of gray rain clouds. The seas beyond were unruly, waves cresting with frothy whitecaps, turbulent in this region. To the east lay the eventual path of Isandriel’s emergence, while to the north ran the lands of Rahmavir and the volatile Plains of Eternity. He had dispatched scouts to investigate the remains of the old Malverand city, once governed by Thamrielle during her efforts to aid Rahmavir. Now abandoned for centuries, it had become desolate, yet it served as a critical training ground for his forces, acclimating them to the demands of the plains.

Thalion walked along the streets of Qarezh with Ignatius by his side. The locals, all clad in white outfits carefully wrapped against the desert sun, never stopped looking at them—or at the army that had followed. They had arrived a few days ago, and though Sultan Tharezh had been reluctant at first, he eventually conceded, agreeing to let them remain in return for Thalion’s men contributing to the city’s labor. Thalion expected both Eremion and Raphael to scout the region, so he ensured his forces blended into the environment. His soldiers donned the same white robes as the locals, while earth mages carefully buried the skyships beneath the sand outside the city, lying in wait for the right moment.

“I will go after her,” Isandriel shouted. “The rest of you, get to Qarezh!” Thamrielle had landed on the distant crystalline shore, her still silhouette lit by the source, now freed of its casing. White-blue light radiated from it in harsh, blazing arcs. Yet she remained motionless, standing amid the gleaming blue grass that surrounded her.

Viviana was already veering away from the fight between Thamrielle and Isandriel. She couldn’t keep going; neither could Gren and Igor—worst case, they would disrupt Isandriel and force him to hold back now that he was fully powered up. She shot a quick glance over her shoulder toward the clash. The broken battlefield sprawled in ruin, obscured by the haze of heat and smoke. Volcanoes spewed molten rock, rivers of lava snaked across the torn terrain, and ash swirled thickly in the air.

Isandriel sat in the Great Hall with Thalion at the head seat, the two of them alone for the moment, as Ignatius and Zero had just exited the room. For reasons unstated, Thalion had told Isandriel to remain behind, his focus now fixed on the wooden door that had just closed. The echo of the door’s closure reverberated through the room, and with it, Thalion sighed, folding forward slightly. “I’m sorry to put this on you,” Thalion began. “But… I won’t always be around.”

The memory soon faded as Isandriel snapped back to the present. His outstretched hand made contact with Thamrielle’s hastily raised shield of lava. It was formidable in its thickness, but ultimately insufficient. His magic seized it instantly. The world before him wavered, reality bending and distorting in a surreal blur as if the fabric of existence itself trembled under the overwhelming force of Tal’Massar’s power.

Thalion sat in the Great Hall alongside Ignatius and Zero, the three of them engrossed in tactical discussion as always. Every possible scenario and outcome was scrutinized, drilled into memory to ensure no surprises disrupted their plans. Ignatius often spoke of how Thalena drilled this discipline into him—a lesson to always expect the unexpected. Preparing for even the most ridiculous of possibilities meant you were never truly caught off guard. The massive wooden table before them was cluttered with maps and stone figures, crafted by Igor to represent troops, key individuals, and movements spanning central Valrindor all the way to the Plains of Eternity.

Thalion clutched his head as he snapped back to his surroundings. Where was I? Why did I see that memory now? He quickly scanned the skyship cabin, his eyes shifting to the windows where their fleet advanced. Ignatius was sitting at the weapon systems, while Kira manned the helm of their flagship, steering in pursuit of Raphael’s fleet.

Kallion watched as Isandriel leaped toward the crystalline shore, then sprang into one of the skyships himself. Varin was already steering their main vessel toward Qarezh, the ocean-bound destination. Kallion quickly secured his place at the side, looking out the nearest window. Somewhere ahead, Rhys, barely visible now, flew forward with his air magic, and Kallion’s skyship followed in pursuit. Toward the plains, the sky carried a greenish tide, while to the south, it stretched a deeper blue with the sun still high.

Thalion watched as the skies erupted with violent flashes, the battle unfolding beyond the front windows of his skyship. Kallion was locked in combat with Eremion, and as expected, Azarion stood ready, shielding his commander. “We keep targeting Eremion’s fleet for now,” said Thalion, resuming his seat by the weapon systems. “And try to angle us toward wherever the main fight goes.” “I’ll do what I can,” Kira responded, her hands on the controls.

John stood aboard the skyship as they pursued Raphael’s fleet in the distance. The unbroken chase had dragged on for hours, but finally, the towering gilded spires of Maraveth began to rise on the horizon. For a moment, John couldn’t help but marvel at the sight before him. The glass bridges reflected light between the tallest towers, and the city’s massive white walls stood like an immovable fortress. It was unlike anything he had ever seen.

Viviana watched as the Ereshval army, led by Drashir and Vashir, rounded up the survivors among the Ulzathir traitors and the Myrravel army. Not many were left alive, but she spotted King Ranan among them. His tall body was battered and restrained, pinned beneath a splintered prison of rock conjured by Igor. Yet nothing in his face gave anything away; he remained as impassive as though the battle hadn’t broken him. Behind Viviana, Aurelia’s corpse lay completely still.

Thalion sat at the weapon systems while Kira controlled the ship, and Helena remained pushed against the window. Outside, Kallion and Zero engaged Eremion and Azarion, their clashes surging across the horizon in bursts of solar essence and golden fire. Eremion’s tactics had changed noticeably, indicating he remembered something, though it was clear he had no knowledge of the man who kept appearing—the one who could move within Helena’s abyss. Yet something had prevented that man from interfering with her spell. The resets were growing shorter now.

Kallion wasn’t entirely sure what had happened as Titania scooped him up midair. Behind him, Thalion had appeared out of nowhere just as a strange man attempted to cast a spell targeting both him and Eremion. The wind whipped around them in savage bursts, the sensation almost deafening as their fleet pursued Eremion in the distance. One moment, Kallion had sent Eremion careening toward the waves, and in the next, a strange void had opened—so close it almost swallowed everything. “Do you know anything?”

John pushed as hard as he could, drawing everything Tianlei allowed him to take. The essence in the area had been entirely drained, leaving nothing but a barren battlefield. More than once, Raphael attempted to unleash his golden ice age, but John refused to slow, preparing yet another spell as Ignatius clashed with Raphael. In the center of the now ruined Maraveth, Raphael hovered with arms outstretched like in prayer. Half the world around him was consumed by ice, frozen solid and lifeless, while the other half burned in Ignatius’s radiance, a blazing ball of plasma struggling to overpower the frost.

Kallion closed his eyes as he landed in the distance, feeling the world respond to his arrival. Reaching skyward, he began carving solar shapes into the air, the markings of the newest spell he had created—something he had never attempted on this scale before. “I think it worked,” said Kallion, opening his eyes to the night sky. Sure enough, he saw it: first, just a speck, before a bright, burning sphere began to form, slowly taking shape and drawing closer. He cast a glance behind him, where their fleet had retreated out of range—hopefully far enough.

Helena clutched the windows of the flagship, her tear-streaked face crushed against the cold surface as she watched Thalion fly away to face the unknown man. Somehow, he had gained power beyond any explanation, and his last words were spoken like a sacrifice. Just the thought sent daggers of pain through her chest. She doubled over, her breath coming in staccato bursts as she clutched both hands to her sides. Tears came uncontrollably, and with a sudden motion, she slammed her hands against the floor.

2121 AX. Helena could barely hold her tears back as she sat on the boat leaving Ishtanûr, heading over the ocean toward Thalassai. She folded her arms across her ribs, her deep purple robe barely enough against the colder wind whipping past. The other passengers, cheerful and content, knew nothing of the suffering she was going through. She couldn’t tell them—she couldn’t tell anyone.

A while later, she recalled the exact moment with Aevandros, how close she had been to using the abyss. But the only way she knew was to end herself. And she just couldn’t do it. At least it had been the right choice in the end; he wasn’t a man worth bringing back. Either way, the remnants of Malverand’s history were soon eradicated, and her attention could turn to Aetherion.

2375 AX. Pyrenis threw a large festival in his honor, and she participated, thinking back to a long time ago when she first met Decimus in the city. But even during the festivities, there remained the issue of Ozaith’s followers. While much of Malverand’s history had been wiped away, a fair share of Ozaith’s zealots remained alive, and with them came a war between Pyrenis and Terranova. She had no idea if their god himself supported it—likely not, based on what she knew.

4332 AX. The first thing Helena did upon arriving in Pyrenis was check the local library. Days of searching yielded nothing on Malverand, and she noted something else—Ozaith was no longer worshiped. The same results repeated in the libraries across other Thalassai regions, confirming the success of her mission. Still, she observed that Thalassai had retained their archon system.

4836 AX. When the day came, it was finally time to set the full plan in motion. In her very first speech, she boldly declared, “My name is Thalena Xenith, and I hope to be your archon one day.” The rest of the speech overflowed with hope, promises of a brighter future, and the vision she held for Thalassai. Rumors spread quickly of the gifted aether and temporal mage who aspired to become archon.

Eliona walked across the barren landscape of what used to be Maraveth, searching every day, as he had been doing for centuries. “How long has it been?” he asked himself as he stared up at the sun overhead. Everywhere around him, there was nothing but broken, dry, and cracked earth. The once beautiful city of Maraveth literally didn’t exist anymore.

Eremion sat alone in the council chamber, the room where discussions of Blackcrag’s future usually took place. For now, the space was his, though the others would soon join him—minus Garrik and Astrid. Their abrupt departure from the nation had only solidified his plans; their absence meant Eremion could move more smoothly toward claiming the crown for himself, bypassing the need to manage through a puppet ruler. Since Eremion had tampered with Garrik’s skyship, the prince was unlikely to return any time soon. As always, the council’s remaining members, particularly Ulrich, would need to be handled.

5368 AX, Maraveth. Thalena found herself trailing behind Garrik, studying how the man commanded his army. The organization was extraordinary, and the number of elite mages under his leadership far exceeded anything in Thalassai. Despite the diverse clothing representing many nations of Valrindor, the troops maintained complete order. Healers, shielders, and attackers operated seamlessly, while air mages flew overhead, running supply errands with bags of essence cores.

