The wind carried a silence that felt unnatural.
As dawn broke over the shattered skyline of Cael'varan, Aven stood on a cliff's edge overlooking what remained of the once-great city. Smoke still rose from crumbled spires, and the scent of scorched stone clung to the air. Behind him, the survivors of the fall moved like ghosts—shadows of the lives they once lived.
Lyra stood beside him, her cloak fluttering, eyes fixed on the horizon. "It's not over," she said quietly.
"No," Aven replied. "It's just beginning."
They had fled under the cover of night, slipping past the perimeter where the Voidspawn still roamed. Kael had guided them through the ravines with uncanny ease, and the few rebels who remained swore their loyalty anew after seeing Aven's power during the final clash.
But power wasn't what weighed on Aven's shoulders now. It was purpose. And the gnawing fear that he had no control over it.
---
Three Days Later
They had set up camp in a hidden grove within the Arvalis forest. The air there buzzed with old magic—tamed and whispering, unlike the raw chaos that clung to Cael'varan.
Aven spent most of his time alone, training. Not because he wanted to, but because he feared what would happen if he didn't. The visions were growing clearer: a sword of fire, a tower made of stars, a woman with violet eyes whispering his name.
Lyra watched from afar.
She approached one night with a bottle of wine salvaged from the ruins. "You're trying too hard," she said, handing it to him.
"I'm trying not to lose myself," he replied.
She sat beside him, close enough to share the warmth. "Then stop fighting alone."
---
Meanwhile — In the Capital of Althros
High King Vareon stood in the war chamber, surrounded by ministers with trembling lips and bloodied scrolls.
"The fall of Cael'varan has destabilized the eastern front," one stammered. "The Void is spreading faster than we can contain it."
"And what of the boy?" Vareon asked, voice like ice.
"Rumors say he lives. And that... something awakened inside him."
Vareon's eyes narrowed. "Then send the Whisperers. I want him found—before the Church does."
---
Back in the Wilds
Kael returned from scouting with news that shook the camp.
"There's movement," he said. "Not just Voidspawn. Soldiers. Cloaked ones. I think they're tracking us."
Lyra cursed. "Then we move. Tonight."
Aven didn't argue. He felt it too—that familiar pull in his chest, like fate itself tightening its grip.
They set out before moonrise, following the river southward toward the shattered isles of Eldranor. The plan was vague—survive, regroup, find allies—but each step forward felt like stepping deeper into something ancient, something waiting.
---
Flashback — Aven's Dream
He stood in a world of ash and silver light. The stars moved above like a living tapestry.
"You are the last gate," said the woman with violet eyes, voice echoing like a thousand bells.
"They will fear you. But you must not fear yourself."
Then her face changed. Became Lyra's. Then Kael's. Then... his own.
He screamed—and woke to darkness.
---
Final Scene
They reached a clearing at dawn, where the trees opened to reveal the broken statues of a forgotten temple—one bearing Aven's face.
Everyone froze.
Lyra whispered, "This can't be…"
Aven stepped forward, fingers brushing the cold stone.
And the wind answered, carrying with it a voice not his own:
"Welcome home, Caelborn."