The first frost of the turning season kissed the high spires of Eldrane as Ethan stood once more within the Unity Dome. It had been months since the Hollowed crossed into their realm, and though healing had begun, the scars of that strange convergence remained visible in the souls of every leader present.Circular and vast, the Unity Dome shimmered with enchantments cast by generations of sages. Its crystalline walls reflected not only light, but the unspoken tensions of those within. Delegates from the Stormborne tribes, the Sylvan Elites, Tidecallers, Arcane Scholars, and even distant Astral Nomads had gathered. Ethan had called them all—not for war, but for warning.A great map hovered in the center of the dome, its arcane etchings shifting slowly to reveal ley rifts opening across unknown realms. Mira stood beside the display, her fingers dancing across the glyphs as she adjusted the view."Four new pulses in the last cycle," she said. "Each accompanied by Hollowed manifestations—

The sky over Eldrane shimmered with an eerie twilight, neither day nor night. It was as if the realm itself held its breath. Across the land, the signs were clear: ley lines pulsed erratically, animals fled from once-safe forests, and those sensitive to magic felt a heavy pull in their hearts.Ethan stood atop the Sentinel Spire, the tallest point in the city, where the stars once danced freely above a peaceful world. Now, the constellations flickered—some lost entirely, others rearranged as if the heavens themselves were trying to write a new story.Around him, the final preparations for the Harmony Convergence were underway. The event, long prophesied, was meant to permanently stabilize the realms after the passage to the Hollowed World. But the warnings Mira had uncovered echoed through his mind.“The Convergence must be led not by power,” she had warned, “but by balance. Or the threads will snap.”Below, in the Conclave Plaza, the chosen representatives from each realm stood in fo

The sky above Elarion pulsed with unnatural hues. Shades of violet and crimson danced across the clouds like a bruised wound in the heavens, echoing the turmoil that raged in the heart of the once-sacred kingdom. The city, once a beacon of peace and prosperity, had become a battlefield of ancient forces finally unchained.Seren stood at the edge of the royal balcony, staring into the heart of the encroaching storm. Lightning veined the clouds, illuminating the mountains in the distance the last stronghold of the Elders. Behind her, the council chamber was in ruins. The stained-glass windows had shattered under the pressure of arcane winds. Flames flickered from overturned sconces. The Council of Scribes, once the most powerful political force in Elarion, lay in bloodied heaps at the feet of prophecy.She did not mourn them. Their time had passed.Seren’s thoughts were a whirlwind of fury and purpose. The Shadow Heir had returned—not as a hidden prince, but as a sovereign of the elemen

The first snow of the season drifted lazily from the sky, blanketing the stone streets of Virelia in a thin veil of white. It softened the edges of the city, cloaking the scars of battle and making the world seem gentler than it truly was. Beneath the frost, however, tensions brewed like coals under ash.Inside the Great Hall of the Guardian Academy, leaders from the five bordering territories gathered for what had been named The Accord Summit—a delicate, unprecedented attempt to forge lasting peace. The once-bitter kingdoms of Armathen, Selvaris, Ruun, Nahlor, and Drask sat shoulder to shoulder with wary expressions and guarded eyes.Ethan sat at the central table, the crest of the Guardians behind him and Aeris at his right. Kael stood by the window, silent but alert, watching the gathering with a soldier’s patience.Lord Dain of Drask cleared his throat. “Let’s not pretend we came here out of love for peace. We came here because war is no longer profitable. Our people are tired. Ou

The wind howled through the broken arches of Ghara Valis, the once-sacred monastery now a skeletal monument to forgotten power. Ethan stood at its threshold, the Bloodmark on his shoulder pulsing like a second heartbeat. Each throb carried memories not his own—fragments of battles fought, promises broken, and a voice he could not name whispering from the dark. He wasn’t just standing on sacred ground. He was standing on the fulcrum of prophecy.Aeron stepped up beside him, his gaze sweeping the ruins with solemn reverence. “This place hasn’t seen light in over a century,” he murmured. “Not since the Shadowblood sealed the gates and buried their truths beneath the stone.”Ethan said nothing. The Bloodmark flared again, hotter this time. Not pain, but pressure—insistent, urgent. It was guiding him.They moved deeper into the ruins, the crunch of gravel beneath their boots echoing through the hollow halls. The architecture here defied time: tall, arched ceilings with jagged cracks, ancie