That night, Brynor had strange dreams, not just of sand and fallen empires. This time, there were unknown buildings cast in a reddish hue, with the ground mirroring the same deep shade of red. The trees around him rose like splintered lightning bolts, glowing with an orange-like sheen as he walked across unfamiliar terrain. In the distance, otherworldly mountains rose, their peaks dusted with what looked like snow. The sky above was a deep, almost indigo expanse, unlike anything he had ever known on Valrindor.

Cassian was doing his usual morning run through Chronasis, avoiding magic to push his body and keep himself in peak physical condition. Thalena had left earlier for her trip to Valrindor, searching for answers about the entity—or whatever had plagued his dreams—but last night, no visions came. In truth, he had barely slept, and the fatigue crept through his legs as he yawned, leaping over a waterway. The citizens, now accustomed to their archon running shirtless across the white tiles of Chronasis, only cast fleeting glances. He passed the lake and dam, soon approaching the largest essence tower where Thalena had charged her sword.

Virel was now flying beside the mountains to the left of him, using his vectors to propel himself through the air, each angle and trajectory carefully considered. The snowy peaks had once been impossible to cross when Varnhallow’s temporal bubble had existed, sealing the region in an unnatural stasis. Now, as he soared over what had once been Varnhallow, all he saw below was untouched nature. Snow fell in gentle drifts, blanketing the ground in pristine white. Pine trees rose tall and full, their branches untouched by time, standing as if the land had reclaimed them long ago.

Thalena was flying as fast as she possibly could, each movement sending cascading thunderclaps through the air behind her. Her sword hung securely at her side, her bag strapped across her back. They slowed her slightly, but both were worth the extra burden for what awaited in Varnhallow. She planned to make a stop in Rimvold to seek Sigurd’s assistance, but she wouldn’t delay long. There was no way of knowing what had already happened—Varnhallow could very well have collapsed by now.

As unsymmetrical as it was, Virel had to force it down as Sigurd climbed onto his back. The larger man was cumbersome, his thick winter coat and fur-lined cloak making the task even more challenging, but there was no time to dwell on such discomforts. Deylin had demonstrated that this method of travel could work for vector users, so it would work now. “I’m not sure about this,” Sigurd said, his large hands cinching around Virel’s neck. “I want explanations on the way!”

Thalena flew in at high speed, the devastation becoming clearer as she closed the distance. Despite the light snowfall, massive craters, scorched earth, and ruined landscapes sprawled across the area where Arcanis Village had once stood. The skeletal remains of trees clawed upward, many shattered or completely incinerated. Water surged in a wide trench carved through the earth, no doubt a result of something—or someone—being hurled, dragging the waters of the Navan Sea far inland. Around some areas, the earth was warped into hardened lava, while patches of molten fire still burned, their heat warping the icy air.

Virel couldn’t believe what he saw in the distance. A strange spell had materialized, taking the form of a gigantic hourglass—and then it cracked apart and disappeared. “Did you see that?” he questioned aloud as the destruction drew closer. They had narrowly avoided being hit earlier by immense enchanted air cannon blasts that had ripped through the atmosphere, clearing large areas of the sky.

Aldar sat atop the majestic beast beneath him, Glin the astragon, as they soared through the skies as fast as the creature’s massive starlit wings could propel them. Behind him sat Ilyra and Tazarin, the three of them moving swiftly across Haverloch’s lands. There had been mages attempting to stop them along their route, but they ignored them completely, continuing toward their destination. Below, the orderliness of the symmetrical nation unfolded—precisely laid farmland, perfectly organized roads, and even smaller villages showing signs of their unique philosophy. Aldar glanced down at the purple spiral shard in his palm.

Raphael’s fist crashed against the table with a thunderous force, rattling its surface beneath his hand. His ice-blue eyes locked onto Eliona, who barely reacted to the display. It didn’t matter, as both Eliona and Azarion had executed the plan to absolute perfection. The only issue was that not everything had been under their control. “We underestimated her,” Eliona said, his fingers cutting a dismissive pattern through the air as he leaned back on the padded couch in the hall of chosen.

Aldar sat at the large table within the Hall of Reflections, the building of the Axial Concord, Haverloch’s ruling council. The room was pristine to the point of discomfort; every surface—tables, walls, even the floor—was polished to a mirror-like finish, creating a dizzying proliferation of reflections. Each movement of his was duplicated endlessly around him, so Aldar turned toward the expansive windows instead, where the city’s symmetrical skyline spread in perfect alignment. Two days had passed since the battle, and Haverloch had asked all involved parties to discuss the aftermath. Unity demanded the sharing of information.

Brynor sat atop Splin as they soared through the night sky, passing over Shaoying. The darkness did little to conceal the galaxy-like wings of the astragon, its luminous star trails tracing their journey with ethereal beauty. Aurion sat behind Brynor, chin high, while Mirael rested in his arms at the front. The three had chosen to hasten their trip to Maraveth, leaving a group of windweavers and mages to follow slightly later. Brynor couldn’t take his eyes off Splin’s radiant wings, the occasional roar morphing into a deep croak that echoed across the area.

Virel found himself riding on Glin through the sky, with Lythariel sitting at the front, cuddling his scales, while Sigurd and Thorik looked on as though questioning how they were here in the first place. The meeting had run long, and now the sun was beginning to set, its fading light casting a warm glow as they flew toward Varnhallow, where the temporal bubble had once been. During the journey, Glin stopped inland, descending over the ruined, blackened landscape where the battle had unfolded. Water from the Navan Sea had engulfed the craters, filling the terrain with streams teeming with life. Glin didn’t remain there, though, quickly continuing onward, but not before guiding them toward something embedded in the muddy ground.

Cassian had just returned from an archon meeting in the newly built location slightly north of Chronasis City, where the Celestial Games had been the primary topic of discussion. Now, he sat in his office, his eyes fixed on the obsidian walls where silver veins snaked around the chamber. None of the other archons, nor any attendants, seemed to have any idea what Thalena had been referring to in her vague remarks about the games. He hadn’t outright revealed anything, carefully testing the waters with subtle words, but it was clear: names like Vireen meant nothing to anyone. What was the point of a competition where most participants didn’t even know where to start?

Thalena drifted through the void. Everything around her was pitch black, and beyond the essence she held within herself, there was almost nothing. They had no gate activators, and there wasn’t a single light to serve as their guide. Even the meteor she had seen before seemed impossibly far away now. “Back in the void,” Deylin said.

They were finished, and Horol’Khai was fading. “I will go to Varnhallow now. For my end.” Then, with one final embrace around Sigurd, she dissolved into nothingness, vanishing as she held onto him. Meanwhile, Thalena let out a yawn—it was time for them all to rest.

Thalena sat at the helm beside Amos as he navigated through the vast expanse of space. Valrindor had just faded from view behind them, and the ship around her was unlike anything she had ever encountered. Its controls were far more elaborate than those in Valrindor, with panels and displays that gave off a low, intermittent glow. Amos explained that most of the ship’s systems were managed by autonomous operations—referred to as AS—leaving him with minimal tasks. As they traveled, he spoke at length about his life, revealing that at one point, he had suspected Jareth of betraying the atraxi.

As the warpship continued toward its new destination, Thalena contemplated what lay ahead. If Amos could use this technology to send messages back to his people, perhaps she could do the same. With Eira lost in the distant past and Varnhallow erased from existence, how could she possibly bring them all home? Maybe, with Amos’s help, she could send a message—something that someone might intercept or discover. And perhaps, just maybe, whoever found it could find a way to bring Thalion and everyone else back to her.

As the short journey neared its end, Maraveth came into view. It reminded Thalena of the ancient Morindel she had once seen alongside Zero, though this city was far grander in every conceivable way. Gilded white towers and elaborate skybridges rose high enough to kiss the clouds, while the city sprawled endlessly in all directions. Massive warpships moved in and out of the skyline, traced by smaller ships darting between the vast facades. Streets layered upon streets swarmed with activity, and constructs patrolled everywhere.

Unknown Time. Eira had traveled far, reaching what was supposed to be their designated meeting spot of Qarezh. At least, that had been the plan—intercept Thalion, help them potentially against the guardians, and then take them all home through Varnhallow and back to the present. But after wading through the desert for days… that seemed less and less likely. At first, she had yelled at Hrzai, who withdrew slightly.

Unknown Time. Thalion and Abraxas had been floating in this weightless space for hours, with what looked like galaxies and stars passing beyond a veil on the outside. Sometimes the veil fluttered as Abraxas spoke at length, seated cross-legged with his robe flowing in circles like eternal rivers. Thalion listened in silence, doing his best not to interrupt. But as the hours wore on, he couldn’t hold back any longer.

Unknown Time. Years had passed for Eira as she lived alongside Orin in Zarephon. Somehow, the two had crafted a story to explain his sudden appearance. One night, Eira had placed him far outside the city, allowing him to wander in alone. She had pretended to find him and, in a show of care, offered him a place to stay with her.

“Come visit me soon!” Eira said to Eremion as they stood at the skyship dock outside the research area of Maraveth. Around them, the final preparations were underway. Crew members carried the last of the supplies aboard as they ascended the ramp of the massive vessel. Its hull was crafted from a special alloy infused with divine magic, shining with a golden sheen from the layered enchantments.

It felt almost surreal that she was the one to witness the chain of events on Vireen, the very things Michael had spoken of as though no one would ever discover the truth. The settlement was once again in uproar, with teams working tirelessly to stabilize the gate. Eira, with her necessary skills, joined the effort. But when she peered through the void, there was only darkness—no light to guide her. She suspected that back on Valrindor, the gates had been shut down for good after what had happened here.

Thalion had wandered for what felt like countless years in this world of primitive beings, a place where no one spoke his language, nor did they seem capable of writing in any way he recognized—at least not to any modern degree. Out of necessity, he had been forced to learn their tongue, a task that seemed to drag time out with every interaction. Alongside this, there had been a near-endless amount of flying, searching, and exploring, especially as Ozaith pursued his project. After what felt like a lifetime, Thalion made his home near a secluded mountain, living there in a kind of waiting, though he wasn’t entirely sure for what. Ozaith, meanwhile, had begun gathering followers, though he often complained they weren’t strong enough and that he needed far too many to make any real progress.

“Where are we going?” Kallion asked as Zero held onto him, the wind tearing past them as they flew west. Morning had begun to creep in, though the sun remained hidden, casting only the slightest brightness over the horizon. The aftermath of the black hole detonation was still visible—debris spiraling skyward, veiling the horizon in a black haze, like an immense volcanic eruption. Beyond that, the curvature of Valrindor obscured lands likely submerged by the newly formed ocean.

