The Council of Elders convened beneath the shattered dome of Aetherhall, their robes rippling like storm-torn banners. The chamber, once regal and radiant, now bore the scars of decades of silence, its marble veins cracked, its banners faded.Twelve seats encircled the obsidian table. Only seven were occupied.The remaining five sat in shadow—marked vacant by either death or disgrace.A singular voice pierced the silence.“Then it’s true?” asked Elder Saelin, her white hair bound tight as the blade she once wielded. “The Codex has been opened.”Across the table, Elder Brovan leaned forward, eyes narrow. “And the Forsaken Heir has touched the Throne of the Remembered. This is no rumor. It was witnessed by the Seers.”A flicker of dread passed between the elders like an unseen flame.“He’s just a child,” Elder Tyros grumbled, his voice gravel wrapped in disdain. “A ghost of a fallen bloodline, fed lies and vengeance.”“But he lives,” murmured Elder Ellira, gaze distant, as if seeing som

The twilight sky groaned overhead, torn by crimson lightning that bled across the horizon like veins cracking under pressure. Ethan stood frozen, staring at the fading image of his father, who was no longer the formidable man carved into his memories, but a broken soul, fragmented and heavy with sorrow. Around him, the burned field pulsed like a memory breathing. It wasn’t real, but it wasn’t fake either—it was a space between, where the forgotten came alive and shadows told truths. "Ethan…" the figure said again, and though it wore his father’s face, the voice was disembodied, echoing from within and without. "You left me," Ethan said, fists clenched. "You left her." His younger self, maybe six or seven years old, cried nearby, unnoticed by the world. The smell of ash, blood, and lavender lingered in the air—the scent of that night. "I tried," the echo whispered. "But I was weak. I thought hiding the truth would protect you. Instead, it cursed you." A cold wind swept th