The walls of Eldoria had once gleamed like the sun itself — a fortress of light and knowledge. Now, as Kael approached under the veil of night, cloaked in dust and shadow, the city looked… different. Its gates towered higher, iron runes etched into stone where marble once stood, and sigils of flame glowed faintly across the archway. The guards no longer bore the silver of scholars but the black and crimson of The Inquisition — the mage order sworn to purge “wild magic.” Kael pulled his hood lower, concealing his face. Every step into the city tightened the coil in his chest. It had been years since his exile, but memory was a cruel echo. He had left this place as a boy branded “voidborn.” He returned now as something else — though not yet sure what. Orin had warned him to stay behind, but Kael couldn’t. The sight of those spires haunted him. The need to see what had become of his home outweighed fear. The streets were quieter than he remembered. Gone were the students laughing bene

The desert stretched endlessly beneath a dying sun. The dunes shimmered like waves of molten gold, swallowing footprints before they could be remembered. Kael trudged through them in silence, cloak torn by sand and wind, his newly forged Emberbrand Staff strapped across his back. Every few steps, the staff pulsed faintly, a reminder of the fire within — his bond with Lysara’s forge, and the promise of strength still growing inside him. He didn’t look back. Lysara had given her final words at dawn, her golden eyes watching him go from the mouth of the Ember Spire. “The world will burn you before it bows to you,” she had said. “Find Orin. He walks the edge of wisdom and war — you’ll need both before the Guild finds you.” At the time, Kael had smirked. Now, with the Aether winds howling around him and the sky bleeding red, her warning felt more like prophecy. For two days he walked. Through crumbled ruins, forgotten shrines, and the bones of old cities swallowed by sand. His power wa

The rising sun bled through the dunes like molten gold. Sand stretched endlessly in all directions, whispering with each gust of wind — carrying the faint echoes of the dead. Kael trudged onward, his cloak torn and face hardened. Orin’s talisman gleamed faintly against his chest, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat — a guiding light amid endless desolation. His Emberbrand staff hummed with quiet energy, flames flickering inside its crystal core. He leaned on it like a walking stick, every step crunching over sand and stone. For days, he had followed the trail west — beyond the reach of the Mage Guild, past the abandoned outposts and burnt caravans of Eldoria’s war-scarred frontier. The land here was no man’s domain, only ghosts and memories. Kael paused at a ridge. Below, the ruins of a once-great city shimmered under the heat haze — Ardan’s Rest, a city long consumed by both magic and time. The Aetherheart in his chest thrummed faintly. “There’s something alive down there.

The desert’s endless gold had begun to die away. In its place, ashen earth stretched for miles — cracked, lifeless, trembling under the weight of distant thunder. Kael and Lira trudged through the borderlands, the wind around them heavy with the scent of ozone and ruin. Above, the sky fractured with veins of blue lightning, striking the horizon again and again. The Tower of the Forgotten was no longer a mirage. Its peak loomed faintly beyond the storm veil — an obsidian silhouette splitting the clouds. Lira tightened her cloak. “That’s it? That’s what we almost died for?” Kael didn’t answer. His eyes were fixed on the talisman hanging around his neck. It had begun to hum, glowing faintly, threads of light extending outward like a compass. The storm itself seemed to pulse in rhythm with it. “It’s calling,” Kael murmured. “Or warning,” Lira countered. A low, mechanical groan rolled across the plains — deep, ancient, metallic. The ground trembled. Lira glanced a

The ruins stretched as far as Kael’s eyes could see — a graveyard of steel and bone, wrapped in endless mist. Jagged spears jutted from the cracked earth like skeletal fingers, clutching at a sky that wept no light. Once, this was the Plains of Vaelorn, the heart of the Mage Wars. Now, it was only silence and ash. Kael and Lira trudged through the dust, their cloaks heavy with the damp cold. The wind carried whispers — faint, almost human, but too ancient to belong to the living. Each step stirred faint glimmers underfoot — echoes of fallen spells that had once scorched this very land. Lira kicked at a half-buried helm. “You really think we’ll find anything alive here?” Kael’s eyes narrowed. “Orin’s talisman led us this far. The Tower’s secrets are hidden in what the world forgot.” “Orin’s gone,” she said quietly, her tone softening. “You don’t have to keep chasing ghosts.” Kael stopped walking. “Every mage who fought here thought they’d bring peace. They all died for power. Mayb