Viviana and Gren continued over the broken landscape as Drashir’s sand tornado carried them and Tal’Massar along. Craters and broken earth sprawled endlessly below, the terrain devastated by the earlier battle. Whatever forests and hills had once flourished here were obliterated, reduced to ragged remains as lava chunks still rained sporadically in the distance. Ahead, the land seemed to vanish abruptly, the horizon resembling the edge of the world. Viviana recognized it for what it was—a crater gouged far too deep during the fight.

Thalion stood with Rhys in one arm and Titania in the other. He closed his eyes for a moment, holding them close. “That’s what I thought. So you two will stay here.” “I’m going to miss you and Aldar… Renneth too,” Rhys said.

Eira glanced back toward the city of Rimvold, where its sturdy wooden and iron walls melded seamlessly into the mountain it was built upon. This was it—they were leaving for now, setting their path toward Varnhallow. Zero and Thalion carried the rest of the group, while John and Gren flew independently. Among their mismatched gathering were Ignatius, Kallion, Viviana, Igor, and—somehow—Abraxas. Their descent followed the long slope downward, where pine trees gradually gave way to a mixed forest.

“Where are we going first?” Eira asked as the two of them flew above central Valrindor, heading east with Thalion’s aether magic sweeping them smoothly across the skies. “Straight to Ulzathir,” Thalion said, glancing at the galaxy shard in his palm. “We’ll be staying there for a while, right?” Eira asked with a smile.

5365 AX, North of Erenmyr. Renneth leaned over the prow of their boat, extending his hand to let the spray of saltwater graze his fingertips. It had become a habit over the past few days as they embarked on Aldar’s mission to the north, searching for opportunities to establish new diplomatic ties with unknown nations. Their journey had begun in a small coastal village near Erenmyr, where they enlisted the help of local mages and sailors to construct a vessel large enough to hold everyone—two giant cuddly frogs, Renneth, and Maric. Renneth glanced back at the deck, where Maric was seated in deep conversation with Spin and Gin.

It didn’t take Renneth long to fall asleep on the simple bed within the chamber he had been given. However, dreams came to him in waves, stronger than ever before. He wasn’t usually a man prone to vivid dreams, but tonight he let them run free. He wanted to see what else lay hidden in his mind, behind what the darkness had once taken from him, and why he had left in the first place. Based on his current body, it seemed his departure had happened long before Jin or Silas became involved with Xalmyrra, but still far later than Arcanis’s appearance.

They stood in a large chamber of gray stone, the tall walls constructed of thick blocks. Behind Renneth rose the gate, its swirling white surface still active, perched slightly elevated on a platform with short stairs leading up to it. Renneth’s eyes moved across the space, scrutinizing each detail. Whoever these people were, they didn’t appear hostile. Instead, they waited, patient and calm, as he assessed the scene.

Once again, Renneth emerged in a disorienting haze, this time completely drained from activating the gate. Before he could hit the stone floor, arms caught him once more. Maric was already supporting him, bracing him as Brontes spoke with several nearby workers who were shouting loudly. As Renneth’s vision began to clear, he glanced around, and the chamber looked almost identical to the one they had departed from in Pelagos. Had something gone wrong?

5208 AX. Nero stood at the top of the lighthouse outside Pelagia, watching as its powerful beam scanned the stormy oceans ahead. Nerissa had chosen him as her wielder only days ago, though he was barely twenty years old. Despite his youth, the goddess had insisted he was the best option. After her previous wielder had perished, Nerissa had waited years before selecting another, but now… times were changing.

Renneth sat silently in the consuls’ chamber, his elbows resting on the smooth marble table. Far too many names swirled in his head, and despite Nero’s clarity in recounting events, the story still left much unsaid. When Nero finished, Nerissa began filling in what she knew about Jorhan and Xalmyrra. Her additions prompted Renneth to inform the group of how they had been freed, which made it glaringly clear that the outside world had long known of their imprisonment—though Valrindor had been consumed with its own conflicts. Eventually, Renneth couldn’t hold his thoughts back any longer.

Maric looked down at the shard in his palm, now a burning slab of earth—the lava shard. Not in his wildest dreams had he ever imagined something like this happening. Across Teryndal and Xalmyrra, he was known as Xarion’s efficient advisor, someone ambitious and up-and-coming. And now, he was apparently a shard wielder—of his best friend. Flexing his hands, he felt the essence coursing through him, merging perfectly with his own.

5368 AX, Omberion, Blackcrag Dominion. Brynor leaped through the air with seismic strides, the army shrinking behind him as he shot a quick look back. Their forces had decided to pause the push for now, resting while additional supplies were brought in from Laizhou and Hengzhou. This lull provided the perfect opportunity to investigate the Malverand vault. Mirael, Aurion, and Splin had remained behind with Garrik and his army.

Garrik sat inside their makeshift house, thrown together on the plains outside Omberion. Alongside his officers and advisors, he studied the map unrolled across the table, voices drifting around him. Brynor and Lysander had left earlier for the black tower in Maraveth, which was fine for now, but what was going to happen when they began the siege against the city of Omberion? Who was even responsible for defending it now? And what would he do if they were successful?

Eliona leaned back in the airship as it soared across the ocean. In the privacy of their cabin, they could speak freely; the pilot and other chosen onboard were out of earshot. The plush brown leather seats made for a comfortable ride, though the space was cramped. Nearby, Azarion was watching the water below until he suddenly called out, “Look over there,” jabbing a finger toward the waves. Eliona slid into the next seat, bracing a hand on the armrest to see what Azarion had spotted.

Thalion—or was it Xarion now—sat aboard the Brighthaven skyship they had borrowed from Garrik’s forces, well on their way to Kaldaryn City. He slumped forward, both hands resting in his lap, staring distantly out the rear windows. Splin flew behind the ship, trailing them closely over the vast stretches of forest and plains. What was he supposed to do now? In his palm, the galaxy shard of Ozaith still swirled in purple-violet hues, but neither of them had regained any resemblance of the magic they once held.

Virel zigzagged through the air above the Haverloch border as the symmetrical city of Itati emerged on the horizon. Ever since returning from Thalassai—where he had visited both Cassian and Ignaros—he had been patrolling the borders, keeping a watchful eye for any suspicious activity. With Zain now apparently a shard wielder, vigilance was more critical than ever. However, predicting Zain’s next move was impossible. Solvarria had fallen under his control, but where would he strike next?

Almost two and a half days had passed, and there was still no sign of Thalena anywhere. The strange book Virel had delivered offered no answers either, but as Cassian sat in his office with the evening sun streaming through the windows, he had a single idea. Silas could travel the edge of the void—had he somehow thrown the book from the void into Thalena’s bag and written this? Could it have originally been his book, tied to some plan of Thalena’s for bringing them back? But how exactly?

5365 AX, Isthanur, Ulzathir. Zain walked the streets of Ishtanûr, his boots striking against dark stone with its slight golden tint. Flanked by advisors, he moved through the crowded thoroughfare, the warmth of the day accentuated by desert breezes rustling his black cosmic-trailed robes. Ever since the Thalassai invasion, the capital had appeared bleak, but now there were finally signs of stability. He raised a hand in wave after wave, adding smiles and nods to every citizen who looked his way.

They had been traveling for days, careful not to overextend themselves in order to conserve essence in case the worst should happen. For long spans, Maric simply followed Nero, guided by Nerissa, with no land in sight. They would summon massive waves and ride them at incredible speeds, sprays of water scattering in every direction. Sometimes, the sun shined brightly over still waters, while at other times, storms lashed at them, but neither slowed their progress—not after Maric had become… a shard wielder, of all things. Never in his life had he anticipated this.

Maric walked alongside Nero through the streets of Halvarim. They had stayed in the city for some time, attempting to uncover what was happening within these lands, and somehow, reality did not match their expectations. While Rahmavir was known to trade with foreign nations, it had always seemed secluded—or so Nerissa said, echoing assumptions held by the other guardians of Malverand—but those assumptions turned out to be incorrect. If anything, Halvarim sprawled endlessly with merchants and traders, as well as people of various nations—judging by their skin tones and clothing—or perhaps Rahmavir simply was that large. The city itself extended across inland terrain while also reaching along the river, then onto the vast lake from which it originated.

Zain sat in his throne, absently tapping the armrest as he surveyed the council gathered around him in their lesser but still finely crafted chairs. To his left sat Qadir, the master of scouts, his sand-brown hair neatly swept back and blue eyes fixed intently on their guest. On Zain’s right was Ishqari, the head researcher. Her nearly black hair hung forward as she focused on her work, though Zain knew she, too, was carefully watching Raphael’s every move. Khezriya, who oversaw military matters, reclined slightly in her chair with raised brows, a sheet of paper resting before her on the table.

Eira stared up at the skyship with Kaelion in hand as it disappeared across the azure expanse above. Suddenly, she felt Zayren’s hand on her shoulder—he grabbed both her and Kaelion from behind. “Ahhh, I wanted to go with them.” He leaned closer. “Aelius and Xarion…” Eira turned toward him and offered a smile.

Kaelion sat plastered to the windows of Drendyll’s skyship, watching Eira’s form grow smaller and smaller below them, outlined by the fires and smoke rising from Kaldaryn City. He had been moments from death when both Splin and Astheron hastily threw up their starfield barriers. If not for his faithful astragon, they could all have perished instantly. When he tried to mount Splin earlier, she had refused him, instead moving toward Astheron as Drendyll dragged Kaelion aboard the skyship. Did that mean Splin couldn’t outfly these pursuing ships?

Virel almost wanted to stop midair, his eyes fixed on the wonder unfolding far in the distance. His deity, Nahm, had personally intervened—of all things. Virel shook his head twice at the sight. Did the god truly value Kaelion and Xoh’Tenol that much? Or was this merely a calculated move to gain favor with the other nations?

Sweat poured from Eira’s temples as she healed men and women scattered throughout the ruins. Voices and activity swelled around her as mages cleared rubble, fixing and repairing what they could while the city struggled back on its feet. But even so, a massive battle raged far off on the horizon—something she was powerless to stop right now. “Please don’t die, Kaelion,” she whispered to herself as she began healing another man, his broken leg knitting together in moments. Tears slipped silently down her cheeks as she continued working, but as soon as the man was healed and thanked her, Eira simply sat there, her brown robes smeared with soot and grime, sobs finally escaping.

