The stranger sat by the fire, his shadow flickering across the walls of Orin's house. His name was Kaelen Drev, though he said names meant little where he came from. He had walked through the Blightlands to reach this village. No one walked through the Blight and lived.
"Why did you come?" Mira asked him, arms crossed.
"To find him," Kaelen said, gesturing toward Orin.
Orin had been quiet ever since Kaelen arrived. Not from fear—though the man did smell like ash and iron—but because something about him felt familiar. Not in the way of faces, but in the way certain dreams return again and again.
Kaelen's eyes were wrong. They shimmered like cracked glass, reflections inside reflections. You couldn't tell if he was looking at you or through you.
"I saw the stars," Orin finally said. "Before you came."
Kaelen nodded. "You drew the Pattern of Arakhel. Only three people have ever drawn it correctly. One was me. The second died a thousand years ago."
Mira scoffed. "That's impossible."
Kaelen didn't argue. "Have you ever heard a song when you sleep?" he asked Orin. "A humming, maybe—like wind through metal?"
Orin blinked. He had.
"The sky is not gone," Kaelen said, lowering his voice. "Only hidden. Forgotten. And there are those who would kill to keep it that way."
He opened a satchel and removed a thin shard of crystal wrapped in cloth. When it touched the firelight, it pulsed—once, like a heartbeat.
"It's called a Skyglass. You saw it in your dreams, didn't you?"
Orin stared at it, mesmerized. "I… drew something like that last week."
Kaelen stood. "Then we need to leave. Tonight."
Mira stepped in front of Orin. "He's not going anywhere with you."
Kaelen looked at her gently. "The Order knows he's alive. The Scorchers will follow. They burn villages first. Ask questions after."
Outside, the wind howled louder than before.
And far, far away, something stirred—something that had once ruled the sky and now waited in silence beneath the world.