Elira arrived at the capital beneath storm-lit skies.
The city of Valebright was as she remembered—towers of white stone, streets humming with arcane currents, and banners fluttering from every spire. But there was a tension in the air, subtle and strange, like a melody just slightly out of tune.
The Circle of Menders greeted her warmly. Old allies, wise faces. But there was something guarded in their eyes as they led her to the inner chambers.
At the center of the marble hall stood an artifact she had never seen before: a crown of woven crystal and iron, suspended in midair, humming with an energy she didn't recognize.
"This," said Archmage Revyn, "was uncovered beneath the ruins of Nythralis. It speaks."
Elira's brow furrowed. "Speaks?"
He nodded. "Not aloud. Not in words. But it presses into the minds of those near it. Whispered thoughts. Visions."
She approached it slowly. The closer she drew, the more she felt it—an echo, not like the Hollow Star, but... older. Curiously aware.
It called to her.
"You brought peace, Elira," Revyn said. "But peace unveils deeper truths. This crown... it may predate the Flame itself."
That night, Elira could not sleep. In her dreams, she walked empty halls of crystal, and at their end stood a mirror shaped like the crown.
And in the mirror, Aran's face.
Wounded. Lost.
She awoke with a start.
The crown was not merely an artifact.
It was a warning.