They had gotten a good night of sleep, and now Xarion sat in the cosmic blue flagship, attempting to power it up. Remarkably, even after three millennia, it still stood resilient, largely due to its reinforced hull. According to Aelius, even the weapons systems appeared functional. Benedict had left plenty of essence cores in reserve, though many had been drained over the years, leaving only the most potent ones intact. Either way, it would have to suffice as the engines began to whir, the hull vibrating slightly beneath Xarion’s seat.

Garrik stood tall on the plains outside Omberion, Brynor standing beside him. Together, they watched as Splin carried Astheron and Isrynn into the distance. Earlier, out of nowhere, the massive astragon had come flying at full speed just as the siege began. She roared specifically at Isrynn and Astheron, and Brynor believed she might have seen something—though he couldn’t pinpoint what exactly. Splin then let out a roar aimed at both him and Aurion, but for now, they all agreed the two men were necessary for what was to come.

Eliona sat in a skyship, his eyes drifting to Azarion. Though physically unharmed, Azarion appeared defeated, slumped in his seat with an airlessness that went far beyond mere exhaustion. Nothing beyond extreme essence drain had truly befallen them, but they had still failed—spectacularly. Worse, Soria was now captured by the opposing forces. Eliona replayed events, from the discovery of the ancient Order emerging from the Malverand vault, to the reckless decision to strike while they were weakened.

Eira paced across the forest floor, reaching out with her senses as she scanned for something to eat. They had plenty of water from a nearby stream, but Splin wasn’t capable of gathering food herself. The bugs in this area weren’t large enough, leaving it up to Eira and Astheron to find sustenance for the giant frog, at least until someone came to rescue them. Astrid had already returned to Kaldaryn to warn them, but Eira insisted they would manage for a few days if necessary—especially since Splin wouldn’t fit on the Brighthaven skyships anyway. For now, the frog was doing better, and each time Eira recovered enough essence, she continued healing Splin, carefully reforming her lost limbs.

The next day, Eira sat at the helm of the skyship as it soared onward, with Splin flying alongside them outside, Kaelion perched on her back, effortlessly keeping up with their pace. Now that Garrik had returned to Kaldaryn, he was able to heal the astragon before setting out to organize and gather more men. He had also insisted on constructing watchtowers deep in the mountains and increasing military presence in smaller cities near Morindel, particularly Cyndarel and Melandor. Earlier, after the meeting had concluded, Astheron, Kaelion, and Garrik had spoken in low tones together, mourning Isrynn. Yet they all agreed not to let it hinder them—Isrynn would never have wanted that.

“It’s coming back to me, more and more,” Orin said, slowly pacing around the office. His eyes wandered across every bookshelf, map, and even the engravings on the chairs. “But I am no temporal mage,” he added, eventually stopping as he looked back at Cassian. “Perhaps I’ll never fully know.” Cassian nodded from his desk, watching his father study the room with casual intent.

Xarion sat across from Kaelion, the two men watching silently through the train’s windows as it began to slow. In the distance, the first spires of Irrathis emerged—tall, angular, and crowned with the elegance of the Imperial Institute. For some strange reason, Xarion clamped his hands around his midsection, a slight jolt running through him. Who was he going to see first, and how would he even act? What would they say?

Aurion moved through the Luminary Halls, his footsteps echoing in the vast corridors. The cosmic glyphs carved into the walls flared to life with a blue-gold light as he passed, illuminating the space around him. He trailed a hand along the smooth surface, feeling its texture. It hadn’t been that long since he’d last walked these halls, yet it felt like lifetimes. The only real change now was his title—he was no longer king.

Kaelion sat in the train, his elbows resting on the window frame as he watched the farmlands of Teryndal blur past. The ride was almost too smooth, surreal in its calmness, and Zeydrith wasn’t even the final stop anymore. Across from him, Tazarin leaned back into the red-cushioned seat, his mouth set in a thin line. It hadn’t been long since Kaelion had told his father about Isrynn, and the two had been quiet for a while now, though it wasn’t uncomfortable. Before meeting Tazarin, Kaelion had visited someone else first, and she had agreed to join them, mentioning she had a few things to do in Zeydrith.

Aldar was flying high above the farmlands of Teryndal, descending slightly as he greeted the citizens below with waves and smiles, as they always did when they saw him. He had just finished shaping a massive patch of darkness near Lirathen, and soon he would continue removing more in the southern parts of Xalmyrra. His eyes slid toward the spiral shard in his palm. He still had more than enough essence, but how was Aurion doing now, in a foreign war, no less? He shoved the thought away as northern Irrathis came into view, its overgrown housing blending into the nearby forest.

Maric walked once again through the streets of Halvarim, Nero at his side. They were heading to meet Ravira and Zorath, to see the so-called source. Yet Maric’s thoughts drifted elsewhere. His attention went to the lava shard in his palm—he still hadn’t properly tested himself against anyone in a duel. How strong was he now?

2085 AX, Radiance Prime, Brighthaven. Alistair watched from a distance, eyes fixed on the scene before him. This woman—Aurelia—and her strange magic. He couldn’t quite follow her story, but here she was, copying spells, of all things, directly from Gren and Viviana as if they were natural to her. She was so young, so promising.

After weeks spent in the nation of Rahmavir, Alistair began to piece together the nature of its politics and the conflict surrounding the Plains of Eternity. The war was between Rahmavir and the Oracles, with the Oracles fiercely defending the source at any cost, refusing all diplomacy, while Rahmavir launched repeated attacks to seize it. Their goal was to stop the plains from overflowing into the world, as the essence had already forced the abandonment of numerous Rahmavir cities near the border over the centuries. Only the strongest mages could safely attune to the plains’ volatile essence if they were already adults, but Rahmavir had discovered that the weakest individuals—or those with little to no essence—could also survive, as could children born within the plains itself. This realization had shaped their strategy: to create stronger mages capable of one day seizing the source.

With more time passing, Alistair began integrating his own agents into Zarephon, searching for the most potent origin magic users. Finally, his efforts succeeded. Boss, one of Alistair’s men, had grown into a man whose origin magic was too volatile to control—it erupted unpredictably and violently. But that was exactly what Alistair needed for his research. Just as essence lights could capture simple spells, Alistair and the entity devised a way for Boss to infuse his unstable magic into a container.

5369 AX, Malverand Intergalactic Empire, Maraveth. Amos joined Elias and Luke at the back of the cabin, the three of them watching Thalena as she flew through the sprawling cityscape of Maraveth. Her trajectory was clear—straight for Isandro’s massive palace, the domed structure towering over the city like a crown jewel of the empire. For now, no one seemed to pay her much attention. Vehicles continued to zip through the atmosphere, moving between the gilded spires and elegant skybridges of glass that connected the city’s towering skyscrapers.

5369 AX, Zarephon. Maric crouched by the lake, dipping a hand into its crystalline depths as he tried to sense where Nero might be. The man had been gone for quite a while now, and the water was too dense with essence for Maric to feel much beyond the surface. Nearby, Severin sat cross-legged on the stone floor. Ever since they arrived, the chosen man had been nothing but kind, teaching them how to use their magic within the plains.

They had just crossed the western mountains when Zarephon came into view below them. Azarion maintained a high speed, but he began slowing as the trail behind them lessened. Eliona observed the locals and citizens below, who immediately spotted the guardians where they descended. During the trip, Raphael had spoken almost like a normal man, yet he occasionally rambled on about Barachiel or ancient Malverand. Eliona swore he saw hints of tears in Raphael’s eyes at times, though it was impossible to tell with the wind tearing past them.

Alistair—or perhaps Alice now—observed the scene carefully, watching as everything began to align. Soon enough, Maric let the rocky encasement disappear with a massive groaning sound, as though the cave itself were shuddering. Yet no dust fell; not even a single stone was shaken loose. “This man,” Oktlix began, “I have no idea… I know no god with his power.” Alice merely nodded.

Maric exhaled, his chest heaving more than it should have. Somehow, he had pulled it all off. Nero was now diving deep into the lake with Alice, leaving Maric to remain behind alongside Severin, Raphael, Eliona, and Azarion. What if they simply decided to kill him right now? But at least, it seemed as though Eliona might be honorable.

Eliona smoothed his silver hair back as his blue eyes tracked the people funneling through the door. Azarion sat beside him, arms crossed and face set in a hard line, while Raphael greeted each arrival with a smile. The number of chosen leaders gathered far exceeded Eliona’s expectations. Why were they all here—and at this time? Raphael didn’t even seem bothered that Alice hadn’t returned.

5369 AX, Malverand Intergalactic Empire, Maraveth. Amos swirled around inside the void, a rope secured around his chest as he scanned the emptiness. It reminded him of their first experiments back when they had entered Valrindor. But since arriving in the Malverand Intergalactic Empire, his magic had waned significantly, and the effects of lacking essence were now glaringly clear. He couldn’t remain in this blackness for long—not even a short time.

Thalena and her group had completed their task three years ago, sending the correct people into Varnhallow, and now it was finally time. They had remained near the Chronasis gate within the void, waiting for the day they could emerge, and she was certain Cassian would figure it out. Deylin had spent much of their time teaching them Earth games, keeping them occupied during the long wait. Most of them were already used to boredom, but it had been a welcome distraction. As she looked at the men surrounding her, Thalena couldn’t help but smile.

Some time had passed, and Amos found himself living in the opulent palace of Emperor Isandro. Never in his life had he imagined this day, but here he was. What was next in his life now? The other day, magic users from across the empire had been called in to see if they could manipulate the essence within the capsules. Yet none of them succeeded.

Alistair let the illusion drop, shedding the guise of Alice for the moment. He had grown so accustomed to living as the lie that, at times, it felt like the lie was him. Ever since acquiring his hollow body, he had mastered the art of deception, fooling others so completely that even he sometimes lost his footing in the truth. Yet now, he could only grimace at the barren world he found himself in. His magic wasn’t the fastest for travel, and he couldn’t risk using too much of it—this place was utterly barren of essence.

Eira had just returned from a morning run through Chronasis alongside Cassian and Nethira. The three of them had jumped into the bath shortly after, but something felt off. For some reason, Cassian remained near the corner of the crystalline pool, as if he feared being too close to either of them. Eira and Nethira swam around in the deeper section, splashing and laughing, but she paid no mind to him for now. Nethira, on the other hand, kept teasing him, saying, “He’s still shy,” though it didn’t seem to be the full truth.

