Time was shattering.
Away from the training grounds of the Cosmic Stone Academy, where Kai sat in meditation amidst the dusk of his soul-crafted domain, something primeval awakened in the marrow of the world. It scratched at the fringes of existence, a craving older than the stars, stirring from a sleep locked by the First Wyrm-Bonded.
It started with earthquakes.
A faint shiver ran through the deserts of Skalara, where stormlight-supported spires of obsidian drifted, rocking against a churning violet sky. In Nemyra, drowned star city, a massive fissure split the seabed, shattering domes of coral that glowed with azure light. Observers at its edge stiffened, their lanterns fading as darkness crept up from the depths—forms that trembled like shattered memories, their eyes glinting with malevolence. Throughout the world, from Vyrn's icy mountain peaks to Oloren's ember-spiked jungles, the ground shook and the sky hemorrhaged shadow, its twilight split by webs of otherworldly blue.
Stones in the cosmos, long hibernating in their holy repositories, stirred with unsteady rage. Within the Crystal Guard fortress, stones hummed until their confining vaults shattered, spilling black light that distorted the air. In the Emberfall Wastes, a single stone bled gold, unwinding the desert into glass spirals. Archivists spoke of stones whispering—voices from another world, offering power and destruction. These were not relics. They were seals, created by the First Wyrm-Bonded to seal the Depths, a raw chaos once threatening to consume creation.
The initial Dungeon opened near the ruins of Oloren, where the Earth Stone once stood guard under the Order of Nine's watch. It was no simple cavern but a rip in reality—a maze of moving geometry in which gravity warped and time curled back upon itself. A patrol from the Crystal Guard entered within, their torches extinguished by an absent wind. Their shrieks echoed for hours, hours after their life-signs extinguished. Survivors mentioned shadows that ate light, beings sewn of stained stone—parodies of dragons, with scales seeping void, encased by heart-pulsating chains of radiance that kept them tied. Others said that the Dungeon contained mirrors, their reflections distorted forms of themselves contaminated by options not taken.
In the Academy's council chamber, the Masters convened, their faces pale under flickering flames warped by arcane interference. Master Venri, her hands trembling, read from a long-sealed prophecy etched in dragonbone: "When harmony breaks, and the balance of stars is disturbed, the Depths shall breathe again. Not from above, but from within."
"We've tipped the scale," Venri whispered, her voice barely audible. "Too many stones bonded. Too many realms forged. The world corrects itself… violently."
Master Torren, his robes singed from a failed containment ritual, rose sharply. "This is no correction. It's vengeance. The stones were seals, not gifts. We've unleashed what they were meant to cage."
A shudder convulsed the chamber, more intense than previously. A stone monolith in the corner, inert for centuries, burst with scarlet runes, firing a jolt of agony through every bonded user within. The Masters cringed, holding their cosmic stones.
Kai also felt it.
In his parallel world, concealed in the Academy's concealed courtyard, Kai stumbled during meditation. The twilight sky flashed like a dying lantern, its steady color shattering into jagged violet streaks. The ancient pillars groaned, their carvings glowing and then fading. The Flame Dragon snarled, its molten scales bristling, while the Void Dragon's whispers became sharp, urgent. The air throbbed violently, as if the world itself was recoiling from an outside wound.
A voice—not his dragons', not his own— creepeth within his mind: "The world splits… and you, Wyrm-Bonded, must be at its seam."
Kai's eyes snapped open, his breath ragged. The runes on his chest and arms, gifts from the dragons, burned faintly, then faded. He pressed a hand to his heart, feeling the tempest of his bonded powers coil tighter. "This isn't just about me anymore," he muttered, his voice low but resolute.
He recalled the mural under the Temple of Echoes, the warning etched in a language older than the Academy: "When harmony is broken, the Depths awaken." He'd believed it a metaphor, a remnant of wars long forgotten. Now, it was true. The Dungeons, the corrupted stones, the shadows—they were the Depths, loose in a world gone out of balance.
Kai rose to his feet, his cloak crackling in the world's sudden gust. The Flame Dragon's gaze clashed with his, hot but unyielding, as if compelling him to move. He shut his eyes, grasping the dragons' harmony, the bond he'd created during the Trial of the Howling Sky. Their melody—Flame, Ice, Storm, Earth, Void—vibrated softly, anchoring him. He wasn't prepared, not yet, but he wouldn't retreat. Not here.
Beyond his domain, the actual world was collapsing. Beyond oceans, countries were struggling against chaos. Airships disappeared over jungle craters, their wreckage consumed by new Dungeons. In the Iron Dominion, martial law collapsed as warlords turned against warlords, their cosmic stones betraying them. A select number of leaders, prudent or desperate, dispatched emissaries to the Academy, begging for direction, but the Masters knew not what to say. The Dungeons flouted reason—some emitted raw elemental disorder, others distorted time, holding their victims in repeated cycles. One, under the Frostveil Peaks, spawned a mirror-planet where the survivors encountered the empty shells of themselves, with hopeless holes where their eyes once were.
The Academy's scouts came back with new Dungeons every day, each more chaotic than the previous one. In Vyrn, one of the Dungeons devoured an entire valley, all that remained a chasm that echoed with far-off screams. In Oloren, the initial Dungeon expanded, its borders crawling towards surrounding villages, its shadows murmuring with offers of might to braver souls who dared to come near.
Kai stepped out of his realm, into the Academy's courtyard at the break of dawn. The air was thick, the sky bruised with unnatural colors. He sensed the dragons' unease, their powers wresting against the mounting disharmony. A muffled rumble sounded, deeper than thunder, jolting the ground underfoot.
He remembered Aren—her laughter, her faith in him—and his father, Aeron, who had resisted the Obsidian Claw and died. Their memories drove him, but so did the warning in the prophecy. The Depths were rising, and he was the Wyrm-Bonded, Storm-Born, marked to meet them.
As he walked through the courtyard, Elder Veylan materialized, his staff shimmering faintly. "You sensed it," the elder remarked, cloudy eyes piercing. "The Dungeons summon you, don't they?"
Kai nodded, clenching his jaw. "Skalara's the worst, isn't she? That's where I begin."
Veylan's face fell. "Skalara's Dungeon is an infection in the world. Dark falls from it, and stormlight falters. Tread carefully, Kai. The Claw knows you live."
Kai's fist hardened, the Sigil of Wyrm on his arm throbbing. "Bring them on."
A long distance off, beneath the dark caverns of Skalara's fledgling Dungeon, an echoing voice awoke within a chip of tainted rock. Its speech was icy, calculated, seasoned with venom: "The Boy-Wyrm-Bonded lives. We need to step up the homecoming."
Rock flared with its dark-gold light and shadows about it squirmed as if responding to a summons.
The planet had entered a new era—not of ascension, but of reckoning.
And Kai would face it head-on.