The dream came again on the first anniversary.
Sunrei woke gasping, his scarred wrist burning where no mark remained. Moonlight streamed through the window of the small coastal house he shared with Kaelis and Liri, painting silver lines across the wooden floor.
The vision clung to him a tower of black glass rising from calm waters, its surface etched with a single glowing rune:
The First Brand's sigil.
Kaelis stirred beside him, her hand finding his in the dark. Again?
Sunrei nodded, his throat tight.
Outside, the waves whispered secrets to the shore.
They found Ryna at dawn, standing on the cliffs where the old watchtower had once stood. Her tattoos had faded to pale scars, but her eyes were sharp as ever.
You saw it too, Sunrei said.
Ryna didn't turn. The Pillar isn't gone. Just sleeping. She pointed east, where the horizon shimmered unnaturally. And something's waking it.
Kaelis tested the weight of her knives a habit she'd never broken. How do we kill what's already dead?
Liri stepped forward, her silver-gold hair catching the morning light. We don't.
She touched Sunrei's scarred wrist.
We remember.
The fishing boat was small but sturdy.
As they boarded, survivors gathered on the docks not to beg them to stay, but to nod in quiet understanding. The war might be over, but warriors still dreamed.
Ryna took the helm. Last chance to turn back.
Sunrei studied the horizon. The shimmer had intensified, forming a hazy silhouette that made his missing brand ache.
Kaelis smirked. Since when do we take the easy path?
Liri raised a hand in farewell as the sails caught wind.
The sea welcomed them like old friends.
The Pillar rose from calm waters, exactly as in Sunrei's dream.
But now, carved into its base, were words in a language none of them knew yet all understood:
The circle remains unbroken.
Kaelis drew her knives. Trap?
Sunrei stepped forward, his scar pulsing. Invitation.
As his fingers brushed the stone, the Pillar sang a single, pure note that shook the sea and sky.
And from within, a voice answered:
Welcome home, Prince.
Not a threat.
A greeting.
The first true note of a song yet unfinished.