Alistair was through, and now he had no way of activating his illusion, but it hardly mattered. He was too hollow to conjure a shield around himself, leaving him completely vulnerable as he sank deeper into the crushing waters. The pressure was immense, and the silence deafening. Had his pact with Oktlix been broken? His hollow form splayed across the lake floor, unable to breathe properly, his body screaming for oxygen.

Kaelion found himself trailing behind Eira as they navigated the treacherous Plains of Eternity. The group had been flying most of the time, but random attacks from astragons and dragons—not to mention massive trees that occasionally blocked their path—had forced them to adjust their strategy. As a countermeasure, Xarion had tried to see how high he could fly, but it didn’t take long for the landscape below to become completely obscured. With nothing but an endless green haze surrounding them, he would have had no reference points to guide them, and had to use heat signatures to navigate back to the ground. For now, they moved far slower in short stretches, though Eira seemed unfazed.

Vianna sat in the high-backed chair within the Ember Spire, her fingers lightly resting on the armrest as she wondered if she truly belonged in this seat of power. Beside her, Radomir spoke, as always, about grain farming. His face was lit up, the lava channels running along the walls casting dancing shadows in his eyes. Vianna let a small smile surface as she watched him. When she had first seen Kyranthos on her way home, she had been struck by the rich farmlands surrounding the city, thriving even in the depths of winter, with snow blanketing almost everything outside of the city.

Virel paced near the forest’s outskirts, glancing toward the distant mountains. The landscape below was blanketed in light snow, while Rimvold lay just beyond the horizon. All they needed now were their scouts to return, and then they would move out. He quickly looked over his shoulder, noting the thousand-strong force hiding behind trees or any natural cover they could find, all carefully suppressing their essence signatures. Many of Haverloch’s finest mages stood among them, allied with forces from Bjarnholt and Morozkaya.

Eira closed her eyes, focusing on her origin magic. Over time, she had come to understand it far better, seeing farther than ever through the web of the world, but its full workings still eluded her. Compared to her divine senses, origin magic operated in a completely different way. Where divine magic allowed her to feel essence signatures, origin magic did so in an almost inverted fashion, leaving vast gaps while outlining powerful mages. Was she perhaps seeing through particles floating around the world in a way similar to essence, but entirely invisible to the eye?

Kaelion caught the incoming blast aimed directly at Eira, stopping in his tracks as he watched it consume her entirely. Even though it was a direct hit, he curled his fists and blinked forward, ignoring her battle, just as instructed. The plan was clear, and he had to stick to it. Then, out of nowhere, a woman came at him. Before he could react, a tiny prismatic beam lanced through his leg.

Xarion had just singled out his opponent after healing Kaelion, now soaring through the air toward her. “I guess this will be easier than Abraxas,” he barked over the rushing winds as he spotted Ravira. She had regained her footing slightly farther down, nestled among the remains of trees that still stood. “Hold yourself back a little,” Ozaith rumbled. “We need to keep enough to fight Raphael.”

Eira was hit dead on, the massive blast slamming into her as the air was forced from her lungs. A massive crater erupted beneath her as the impact scorched the ground, but even as her body was torn apart, her skin began knitting itself back together. She grimaced, feeling the burning sensation of her face peeling away, the pain real but fleeting. Rising quickly, she focused ahead, locking onto the source of the beam. At once, she blinked rapidly through space, leaving collapsing voids in her wake, and immediately began reenchanting the parts of her that had been burned off, her skin healing into fresh, unblemished flesh.

Eliona moved as quickly as his magic allowed, Alice keeping pace beside him. In the strange expanse of the plains, they could continuously drain essence to sustain their speed, blinking at intervals along the winding road. Yet, there was still no sign of catching up. Whenever they encountered travelers, they were forced to slow down, avoiding unnecessary harm. The route ahead grew more treacherous as they approached immense mountains shrouded in the green haze of dense essence.

Vianna walked through the streets of Zhurakûn, the water spread out before her in glimmering waves. She had passed through this city more than three millennia ago, back when it didn’t even have a name. Now, she was back—but this time as an invader. Simon and Aelius had swiftly led their assembled army, descending from the skyships hovering above, and had proceeded to eliminate any resistance. The defenders, or anyone who dared stand against them, had been swiftly taken out.

The moment the lightning struck Virel’s vector, it shot precisely in the direction he intended, amplified in both speed and power as it illuminated the surroundings. The opposing mages running toward them conjured massive, layered shields of immense thickness, but the bolt sliced through them cleanly, electrifying and scorching many in an instant. Wild blue arcs lanced into the atmosphere, leaving blackened scars across the snow-covered ground. Meanwhile, Zain retaliated, this time with a ray surrounded by a purple-pink halo. It targeted the left flank, far from Virel and Glin.

Zain stood outside the Great Hall of Rimvold, his boots tapping against the stone beneath him. A light snowfall drifted over the city, blanketing the thick, sturdy roofs with a thin layer of white. While almost every building bore runes inscribed into their surfaces, Zain had no idea how to use them, nor did any of his allies. Regardless, Gabriel had instructed him to defend Rimvold for now, and Zain watched the god as he smiled and danced around the courtyard, teaching Ishqari how to increase her power output for her spells. When the time came, Gabriel had promised to participate himself, noting how crucial it was that, whichever shard wielder their enemies threw at Rimvold, he would either negotiate with that person—or kill if necessary.

Zayren had just picked up Lythariel, and she now hung loosely in his arms as they soared through the air, heading toward Rimvold. Below them, the army marched onward, while to their right, Remus flew, his arms positioned perfectly at his sides. As Zayren held Lythariel close, the moment felt reminiscent of something from the past. “Please take care of yourself,” he said, pulling her so near that he could smell the scent of her hair. “Last time you were the one trying to kill me,” Lythariel retorted.

Maric walked the streets of Qarezh, the capital of Ereshval, with its smooth brown stone domes and rounded buildings blending into the desert landscape. He hadn’t stayed here long after escaping the Plains of Eternity, but somehow, he’d managed to find his way south. Eliona had upheld the deal, allowing Maric to leave in exchange for Raphael’s life. Now, Maric had to warn his friends in Xalmyrra. Renneth, however, seemed to have that sorted on his own—or so he claimed.

Virel had just been flung away from a massive erupting wall of ice. Midair, he conjured the hottest cosmic beam he could muster, searing the cold away, yet the ice continued to push forward. Earlier, another mage—a mysterious unknown man—had fought Gabriel to a standstill, illuminating the entire horizon in an inferno that devoured the snowstorm conjured by Ishqari and Gabriel. She too had been flung away when Gabriel was forced to defend himself. “Who is that?”

Vianna remained behind one of Lysander’s shields as they regrouped near the outskirts of Ishtanûr. Around them, most of the buildings had been ruined from the earlier bombardment of cosmic beams, and the forest behind them burned, flames consuming the few parts that hadn’t already been destroyed. Even as Vianna took to the skies for a quick look, the green she once remembered was barely visible in the far distance. But where had their commanders and officers disappeared to? They had confirmed that Qadir, an incredibly fast aether mage, was present, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Aldar sat in one of the side chairs at the council table, his focus on the tall glass windows where sunlight filtered through, casting patterns across the stone floor. He listened intently to Brynor’s ideas and outlines for addressing the potential Valrindor council—a proposal first suggested by Xarion, an idea Aldar had considered himself. Yet, despite the discussion’s importance, Aldar’s thoughts kept straying to the courtyard just outside the hall. The statue of Xoh’Tenol stood there—of all things. Was Irrathis truly turning into a hub of god worship, centered around Kaelion of all people?

Garrik paced on top of a hill overlooking the city far below, the breeze catching his blonde hair. Just where was Aldar and their reinforcements? He could only guess something had happened, at the worst possible time, especially now that Raphael was right in front of them. Yet… Raphael hadn’t attacked. Why was that?

Raphael’s fist slammed into the glass table within the garden where they sat, causing it to shudder slightly. He drew back, then let out a laugh, attracting a few curious stares from those nearby. “In the past… perhaps I would have yelled out something,” Raphael said, smoothing his hair behind his ears. “But I am no longer that person.” He angled sideways in his chair, motioning toward Ralvon, who stood against the bark of an oak tree nearby, his dark eyes barely lifting.

Eira stared out the window of the strange skyship they were in, her eyes fixed on the green haze outside. She sat next to Kaelion, both of them leaning as far back as possible in the brown leather seats of the long-bodied vessel—the same type as the one that had attacked them in Kaldaryn. Across from her sat Eliona, with Alice seated beside her. In the front, Azarion steered the skyship, while Xarion sat next to him—and that was all the space they had. The others who had survived were flying in another ship behind them, but for now, they weren’t important.

Hours later, Eira stood among the others in front of the cave that led to the source. Nero had explained in detail what they needed to do, but Eira already had experience diving down and trusted the process would remain mostly the same, with one key difference—a much higher density of essence. Since they weren’t dealing with a typical timerift, she assumed Ozaith and Xarion were vital to closing it, and right now, she wasn’t even sure if she could see its instructions. Hrzai and the other gods had informed Nahm and Tianlei of their plans in case something went wrong. Eira also made sure to tell Eliona that there was no way to get out of this—the gods could instantly report any betrayal.

Jin paced across the brown stone of the colosseum, another day of quiet and peace spent in Chronasis. “I really should’ve gone with them,” he said, holding up his palm with the lightning shard. “Don’t beat yourself over it,” Tianlei replied. “You didn’t recover as fast as the others.” “Well, I did,” Jin countered, stopping as he spun slightly.

Eliona stood with her arms crossed, her white robes folded neatly around her as she watched the trio disappear into the cave entrance. Nero paced restlessly across the grasslands outside, his eyes darting rapidly in every direction. Eliona extended her senses as far as they would go, but beyond the three of them, no one else was nearby. Even the surrounding buildings had been cleared at Eira’s insistence, and Eliona saw no reason to argue—they had to prove themselves trustworthy, after all. “Do you think they’ll let us go?”

Alice observed Severin carrying the unconscious Myrelia into their secluded residence. Myrelia was fully healed now and would likely wake soon enough, though Alice wouldn’t be staying to see it through. Severin carefully lowered her onto the couch, covering her with a blanket before taking a seat across from her. The Lumerian then looked up at Alice, who stood at the threshold of the living room. “What are your orders now?”

