The Vale had fallen silent.Only the distant hum of the fractured spire remained, resonating like a dying song beneath the ground.Eryndor stood at the edge of the cliff, the storm’s remnants swirling faintly around him. The light that had erupted moments ago had vanished into the sky, but its echo lingered — a whisper in his chest, a weight behind his eyes. He could still feel it tugging at him northward.Lyra approached quietly, her boots crunching over the charred earth. “You haven’t moved for an hour,” she said. “If you stare any longer, you’ll burn a hole through the horizon.”He didn’t answer. His gaze was distant, as though seeing through the world itself. “It’s calling,” he murmured.“‘It’ being what?” Zephyr asked from behind, tossing a small stone into the ravine. “Because if it’s another spire, I vote we blow it up before it tries to kill us.”Aria shot him a weary look. “We can’t destroy what we don’t understand.”Thorne folded his arms, scanning the broken terrain. “Then

Chapter 53: The Flame of RebirthThe Mirrorlands faded behind them like a dream dissolving at dawn.For the first time in what felt like days — or years — the group stood beneath a true sky. The air was crisp, the sun warm against their faces. Yet none of them spoke. The silence hung heavy, burdened by the things they had seen in the glass.Eryndor’s reflection’s final words echoed endlessly in his mind.The Voice was never given. It was implanted.He clenched his fists as they walked along a narrow ridge overlooking a canyon of ash and fire. The light of the setting sun glowed red across the horizon, reflecting in his eyes like a promise and a threat.Zephyr was the first to break the silence. “So,” he muttered, kicking a loose stone into the ravine. “We’re just going to pretend we didn’t fight ourselves back there?”Thorne grunted. “Speak for yourself. My reflection fought like a coward.”“That’s because you are a coward sometimes,” Zephyr shot back with a smirk.Before Thorne could

The explosion of light shook the chamber like the heartbeat of a god.Eryndor stood at the centre, the Voice flaring around him in waves of silver-gold fire, each pulse rippling through the air like thunder.The First Forged surged forward — towering constructs of flesh and metal, their movements unnervingly fluid. Their eyes burned with the same light that coursed through Eryndor’s veins.“Hold the line!” Aria shouted, drawing her twin blades. She met the first creature head-on, steel clashing against metal with a shriek that echoed through the Forge.Thorne roared beside her, his massive sword cleaving through another construct, sparks flying. “They’re tougher than they look!”“They’re not supposed to die,” Lirien called out from the rear, her hands glowing with arcane energy. “They were built to rebuild themselves! We need to sever their link to the Forge!”Zephyr’s hands moved in a blur, gusts of razor-sharp wind slicing through the advancing constructs. “Working on it! But unless

The journey east took five days.Five days of wind, silence, and the ever-present hum of something following them just beyond sight.The terrain changed with each sunrise — from the burnt slopes of the Forge Mountains to the wide plains of ash-gray grass where the soil pulsed faintly beneath their boots, as if remembering the heat of some long-dead sun.By the sixth dawn, the mist parted, and they saw it.Halros.The Dead City.It sprawled across the valley below, a skeletal ruin of steel and stone. Massive towers tilted at impossible angles, their surfaces fused with vines of crystal and bone. Rivers of faint blue light flowed between collapsed streets, like veins in a corpse.Even from this distance, Eryndor could feel it — a vibration beneath the air, low and steady, calling to the same strange rhythm that had haunted him since the Forge.Zephyr whistled softly. “Well, that’s… cosy.”Aria ignored him, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the horizon. “I thought this place was buried a

The air trembled.It began as a low vibration in the ground, a hum so faint that only Aria noticed it at first. She froze mid-step, her eyes narrowing, fingers brushing the soil beneath her boots.“Something’s wrong,” she whispered.Eryndor stopped, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword. The others turned to her, their faces drawn with concern. “What do you feel?” Zephyr asked, his voice low.Aria’s eyes flickered with green light as she reached deeper into the earth’s rhythm. “The pulse of the land... it’s faltering. The balance is shifting — something vast has awakened.”Eira’s expression darkened. “No,” she murmured. “Not again.”The words carried a chill that silenced them all.They stood at the edge of the Wyrdwood, where the forest met the crimson horizon of the Shattered Plains. Before them stretched a land where time itself seemed fractured — stone pillars jutting out of the sand, their surfaces marked with sigils that glowed faintly in rhythm with the heartbeat of