The high cliffs of Velmora glistened with fresh snow as the sun rose behind the Iron Bastion. Within the fortress walls, soldiers moved with precision—training, patrolling, sharpening blades. Every motion was measured. Every command obeyed without hesitation.
Seren Valen stood at the center of the sparring ring, breathing heavily, her practice blade slick with frost. Her opponent—a broad-shouldered captain twice her age—lay stunned in the snow, disarmed.
"Again?" she asked, voice sharp with challenge.
The captain raised a hand in surrender. "I've no wish to bruise my pride further."
The watching recruits chuckled. But Seren didn't smile. She wiped her blade and turned.
At twenty-two, Seren was one of Velmora's youngest battle-leads. Her dark hair was braided tightly against her scalp, her gray eyes as cold as the mountains she called home. She fought with speed over strength, precision over power. Her reputation was one of discipline and lethal efficiency.
What few knew—what fewer were allowed to speak of—was that Seren could wield restrained magic.
In Velmora, magic was not a gift. It was a threat.
But Seren's affinity was different. Controlled. Conditional. Bound to a relic embedded beneath her breastplate—a crystal etched with Velmoran runes. It allowed her to channel limited force: a burst of frost, a flicker of enhanced vision, a momentary shield. Nothing more. Anything beyond that risked punishment from the Templar Council.
"Seren!" a voice called. Lieutenant Elen approached, her breath clouding in the morning air. "Commander Marrek wants you in the war chamber."
Seren sheathed her blade. "What for?"
"He didn't say. But there's a map on the table and scouts from the front."
Seren's jaw tightened. The front meant Kael'Thar. And the last incursion had left half a dozen dead.
Inside the Bastion, the war chamber glowed with lamplight and tension. Commander Marrek stood over the table, brow furrowed, surrounded by battle reports and arcane markers.
"Valen," he greeted, nodding. "You're to lead a reconnaissance unit into the Shattered Vale."
Seren's stomach turned slightly. "The Rift?"
"Scouts spotted movement. Not ours. Not Kael'Thar's regulars either. Something… else."
"Magic?"
"Possibly. We need to confirm. You leave by dusk."
Seren nodded. Orders were orders. But in her gut, a chill settled deeper than the frost outside.
Something stirred in the Rift.
And she would be the first to see it.