Nero surfed along a massive wave, barreling through the stormy seas as fast as he possibly could. His destination was clear: home, to Pelagia. But his thoughts kept drifting back to the moment the mountain exploded, over and over, and he hadn’t slept since then. In the distance, the lighthouse appeared, its ray cutting through the storm to scan the rough seas for anything unusual. But today, there was nothing.

Maric’s vision swam as he began noticing a reflection above him. Just what was he looking at? Though as his eyes opened fully, it quickly became clear—it was him. Shooting upright, he pushed the sheets off, his eyes darting to the wall, where his face stared back at him. Looking left and right, there he was again, mirrored endlessly.

“No!” Zain blurted out as he sat upright in bed. At once, he took in his surroundings, spotting the familiar chamber in the Council Citadel—his home. The curtains were open, sunlight streaming in to flood the pale gold walls, casting a serene warmth across the room. It looked like any other day.

Eliona sat hunched forward, elbows resting on her knees as she stayed by the side of the bed. Across from her, Azarion mirrored her posture, thumb working at the back of his scalp where golden hair was beginning to grow back. Eliona looked out the window, where the dark of night spread outward, broken only by the occasional flash of a meteor or cosmic beam. They had become far less frequent lately, yet there were no reports of Garrik and his forces retreating. “We can’t back down now,” Azarion said.

Aldar stood on the hill overlooking Cyndarel, the blooming flowers in shades of purple and violet rustling in the strong wind. Waves crashed hard across the lake below, driven by the unrelenting storms he conjured. The city was completely encased in black, dense darkness, layered thicker with each passing minute. His arms were spread as he guided the storms farther and wider, ensuring no gap remained. Hours had passed, and now the sun was beginning to creep over the horizon.

Cassian drummed his fingers against the wooden desk, his eyes scanning the battle plans laid out before him. So far, Hadrian had reported no attempts at pushback, though they had spotted Archibald—the puppet ruler of Solvarria—and Khezriya, Zain’s military commander. For now, Hadrian had chosen to remain aboard a fast windweaver, allowing him to coordinate movements efficiently. Jin still remained in Chronasis, though even Thalia had noticed her father’s growing restlessness. She often told him to go out there, yet Cassian couldn’t fault him for staying behind, especially with Thalena still missing.

Zain walked the tiles in one of the parks at the base of the Council Citadel, his most trusted officers trailing closely behind as they finalized preparations. Stopping under the shade of a broad tree, he adjusted his black robe, tightening the belt and checking his essence cores. Once their plan was ready, Khauren had spoken up. But when Zain questioned what was happening, Khauren refused to answer, simply saying he needed to gather more followers and telling Zain to do as he wished for now. Even so, the thought of losing control again sat unwell with Zain.

Jin had just flown south, the rocky brown and black landscape of Pyrenis trailing along the shoreline to his left, while the towering volcanic wall rose high to his right. Even on this side of the ocean, the waters were foaming, the result of his storm that darkened the skies above. While Tianlei had needed slightly more time than the other gods to recover, he insisted he was back in full shape, and Jin could feel the power coursing through him as static surged through his veins. The wind howled past him, and the rain screamed against him in every direction. Two mages appeared on his right, flying fast through the storm.

Cassian could barely believe what he had just witnessed. Abraxas had gone far and beyond in her orders to protect Thalassai, acting as if it were natural. Just moments earlier, Cassian had sprinted toward the port, but it appeared the situation there was under control. That left him free to head in another direction—south, where Abraxas was now flying. The golden sword resting at his belt, Cassian sprang forward with all the power he could muster, dodging rivers of lava and gaping fissures that widened with each quake.

Lucilla sat on the side of the skyship, watching through the windows as two dozen vessels ascended over her home city of Pelagia. The sun was setting, casting the white-brown buildings with their earth-toned roofs in a warm golden hue. While the consulate stood out, towering far above the rest of the city’s structures, it was the amphitheater that drew Lucilla’s attention. She had spent most of her time there recently, training with Nero. The man himself sat relaxed in a chair on the opposite side of the cabin, his fingers lightly tracing the surface of his wave shard.

Brynor continued in wide arcs, propelling himself forward with massive pillars of earth erupting beneath his feet. Between leaps, he used his air magic to shoot forward like a spear, blinking in between to close the distance faster. Still, he knew he couldn’t hope to catch up with Aldar—especially with that spiral shard of his. It almost made him scoff. No matter how far people pushed themselves, they could never hope to catch up with shard wielders when they went all out.

Alice sat on the large couch, its plush surface almost cramped despite the ample space in the room. The garden outside was sealed by divine shields conjured by Raphael, as were every window and the main door. Yet no one had explained why she had been summoned. Everyone else in the room seemed to share the same uncertainty, as they waited in silence for Raphael to speak. Seated in the middle of the opposite couch, Raphael sat straight-backed, his hands resting on each knee.

Eliona remained close to the veil, ready to protect anyone who emerged. So far, Azarion, Raphael, and Severin had come through alongside Ravira, and more would follow soon. “Alice and Doss should’ve returned by now,” Eliona said. “I’m afraid… something could’ve happened.” “Alice always pulls through,” Raphael said, pressing his palms together as a divine shield took shape around them.

Garrik remained beside Astheron as the two watched Aldar, who continued calling down bolt after bolt of lightning. It couldn’t be much longer now until the barrier would break. Earlier, Zayren had spotted Ravira moving into the darkness, and the decision to let her pass was quickly made. Taking their opponents by surprise as they emerged seemed the wisest course of action. Aldar had admitted he had no idea if the veil would hold or not, repeatedly saying it was a gamble for both sides.

Maric fumbled through the skies, using bursts of fire to propel himself in erratic directions, narrowly avoiding the golden air blasts that Azarion hurled at him without pause. The ground below was riven and scarred, lava churning in deep crevasses that stretched endlessly. Each blast from Azarion left destruction in its wake, forcing Maric to dodge as he searched for an opening. “This fight is not good for us!” Maric shouted, detonating the air above himself to avoid a golden blast that clipped him, sending him spinning downward.

Zayren flew through the air, collapsing gravity in bursts to slingshot himself forward, maintaining just enough speed to evade the deadly black lines that Ravira fired. These attacks, thin as threads, sliced through the sky, forcing him to stay off any predictable path. Without Xarion around, Zayren knew he, Lythariel, and Remus were likely the best chances against these kinds of mages—even if Zain had defeated them easily. Winds surged around him, gusting in uneven bursts, but Ravira’s liquid glass shields held strong. Farther back, the man known as Kjeldan stood with Severin, both of them protecting a fourth man Zayren couldn’t identify.

Aldar flew to the left of Cyndarel, heading west; it seemed Raphael had moved in that direction through the darkness. Was he trying to escape, or had the meteor genuinely thrown the guardian there? It appeared unlikely, considering they had exited in the northeastern parts of Cyndarel, and when Aldar had circled around to catch Azarion, the man had already flown into Maric’s position. Both Khoradyn and Zhang guarded the area where Raphael was headed, though they weren’t supposed to fight someone like him—only to catch potential stragglers. The wind rushed past Aldar’s beard as his silver-threaded council robes fluttered behind him, the frigid air doing little to dampen his focus.

Alistair continued undetected through the ruined landscape. While he kept himself suppressed, the debris and ongoing battles made it harder for anyone to spot him. Though his visibility was limited, he knew the approximate locations of key players, though some had been thrown far off. Still, to think Viviana and Gren were alive this time. They must have come with Eira and the others from the Malverand vault.

Garrik’s vision swam as a woman’s face came into focus above him, her features framed by graying hair and a weathered, wrinkled face. He found himself lying in her lap. “My little boy,” Astrid said, holding him close. Her hands glowed with divine essence as she healed him. “Where… are we?”

Brynor stood on the outer deck of the windweaver, the large skylorn sails billowing in the strong wind conjured by air mages. It wasn’t the fastest model, but Thalassai had been generous enough to export their older versions across Xalmyrra. Now, soaring high above the green, lush lands of Erenmyr, Brynor scanned the rough seas beyond the northern coastline. Foreign skyships had been spotted hovering in the distance, though none had approached yet. Multiple windweavers and Xalmyrran-style airships patrolled the coastline at regular intervals, forming a defensive line.

Lucilla paced around the deck of the skyship cabin, the crystal still resting near her chest, dormant for now. The coastline of Xalmyrra began to take shape in the distance, with mountains plunging steeply into the ocean on one side and white shorelines giving way to vivid, grassy hillsides that stretched endlessly on the other. Below, the ocean frothed, waves crashing against the rocks. While Nero sat motionless, Lucilla suspected Nerissa had a hand in the ocean’s movements. For now, they slowed their approach.

Eliona made a single blink across the ruined landscape, landing hard in a heap. Her left foot was still missing, yet to regrow, and her shields kept breaking under the onslaught of debris, shockwaves, and the chaos raging around her. Every ounce of her energy was spent maintaining the illusion of suppressed essence. If she let it slip, would someone find her? Even so, as far as she could tell, there was no one nearby—only wreckage and a desolate landscape stretching endlessly in every direction.

“There’s too much wind!” Virel shouted over the roar. “Do we retreat?” Even as Azarion continued firing his golden air blasts, they had become more erratic, and the hurricane-summoning spell was clearly not abiding by the guardian’s wish. “We’ll retreat,” Nahm rumbled.

Maric patted Gin’s blue-red scales as they soared through the wavering air, flying as fast as they could. With one hand, he drew moisture from the sky, forming a protective barrier to block debris and ensure the astragon could fly without distraction. Beside him, Kren did the same, carving a path ahead while the hurricane dragged at them. “Cover your ears!” Aelius shouted, standing on Gin’s rear body.

Brynor had just defended against an onslaught of skyship weapons, deflecting them while blinking through the air even as the remnants of the tsunami raged across the landscape. Orin had insisted on taking on Nero alone, and Brynor had chosen to trust the old scholar. Now, Brynor found himself facing an overwhelming lightning mage, a man who called down ceaseless thunderstorms and bolts from the heavens while floating in the air. Strange blue lines glimmered from the mage’s legs and arms, and static coursed wildly through his white hair. Tazarin stood at Brynor’s side, shielding them with starfield barriers, but even those began to crack, fractures forming almost as quickly as the shields appeared.

Cassian entered the gate chamber, running as fast as he could with the black particles Jin had managed to keep intact. The storm mage followed closely behind. After the battle, the windweaver had been knocked far away but remained intact, allowing Jareth to rush ahead and assess if there was any way to contain the swirling remnants. “I probably can’t fix it,” Jareth said, gesturing at Cyrena and a few others as they rummaged through several caskets, drawers, and shelves. Eventually, Cyrena returned with what appeared to be a large essence core.

Amos fell out of the gate, drawing a ragged breath as he always did after spending too long inside the void. Ever since he began this project, the strange entity within the void had spoken to him, almost as if it wanted a companion. But it wasn’t until it suggested making a pact that Amos truly began to wonder what it might be—a flawed godlike entity? When he reentered the void to continue his search for the other Chronasis, the entity latched onto him, wrapping around him like a creeping dread. Amos ignored it as best he could, following the direction it pointed while occasionally speaking to it.

Eira woke with a bang, the sun already casting streaks of light across the room. She groaned, stretching her limbs as Kaelion lay beside her, sprawled out on the wide bed. Leaning down, she kissed him gently before slipping out of bed, reminding herself: no magic. She slid the overhang aside, a device seemingly designed to keep the bed aired and fresh, with a misty sheen that clung to it. Crossing the solid floor, she moved to the window and opened the curtains, revealing Maraveth in all its towering glory.

They descended the elevator together, its smooth glide bringing them to the bay. Instead of heading for the large main door, Isandro gestured toward one of the smaller vessels as a ramp lowered with a hiss. Eira and Kaelion climbed aboard, followed closely by Mike and Isandro, while Luke took the wheel at the front. Eira brought up the documents on Vireen through her glasses, her eyes darting between the data and their surroundings. For now, all they could see was the metallic red and light tones of the starport as Luke guided them out.

Xarion paced along the streets of Zarephon, keeping to the shadows of a few trees near the box-like training area where they had just been. “Maybe we should’ve told them,” Xarion said, holding his palm up close to his face, studying the swirling galaxy mark. “They’ll figure it out either way.” “By then we’re already on Earth,” Ozaith rumbled. “This is something the two of us have to do.”

They stood in silence for a while, watching the road that led to the cabin as a light moved toward them in the far distance, visible through the trees. Rafe signaled for them to move behind some of the hedges as a rolling vehicle soon came into sight. The vehicle approached, an ugly, large contraption similar to the ones Xarion had seen from high above earlier. Now that he was closer, it was clear the machine was an abomination on four wheels. When the vehicle shut down, a man with slightly graying hair emerged from its doors.

Kaelion woke to something bumping into him. His body felt heavy, and it took him a few seconds to fully regain awareness. Rubbing his eyes, he glanced around, spotting the smooth cyan-gray walls of the room and a large window that overlooked the city. To his left, Eira lay sleeping soundly, her head resting lightly against his shoulder, her golden hair tickling his skin ever so slightly. For a few minutes, he lay there, trying to recall what had happened.

Eira stood glued to the window. She could no longer see Xarion either, and Kaelion had already vanished out there, leaving without so much as a word or explanation of his plans. Just what had come over him? This wasn’t like the Kaelion she knew at all. Why go so far?

Cassian sat inside their flagship windweaver, Jareth at the wheel and Jin pacing across the deck. Through the side window, Cassian kept his eyes on the other ships in the fleet, his focus locking on the one carrying Aelius and Aldar. He had instructed the imperator to remain with the former council head for now, though he hadn’t explicitly explained why. Even so, Cassian was certain Aelius already suspected something—there was no mistaking the way the larger man watched Aldar. While Glin couldn’t communicate outright, the astragon had radiated a strong sense of disturbance toward Cassian every time Aldar spoke.

Jin was flying low across the lands of Haverloch, where below him, the farmlands unfolded in rigid, rectangular symmetry. Tianlei had just spoken to Nahm, and the god had promised to keep quiet about Aldar for now. But what did that mean for Khoradyn and Zhang? Jin put a hand to his chest at the mere thought of his mentor and friend. How had it even gone down?

Eliona walked the streets of Calaris, a northern city in Calthorpe perched near the ocean. Massive waves crashed against the harbor in the distance, sending sprays of mist into the salty air. The wind swept through the streets, her silver hair—now grown out again—fluttering around her shoulders. Azarion strode beside her, his broad silhouette cutting through the breeze. They had retreated to this city temporarily after leaving Therendros, wary that the Order might target them if they remained there.

Zain paced along the top of the Council Citadel as the sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting the city in the warm hues of dusk. He had retreated from Thalassai moments before the worst could unfold, and Khezriya had swiftly healed him after he crashed into the citadel. Following that, he had been unconscious for hours. Yet even in his absence, Khauren hadn’t seized the opportunity to control him. That alone made Zain more certain—the god was relying on him emptying his essence, not merely losing consciousness.

Aelius rested against his glaive at the front of the skyship, his eyes fixed on the horizon as the lands of Ulzathir began to emerge. To his side, Aldar spoke in a controlled tone with Hadrian, gesturing occasionally. The signs had been glaringly obvious ever since they’d ridden Glin to Pyrenis. At first, the astragon had refused to take Aldar along for no apparent reason, and Aldar had seemingly lost his air magic out of nowhere. Regardless of what this man said or did, he wasn’t Aldar.

Aldar, or rather Alistair, blinked around near the outskirts of Ishtanûr as fast as he possibly could, aiming to reach the desert to the north. Had Aelius, Hadrian, and the others seen through him? Possibly, but it didn’t matter—not as long as their plans aligned. Fighting Zain wasn’t the best option, especially if Azarion arrived on the battlefield. There was no one here capable of taking him on, and perhaps he had even convinced Hadrian that it was better to wait it out.

Cassian walked near the ruined jungles outside Ishtanûr, Marcellus striding ahead of him as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Their finely crafted comet-trail black robes marked them as Ulzathir mages, and Marcellus’s illusions ensured they blended in. Cassian’s golden hair and bright teal eyes had been dulled to more muted, earthy tones—resembling his childhood appearance. Marcellus, with his altered form, looked like an ordinary Ulzathir native, his darker skin almost reminiscent of Anshar. Zayren’s yellow eyes were nearly black, and his hair, though unchanged in color, was combed slightly to avoid drawing attention.

Zain flew as fast as he could over the open dunes, glancing back frequently to check his pursuers. Ahead, the hurricane drew ever closer, a towering wall of destruction signaling Raphael’s imminent arrival. But why hadn’t Raphael himself shown up yet? While Ishqari and Gabriel had fulfilled their roles, the unexpected singularity had taken a massive toll on Zain, detonating almost directly in his face. To think, with all this power, he was still so inexperienced.

Cassian couldn’t stand. The crushing weight of Zain’s aether magic pinned him to the ground, and though he’d staggered the Ulzathir leader with a resonance wave, Zain was still too strong. Even Simon’s lightning attack had been thwarted, and now he too was pushed into the ground not far away. Lightning surged around Simon’s body as he struggled to free himself, and he threw a hard glare at Cassian, as if asking him to send another resonance wave. Cassian couldn’t even shake his head in response, and behind him, Marcellus was stuck as well, the golden sword useless for now.

Eliona stood near the skyship windows at the front, her eyes fixed on Azarion as he stood atop the prow. His movements were slow and circular, shaping spells that required significant wind-up time in case they were spotted along the way. Overhead, the skies had begun darkening, while around them, the air remained pristine and clear. Below, the ship flew over a road leading toward Ishtanûr, where the battle had already erupted. Gabriel had descended to assist Ishqari, yet the god remained strong enough to still watch over Azarion to a certain degree.

Maric flew alongside the ships, keeping pace with the army that had quickly gathered after Jin’s return. Of all the things he had learned, flying was the most unexpected, though it made sense given how humid the world really was. While he lacked air magic, fire propulsion combined with his ability to control mist and water allowed him to glide through the air as if riding waves. His unconventional method drew quite a few looks from the air mages, particularly from Jin, who often watched him with an unreadable face. It was even stranger with Renneth back in his natural form, and now Spin and Gin were carrying troops instead of being ridden by them.

“Take everything you need,” Tianlei echoed. “Even if I’ve used a lot already.” Jin listened to his god, drawing in as many white particles as he possibly could. His stormy eyes locked on Azarion, who continued shaping the hurricane with immense focus. Jin could only admire the skill—it was a feat he himself couldn’t achieve.

Alistair, of all people, had raised a shield to protect them all as Zayren guided them through the hurricane. The tempest roared around them, the sound so deafening that words could barely be heard over the crushing downpour. Cassian observed Alistair from slightly behind, watching as Zayren focused intently on steering them through the storm using his aether magic. Simon and Marcellus followed closely, with Marcellus carrying Cassian’s sword, ready to hand it over whenever it was needed. Cassian’s task was to sense their surroundings and guide them in the right direction.

They had somehow made it back to their world, and now the three of them were falling in a controlled manner, guided by Xarion’s aether magic. It wouldn’t be long before they reached the top of the hurricane, and Kaelion had already begun shaping his spell midair, working in tandem with Xarion. Eira could only observe as the two men, free-falling through the atmosphere, directed the world around them while forming the massive ball of plasma. Both Eira and Xarion were low on essence after their journey through the Malverand Intergalactic Empire, but the same could not be said for Kaelion. His golden light burned brighter than ever, and Xoh’Tenol was clearly relishing the moment, even as they faced a hurricane the size of an entire nation.

Eliona had barely managed to avoid detection, though Maric’s senses were far too keen, even more so than Thalena had been. She couldn’t even risk blinking, as she’d likely be detected the moment she used a spell. Instead, she moved slowly to now almost dry ground, trying to see what exactly was happening in the eye of the storm. A massive sun had descended from the heavens, and now the hurricane was mostly drying out the world around them in the center. The sun had to be Kaelion, which meant they weren’t dead and had returned from the stars… somehow, if that was even possible.

Cassian moved as quickly as he could, snapping every thread and vein that connected to the God Realm while the surreal spectacle continued to unfold around them. “This way!” he shouted, pointing to where Zayren needed to fly them as the essence continued to lash out. Wherever it struck the ground, strange, colorful mutations erupted, warping the landscape. Jin shielded them as best he could, while Cassian focused intently on the white particles.

Garrik sprang forward through the now-raging hail and snowstorm, the world around him a chaotic blur of white and gray. Just what exactly was going on? First, there had been a hurricane and a flood, then a massive descending sun that battled the tempest head-on, and now this snowstorm was engulfing everything. When the largest shockwave surged forth earlier, he had managed to dig deep into the ground to hold his position. Ravira, however, had been blown away with it.

The second before Azarion had closed his hands around Gabriel, Eira had sworn she saw him smile at her. His mouth had opened, though she couldn’t hear him over the crushing roar of the storm. Now, she was tumbling through the air alongside Kaelion. Garrik had been thrown somewhere else, and while the suffocating cold was beginning to let go, it was still nearly impossible to see beyond the tempest of hail and snow. Xarion had flown off to watch over Cassian, and Eliona was nowhere to be seen.

Eliona looked down into the broken ground, her fingers tangling in her silver hair. “This is all our fault… why did I not see the truth?” Maric had already begun carving the ground away as Myrelia’s body disappeared deeper into the growing pit. He could only dig so far before he would have to follow. Eliona’s eyes darted to Kaelion, who had grabbed Eira and was retreating toward one of the astragons.

Virel watched as Marcellus worked hard to steer the windweaver in the aftermath of the essence detonation. Alongside Simon, he had deflected and shielded the vessel to the best of his ability, and they were managing—for now. Earlier, Xarion had zipped past them, dragging Jareth from the windweaver and heading straight for Chronasis with only a single word: “Thalena.” Virel trusted Nahm would fill him in when the god returned, but for now, Nahm had exhausted himself defending them. On the cabin floor, four people lay in perfect alignment: Cassian, Zayren, Jin, and Azarion.

Xarion rushed through the air, collapsing gravity ahead of himself as he slingshotted them forward as fast as he could, avoiding burning through his essence reserves. He had saved just enough for the journey, but he needed to ensure he had plenty left to reform the five of them inside the void once they arrived. “Are you gonna tell me what this is about?” Jareth asked, shifting uncomfortably in Xarion’s grasp. Xarion held them close to reduce friction from the rushing air.

Thalena launched herself out of the gate, landing directly on Cassian, who stood waiting for her. She toppled him to the floor, kissing him deeply on the lips, refusing to give him a chance to speak. She was home, back with her love, and she would let no one steal this moment away from her. However, as she pulled slightly away from Cassian, her eyes caught movement in her peripheral vision. There was the man standing with Jareth—Amos.

Several weeks had passed, and Thalena sat in Cassian’s chair in her former office, spreading the Malverand hearts across the desk in front of her. In the chaos that had gone down, Cassian had not even realized that Alistair had hidden his Malverand heart beneath the spiral shard—or rather, Raphael’s former heart. Now, Thalena held three such hearts in her possession: Isandriel’s, Eremion’s, and Alistair’s. A fourth would soon be added to the collection. Eliona and Azarion sat across from her, the latter holding his crystal heart in his hands.

Cassian marched down the streets of Ishtanûr, the pale gold-tinted tiles beneath his feet now repaired and gleaming under the desert sun. While much of the capital still bore scars from the recent battle, new construction had begun in places, though the city remained largely a ghost of what it once was. That was until today, when citizens from far and wide had gathered to witness the crowning of a new emperor. Beside him walked Marcellus, while Arinella strode on his other side. Not too far behind them trailed Haverloch’s delegation, with Virel and Simon leading the group.

Xarion paced back and forth in front of Stella Aeterna, his boots marking the grass beneath the office windows. Thalena had instructed him to be near the stairs when the sun was about to set, yet she had refused to say why. Now, his heart climbed into his throat. To make matters worse, he couldn’t talk to Ozaith as he usually would—or to anyone else, for that matter. Kaelion, Eira, and Xoh’Tenol were off somewhere, and Ozaith… he was lounging on top of Stella Aeterna, dangling his legs over the roof as he laughed to himself, drawing a scowl from Xarion.

Thalena sat in her office, one leg elegantly folded over the other as she waited for the people she had summoned. Today, her collection would take another step toward completion—a project she had worked on for far too long, spanning several lifetimes. She was certain this time it was correct. Some pieces were already in place, while others needed to be added. Not all of them would agree willingly, but it was better not to take any chances.

Aurion walked down the Luminary Halls, the constellations carved into the walls glowing with a warm light. He greeted every guard and official along the way before eventually making his way to the grand hall, where King Daryas had summoned them for an official meeting, as was always the case for matters of importance. Across the table, Aurion exchanged a nod with Kaelric, seated on the opposite side, and glanced toward Thalvian, who sat farther down. Astheron, too, had returned to Soltheris, though he spent most of his time training for his upcoming duel with Eira, even though the match was still months away. The meeting began faster than usual, starting with discussions of trade, military developments, and future projects.

Nero waved goodbye to Orin as the skyship lifted off from the dock in Valcirae, where the man stood alongside Durvek and Feryon. Ever since Nero had woken up, they had been nothing but kind to him, even after the countless losses both sides had endured during the invasion. Soon, the green, lush trees swallowed the city from view, and the ship set its course back to Theryssa. Trade agreements and diplomatic deals had been signed, mostly by Lucilla while Nero merely watched. Observing her and the other Xalmyrrans made him realize just how much Nerissa had influenced his decisions since he was young.

Xarion stood at the panoramic windows, leaning over the chair where Aelius steered their magnificent skyship. “Feels almost like old days,” Aelius remarked, glancing up at Xarion. “It absolutely does,” Xarion said. “It’s good to have you with me… couldn’t be better.” He glanced to the side, where Ozaith sat, spinning an orb in his hands.

Zayren had dressed in the finest Thalassai robes for the occasion, borrowing Aetherion’s teal and silver attire. The colors, however, didn’t quite match his black hair or yellow eyes. Zephyra, on the other hand, wore the robes like a second skin, her sky-blue hair and matching boots giving her a polished look. At first, Zayren had suggested they simply fly to Durakarn, but Thalena had shot down the idea instantly, citing the unknown amount of darkness still corrupting the land. She was right, of course.

“Isn’t it just magnificent?” Radomir asked, turning where he stood near the left windows of the skyship. He gestured grandly at the sprawling farmlands of Drozhvenya below. Vianna just smiled at him, saying nothing as Radomir continued to boast about the perfect grain and the season’s bountiful harvest. The two of them had just left Kaldaryn City, where Vianna had visited Garrik and received an invitation to the Valrindor Council.

Silas glided along the edge of the void, holding tightly to Zal’therak as the two carefully navigated its weightlessness. Ever since Zal’therak had taken on a human form, his abilities had waned significantly, but together they were learning to manage this new limitation—slowly, surely. “We’re almost there,” Zal’therak said. “I can see Rimvold in the distance.” Silas reached out with his fingers, finding the boundary of the void and breaking it open.

Garrik stood in front of the mirror aboard the skyship, its surface vibrating slightly from the vessel’s speed. He adjusted his brown Kaldaryn robes wherever he could find a fold, ensuring every gold thread looked pristine. Or, more accurately, Astrid did it for him while he stood there. He didn’t truly see why all of this was necessary, but Astrid had insisted he look presentable for the upcoming negotiations. With Kren deciding to relocate to Kyranthos, Garrik was in need of more commanders, especially after losing Khoradyn and Zhang.

Kaelion walked down the wide main street of Irrathis, taking a deep breath to savor the scent of fresh bread wafting from nearby stalls. The cobblestones beneath his boots and the vendors lining the road felt like home, except… he tried to take a step forward, but he couldn’t move without bumping into something. To his left, Xoh’Tenol had looped herself around his arm, while Eira mirrored her on the right. Meanwhile, Lirien walked backward in front of them, one hand held to her mouth. “I must say… I didn’t expect this from you… two women,” Lirien teased.

“Okay, Jin, you may begin,” Thalena said, marking a circle on Kaelion’s chest. “And you need to keep going to prevent the heart from healing him.” “No problem at all,” Jin replied, moving to the opposite side of the bed. A thin blade of air materialized from his finger. With a flick of her wrist, Thalena removed the bed beneath Kaelion, leaving him suspended in the air through aether magic.

With everything that had happened yesterday, Jin hadn’t even gotten a moment to speak with Thalena, and if she was leaving now for a few days, he had to get ahead of her. Early in the morning, he brought both Tianlei and Thalia to the office, instructing Rhalyn to wait in the lounge. Thalena made her entrance into the office as expected, her eyes narrowing as she pointed out that she had little time. “I know,” Jin said. “But this is important… I’m thinking about leaving for a while.”

Eliona worked in the Nexus Research Center near the gate, as she often did these days. The place was always filled with people willing to push their minds to the limit, and everything was spearheaded by Jareth and Cyrena. Both had shown her plenty of secrets while she worked to restore Isaac’s heart. It was a strange thing, doing this for a former enemy, but they had also been spared when death should have been their only expectation. Still, why did Thalena treat her and Azarion this way?

Kaelion stood near the walls inside the central pyramid of Thalcoris—or was it the Palace of Cosmos now? He wasn’t sure anymore. Beside him, Eira observed as Xoh’Tenol interacted with Tazarin and the others for the first time, acting as if she were an object to be studied. The former goddess didn’t seem to mind as people touched her all over, even throwing pointed glances at Eira and Kaelion as if it meant something. On their way here, the citizens had bowed to her as though nothing about the situation was out of the ordinary.

Virel sat among the Axial Concord as they discussed the future, particularly concerning the Valrindor Council and Ulzathir, though there were many matters to address. Simon led the meeting with his usual precision, his silver hair parted with an almost offensive level of perfection. Lysander, who had recently passed the tests to join the Axial Concord, sat among them. Though an outsider and a member of the Order, Nahm had outright endorsed his inclusion, declaring it would only benefit Haverloch. As Valrindor’s largest producer of agricultural goods, particularly corn, barley, and rice, Haverloch had been asked to increase output to export more to distant nations.

“You came for me,” Oktlix rumbled, its voice resonating from everywhere and nowhere all at once. Thalena floated in the void, watching as Azarion and Eliona exited through the gate, but now her focus turned entirely to this entity and what it truly was. “You were the one who wanted to see me,” Thalena said. “Though I don’t know how I can help you.” “All I ever wanted was to see the world beyond,” Oktlix replied.